Chapter Four #2
I stumbled backward, away from him and into the spotlight. Swallowing hard and trying to hide my panic, I faced the crowd of hungry men.
“Up for bidding: a shy redhead straight out of Dublin.”
Another light came on, blinding me momentarily.
“Starting bid: twenty dollars until sunrise.”
Until sunrise? Twenty dollars? My throat became dry and my panic grew wings and began to flutter madly in my belly. I prayed that no one would want me. What could I do to repel them? My mind was whirring with too many thoughts. Maybe puke? I wasn’t far from it anyway.
“Here,” a man with a hard accent, definitely east European, called. My heart sank. I desperately searched the crowd for the source of the voice but the spotlights made it hard to see. I could only make out indistinct shapes, especially in the back of the building.
“Twenty-five,” called an American.
Finally, the lights were dimmed slightly and my eyes could focus on the crowd again. Though, this provided little consolation as I was again faced with the leering of dozens of men.
“Thirty!”
“Fifty!”
The bids rose higher, reaching low three digits when an Irish accent caught my attention. “Two-hundred,” a deep, commanding voice said.
I recognized the voice at once. I doubted I’d ever forget it.
He didn’t need to raise his voice to catch the attention of the auctioneer or mine.
My gaze found him as if tugged by a string.
Lorcan Devaney stood behind the last row of chairs and watched me.
A group of men sat around a table by him; only one chair was vacant, probably his.
Knowing Devaney’s reputation, I didn’t want to be bought by him. But I didn’t want to not be bought by him either. The other men weren’t better options and if I had read Gulliver’s cryptic words right, Lorcan was the man who knew more about Imogen.
Most of all, I wanted to run, but guards were everywhere, making sure the women didn’t leave without being auctioned off.
I was trapped, and my only hope was Lorcan Devaney, no matter how ludicrous it sounded. I had to pray that his connection to my uncle would make him take pity on me. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem like a man who felt pity often. His expression was cold and calculating as he placed his bid on me.
The bidding took forever, and I wished for a miracle: for Gulliver to show up and save me. Many of the thugs wore crosses around their necks or had them inked onto their skin. They were God-fearing. That had to count for something. Right?
As the bids rose higher and higher, I seemed to become smaller and smaller. Finally, the auctioneer slammed the gavel, which was a figurine of a naked, bent-over woman, down on the table. “One night with our Irish maiden goes to Mr. Lorcan Devaney.”
I was dragged from my thoughts, my breath releasing in a rush. Lorcan Devaney had purchased a night with me for several thousand dollars.
It was the outcome I’d hoped for considering my other options, but now as I looked down at the tall, broody man, my blood ran cold. What had I done? He must expect something in return for so much money, and even if he didn’t, owing anything to a man like him was a horrible idea.
God help me.
Tired of the conversation and the display of desperate women selling themselves to the highest bidder, I was ready to leave.
Most of them were hardly worth the minimum bid of twenty dollars and the embarrassing display by those who were too shabby to be bought even for twenty bucks grated on my nerves.
I’d never paid money for sex, and I never would.
My moral compass was certainly impaired, but the idea of having a woman in my bed who didn’t want to be fucked by me was distasteful. Fuck, I had pride.
I nodded at my business partners, not sure why they favored this place. These sordid establishments seemed to have a special appeal to the good Catholic, married, old men of the IRA.
“Up for bidding: a shy redhead straight out of Dublin.”
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of her flaming red hair.
I turned to the stage and a strange sense of déjà-vu hit me.
Aislinn Killeen stumbled toward the center with big, fear-widened eyes, clutching a shabby leather purse against her chest and still wearing the same dress she’d worn in church today.
Seamus followed my gaze to the stage. Recognition flickered across his face. “Lorcan, that’s Gulliver’s niece, isn’t it?”
I nodded, but my attention was solely on the frightened redhead on stage. “I think I’ll stay for another drink after all.”
He chuckled. “The priest will have a heart attack when he finds out.”
I didn’t care about Gulliver’s feelings or his health.
But I definitely cared about this auction.
It was obvious that Aislinn Killeen was in over her head.
I didn’t believe for a second that she knew what she was getting herself into when she walked into this building.
How did she even find this place? Was Gulliver really stupid enough to tell her about Sodom?
Aislinn Killeen had caught my attention the moment I’d spotted her sitting in the pew in her white dress, looking like a submissive Catholic girl—except for the keen attentiveness of her expression and the curious fire in her eyes.
She had eyes like clover leaves, like the endless grassy dales of Kerry.
Skin as pale as the froth on the boisterous waves slapping against the brutal cliffs of Kent.
Hair as red as the sunset over Dublin. She even smelled like home—of the salty wind carrying in over the ocean, of freshly mowed grass and something warmer.
Touching her hand this morning had awakened a longing inside of me I’d suppressed for a long time, a longing for the beauty of my home country and the company of a sassy Irish woman.
Aislinn was everything I’d missed about Ireland and so much more. I wanted her. Her innocence. Her body. Her smile. Everything.
Tonight, unexpectedly, a chance presented itself. Of course, I could have asked Gulliver for her hand in marriage, for a long-forgotten debt that needed to be paid, but I had no intention of repeating history. No, this was a much better way to get my hands on Miss Killeen.
I sank down on the chair I’d vacated not too long ago. The old leering fools lifted their glasses in a toast. Soon several men were in on the auction, raising the bid to over three figures.
And for the first time in my thirty years, I joined an auction at the Cunt Yard.
Aislinn’s eyes flashed with recognition upon hearing my voice, and soon those green eyes settled on me. They were filled with a potent mix of hope and trepidation.
When the gavel slammed down, and I’d bought Aislinn for the night, the same emotions played across her face.
She wasn’t sure if I was her savior or her demise.
Neither was I.