CHAPTER ONE
The stench of stale beer and cold smoke hangs heavy in the air, but I don’t flinch. I sit, my head held high, eyes scanning the room when I choose to lift them. Six of us remain—six. There were eight when they brought us here. Eight, but two have vanished, and I’m next. I won’t cower.
Noises bleed through from the next room—taunts, cheers, and the occasional whimper.
I grip the chain draped between my breasts tighter, the metal a cold comfort against my fingers.
The gilded crest on the collar around my throat glints in the harsh light, a constant reminder of the house I once belonged to—the house I supposedly shamed.
A young girl sits across from me, perched on the room's sole stool. She can’t be more than sixteen, her youth consumed by the darkness of this place.
Acne scars and deep circles mar her face, the remnants of innocence lost. She wears only a soiled pink thong, her ribs stark against her pallid skin.
Despite her attempts to push out her small chest, her nipples remind me of tiny, shrivelled seeds, devoid of life.
“Like what you see?” she rasps, catching me looking.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I respond, my voice steady.
An older woman starts, her voice a cruel whip, “And where should she be, princess? Back home with her family, playing dress-up? You think this is a game?” She turns her blood-red lips towards me, sneering.
“You think Daddy’s going to ride in on his white horse and save you, little girl? Wake up. This is reality.”
I meet her gaze, unyielding. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know what I’m capable of.”
The woman scoffs but turns away, unwilling to engage further. The lock on the iron door clanks open, revealing a brutish man with a tattoo snaking up his left arm. His knuckles spell out 'love' and 'hate' in stark black letters.
“You,” he grunts, pointing at me. “On the block.”
A chill snakes down my spine, but I stand, gathering the heavy chain in my hands. I don’t bother trying to cover my breasts. Let them see the 'goods.' I won’t shrink away, not anymore.
The man leads me up narrow steps to a circular platform. A small bowl sits on the floor, and I drop my chain into it, the clatter echoing through the silent room. I stand with my hands on my hips, chin raised.
“Twenty-three years old,” a disembodied voice announces. “Blood type A. Offered today by Crevan Dubois. Starting bid is one hundred thousand. Reserve set at five hundred thousand.”
I scan the room, taking in the men leering at me. Ten of them, each exuding wealth and power. One man sits forward, his eyes locked onto mine. His lips are slightly parted, the tips of his fangs visible. He exudes a dark allure, but I won’t be ensnared.
“One million,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression impassive. The bids climb, each man trying to outdo the last. The room hums with tension.
“Five million,” a man behind me shouts.
The fanged man stands, stalking to the edge of the stage. His presence commands the room, silencing the others. “Ten million,” he declares, his voice a low growl. “In cash.”
The room falls silent. My heart hammers in my chest, but I keep my composure. I won’t show fear, not even as the man at the control panel declares, “Sold.”
I’m not weak. I won’t be broken. This is only the beginning, and I will fight—no matter the cost.
loodslave