Chapter Three
Holly
I was barely off the stage when my stepfather grabbed me and ushered me back into the dressing room. I tried to speak to him, to ask him what was happening, but he refused to respond. He just pushed me through the door and told me to wait.
Nothing makes sense. Craig had told me this was an audition, but the man on stage and the crowd had acted like it was something very different.
They were lewd and obscene as they shouted out their bids.
And what were they even bidding on? Clearly this isn’t a singing competition liked I’d been told.
But then what is it? And had the winning bid really been a hundred thousand dollars?
I can’t even conceive of that amount of money.
My head is spinning, but one thing is clear. Whatever this is, I want no part of it. I rush to the closed dressing room door and reach for the knob, but before I can touch it, I’m sent stumbling back as it opens. Ivan steps in, followed by another man I’ve never seen before.
He’s tall and broad, with an imposing scowl.
His hair is the color of melted chocolate, cut short at the sides and longer on top, with just a hint of gray at this temples.
He has just the start of a beard, as if he couldn’t be bothered to shave the last couple of days, but it does nothing to disguise his sharp jaw.
His most striking feature, though, is his eyes.
Below thick, serious brows are eyes so deep and dark, I feel like I could fall into them and never find my way out.
I’m struck mute, mesmerized by him as he stares at me like he can see into my very soul.
His presence sends a rush of heat through my body like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and my skin prickles with awareness.
“Holly Taylor,” Ivan says, breaking my trance, though I still can’t look away. “it’s my pleasure to introduce to you Mr. Andrew Stone. His was this evening’s winning bid for lot nin—I mean, you.”
That gets my attention. “Me? I don’t understand.”
Ivan’s carefully constructed composure cracks for a moment, but he recovers quickly. “Ms. Taylor, I’m sure this is all very overwhelming. A bid like this,” he shoots Mr. Stone a scathing look, “is quite unorthodox.”
“Ivan, I’m sorry, none of this makes any sense. Where is Craig? My stepfather? I think there has been a misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding.” My stepfather’s voice comes from the doorway, a forced, faux joviality to his tone.
“Gentlemen. Mr. Stone, a pleasure to meet you. If you could just give my stepdaughter and I a moment.” Ivan looks annoyed, and Mr. Stone, who still hasn’t said a word, clenches his jaw but nods.
Craig grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the corner of the room, backing me into it. He leans in close, and his breath is uncomfortably hot and sticky as he speaks directly into my face.
“Listen here, girl. I’ve had enough of your spoiled attitude.
I kept a roof over your whiny ass for years, and now it’s time for you to repay the debt.
That man just spent a lot of money to have you, and you’re going to go with him for however long he’s willing to put up with you.
And whenever he gets sick of your worthless company, he’ll bring you back here for the next auction.
Until then, you’re going to do whatever it takes to keep him happy. Understood?”
“But I—” I start, only to be cut off by a tight squeeze to my arm, one I’m certain will actually leave bruises.
“You can say no like the spoiled little bitch you are, go ahead. But I warn you, these men aren’t to be messed with. You signed the agreement when we arrived. They own you. What do you think men like these will do to a little thing like you if you renege on a deal?”
“But I didn’t make any deal!” I protest in a harsh whisper, glancing frantically over Craig’s shoulder at Ivan, who’s buried in his tablet, and Mr. Stone, who’s stare is boring into my stepfather’s back.
Craig gives my arm a rough shake. “You’re still not getting it. You owe me, and this is how you’re going to repay me, either by spreading your legs or spilling your blood. Either way, I’m done with you.”
Tears form in my eyes and a whimper escapes as the reality of the situation sinks in. I glance back at the men still standing by the door, and something in my face must spur Mr. Stone into action.
“That’s enough,” he says, forcing himself between my stepfather and me.
He stands with his back to me, and I’d almost think the move is a protective one, but I know that can’t be it, not in the way I want it to be.
He’s merely protecting his investment. He paid for me after all.
The thought alone sends my heart dropping to my stomach.
Craig lifts his hands as he backs away. “No problem, mister. She’s all yours; I was just saying my goodbyes.” He leans to the side and looks at me, “Be a good girl now,” he says, before he turns and walks out of the room.
Another whimper escapes as I press myself as tightly as I can into the corner, and Mr. Stone turns at the sound. He eyes me for a moment before reaching out a hand, palm up.
“You’re safe with me; I’m not going to hurt you.
Pain isn’t my kink,” he says with a smirk.
I stare at his hand like it’s a viper that might lash out at any second before I cautiously reach out to take it.
He pulls me toward him, then turns to Ivan, flipping our hands and lacing his fingers with mine as he does.
Inexplicably, the move makes me feel safe, protected.
So does the way he angles his body so I’m slightly behind him, like a solid barrier between me and the rest of the world.
“Ivan, is there anything else, or are we free to go?”
The other man looks up from his tablet like he’d forgotten we were even in the room.
He blinks quickly, then says, “No, Mr. Stone. I’ll have the transfer instructions sent to you for the remainder of the payment.
If you have any questions or concerns, you know how to reach us.
” With that, Ivan exits the room without even a backward glance for me, leaving me alone with my… buyer.
Mr. Stone looks over his shoulder at me and says, “Let’s get out of here.” With a gentle tug on our joined hands, he leads me out of the room and to the gilded elevator I’d been so excited to ride less than an hour ago.
God, it’s all happened so fast.
Part of me screams to pull my hand away and flee, but a greater part of me wants to cling to this man, the only one who’s shown me even a little kindness tonight, and never let go.
Holding tightly to his hand, I follow him silently through the building, past the stoic door guard, and out onto the sidewalk where a sleek sports car is parked.
The snow is still falling lightly, but not accumulating yet.
Glancing around the area, the cheery Christmas lights on the nearby shops and street lights are a stark contrast to the tumult of emotions swirling through me.
Mr. Stone helps me into the front passenger seat of the car, then rounds the hood and slides behind the wheel.
The engine roars to life a moment later, and he deftly maneuvers the car onto the empty road.
Clutching my fingers in my lap and closing my eyes, I lean my head against the window, hoping the chill of the glass will calm my racing heart.
In such close quarters, I’m enveloped by the fragrance of a cologne with hints of worn leather and cedar.
It’s a soothing scent, and I’m surprised to feel myself relaxing in the warm seat.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when the car door opens and I’m stirred awake.
Before I can fully process where I am or what is happening, strong arms lift me from the seat and settle me against a solid, warm body.
Too tired to protest, I rest my head on a broad shoulder covered in soft wool that tickles the skin of my cheek.
I peek my eyes open and am surprised to see we are inside a spacious multi-car garage.
The only light comes from the overhead garage door motor as it slides closed, but it’s enough for Andrew to navigate his way toward the door on the far wall, still cradling me in his arms.
Once through the door, Mr. Stone sets me on my feet, and I immediately miss the feeling of safety being in his arms gave me.
He steps back and removes his coat, hanging it on the wall as I look around.
We are in what appears to be a mud room.
I can see a kitchen through the open door on the other side of the room.
He toes off his shoes, so I follow suit, placing my heels next to his expensive-looking loafers.
“I’m sure you have some questions, and there is a lot we need to talk about, but it’s been a long night, and I’m exhausted. Let’s have a seat and settle the essential details, then call it a night. Sound good?” Mr. Stone says, gesturing for me to follow him into the kitchen.
“Um, y-yes,” I stammer, confused and overwhelmed, but relieved at the suggestion of finally getting some answers.
The kitchen is modern and spacious. Across from a wide island is an informal dining nook surrounded by windows on three sides. It’s too dark to see what lies beyond the glass, but judging by the high-end design of the space, I’m sure the yard is just as impressive as the house.
He pulls a stool out from the island and guides me to it, then he rounds the counter and pulls two glasses from a cabinet near the sink. Once he’s filled both with water, he sets one in front of me and takes the stool next to mine.
“First things first, I suppose. Introductions. I’m Andrew Stone, and this,” he gestures at the space around us, “is my home. You’re welcome to stay here for the time being.”
“H-Holly Taylor,” I respond. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.” It feels strange to thank this man. On the one hand, he’s been nothing but kind to me so far, but I can’t forget that he isn’t some good Samaritan. He won me, bought and paid for.