Chapter Twenty-two
I woke in a small room surrounded by women, consciousness returning to me in stages. The trigger was most likely the soft brush sweeping over my cheekbone.
Was she putting makeup on me?
The woman holding the brush giggled when my eyes opened, her blonde ringlets bouncing with the movement.
She looked like a doll. Actually, all three women did. Large eyes. Painted lips. Voluminous hair. Tight clothes that displayed entirely too much cleavage and upper thigh. Clearly none of them had heard of the concept of flaunting one or the other, but not both.
They looked like a matching set. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.
A trio of nightmares. First things had come in pairs with Percy and Lola, and then Zane and Zeke. Now triplets. Maybe that was how Wonderland worked—everything multiplied until eventually I’d face an entire army.
I struggled upright, three things immediately becoming apparent.
First, I was back in leather. The squeak of it was unmistakable as I hauled myself into a seated position.
Second, as I looked down at the even skimpier shorts and harness that left most of my chest bare, was the angry, burned skin that had taken the place of the tattoo.
Third—and competing strongly for most horrifying—I was chained to the wall by a thick metal cuff encircling one wrist. Instinct had me tugging at it. That earned an instant scowl from the blonde hovering over me. “Stay still,” she snapped. “I didn’t do all this work for you to ruin it.”
“All what work?” My voice came out thin and raspy, as if I hadn’t used it for a while. “Why are you putting makeup on me?”
“For the auction, of course.” She exchanged a conspiratorial look with the other two women that seemed to suggest I wasn’t very gifted in the brains department.
The next time she approached with the brush, I jerked my head away. They might have chained me to the wall, but I still had some control. And if she thought I was going to sit quietly while she ignored every question I asked, she had the wrong guy.
This time anger showed on her face. “You smudged your eyeshadow,” she said accusingly. “I’m going to have to fix it.”
Eyeshadow! What the fuck. Maybe I was being drafted into their group, and together we’d become a quartet. The thought wasn’t remotely funny, but laughter bubbled in my chest anyway. If I didn’t laugh, I’d probably cry.
The brunette and the redhead stepped forward. Their fingers fastened around my head, holding me in place while the blonde resumed her work, tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration.
“What auction?” I asked again.
No answer.
The silence stretched.
Just as it had reached screaming point, a door opened. I tried to turn my head, but the women tightened their grip.
“Ten minutes,” a rough male voice said.
“He’ll be ready,” the blonde replied. “I’m just finishing up.”
I didn’t bother asking anything else, and after a few minutes, they chatted among themselves.
Makeup.
Clothes.
Men.
It felt like being held hostage at an all-girls sleepover.
How long had it been since I left Nico’s apartment? Did he know I’d ignored his command to stay put yet? Would he care once he realized I was gone? Or would he shrug and think, more fool him before carrying on with his day?
Whatever else Nico was, he’d become the closest thing I had to a friend in this place. At least… I thought he had.
I wished I’d listened to him.
When? my subconscious asked. When he told you not to go anywhere? Or before that, when he told you not to come here?
I honestly didn’t know. And even if I did, maybe I’d just be lying to myself.
I was too deep in thought to notice the collar until it clicked shut around my neck.
It had cold metal edges that bit into my skin, and a thick metal chain hanging from the front.
The three women stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“I’m not a dog,” I said.
“Woof,” they all replied in perfect unison, as though I’d made a hilarious joke.
I hated these women. I hated everyone in this place. I started compiling a mental list. Top of the list were Percy and Lola. They’d been the first to strip away my autonomy, and the first to drug me.
The first of three occasions. How stupid did someone have to be to let themselves get drugged three separate times?
I continued the list. Zane and Zeke, obviously.
Harlan and Marcus.
The Duchess.
Drug den man, whatever the hell his name had been.
The list kept growing. In fact, there were only two people I didn’t automatically add: Donovan and Nico.
Donovan was easy. He’d given me somewhere to stay. Food. A bed. Clothes. And he’d asked for nothing. He’d only balked when he’d seen the tattoo, clearly concerned what might happen to him if Nico got hold of him.
Which brought me to Nico.
Should he be on the list? He didn’t exactly fit into the category of wanting nothing from me. He’d wanted to fuck me, and he had—twice under false pretenses, and then again while fully aware I’d be incapable of refusing. I refused to think about the morning after and how quickly I’d folded.
None of these things were the action of a good man.
What if he was the worst of all, and everyone else was just a minor cog in a much larger machine? Nico worked for the Hart family. He had power. And all I had was his word that he’d been protecting me. He could have been lying through his teeth. The whole thing made my head ache.
The door opened again to admit two men dressed in black. One of them looked me over critically. “He’ll do.”
While the brunette unfastened my wrist cuff, the redhead handed the end of the chain attached to the collar to the closest man.
He wrapped the chain around his wrist and tugged.
I planted my feet.
He pulled harder, muscles straining.
I gritted my teeth and held my ground despite the collar biting painfully into my neck.
The second man pulled something small, black, and rectangular out of his pocket. A remote. He smiled before pressing the button, my confusion melting away as every pain receptor in my body ignited with a white fire that had me dropping to my knees and wanting to throw up.
Electric collar. They’d put a goddamn electric collar on me.
I wasn’t a dog.
Dogs got treated better.
I was something lower.
“Don’t ruin his makeup,” the blonde complained. She crouched beside me and dabbed away the string of drool hanging from my mouth before patting my lips dry.
“Are you going to cooperate?” the man with the remote asked.
He turned it around so I could see the dial.
“Or do we need to give you a bit more juice?” He tapped the side of it.
“See this. We’ve got it set on low power.
” He gave the dial a quarter turn to take it halfway.
“Want to find out what this setting feels like?”
“Or…” the other man said, giving the chain an impatient tug, “we can stop fucking around and get you on stage without disrupting the schedule.”
Stage.
Schedule.
Auction.
The words looped in my head as I struggled to my feet.
This time, when he pulled on the chain, I capitulated.
Anything to avoid the agony again. He led me down yet another corridor—Wonderland had entirely too many corridors—while the man with the remote brought up the rear, close enough to intervene if I stepped out of line.
A voice drifted toward us. “Come on, ladies and gentlemen. I know you can do better than that. She’s young.
Think of how many years of use you can get out of her.
Surely, you can do better than five hundred.
Do I hear six hundred? Five-fifty? Okay, I can work with that.
Six hundred. We got there eventually. Maybe don’t make me twist your arm next time. ”
A pause.
“Sold for six hundred.”
Remote-control man shoved me to my knees when we reached the wings of the stage. I glared at him with as much hatred as I could muster.
He laughed. “Yeah, keep doing that. They’ll love it.”
I turned toward the stage. A young man stood under the lights, his outfit identical to mine. His makeup gave me a horrible sense of what I must look like. He didn’t look any older than nineteen. The way he stood didn’t help. Shoulders drawn in. Head lowered. Tears streaming unchecked down his face.
The auctioneer—a thin blond man in a red velvet suit who didn’t look that old himself—kept one hand on his shoulder, using it to turn him back to face the audience whenever he tried to hide.
“Prime meat,” the auctioneer announced brightly.
My stomach twisted.
“Barely used.”
The casualness of it was the worst part. Like he was selling a car. Watching the bidding would have been bad enough on its own. Knowing I was next, and that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, made it ten times worse.
There was knowing Wonderland wasn’t a good place, and then there was this. People being sold like livestock. How did this happen in the twenty-first century?
The man sold for a thousand coins. I had no idea what that translated to in real money.
Maybe it was a fortune. Maybe it was a pittance.
I guess it didn’t really matter when the result was the same.
He was still crying when they led him offstage to whatever fate awaited him.
I wished there were something I could do to help him, but I wasn’t in any better position than he was.
Then it was my turn.
The chain jerked. I stumbled forward, one man shoving me out beneath the lights. They were painfully bright. So bright it took my eyes several seconds to adjust. From the wings, I’d only heard the indistinct murmur of voices beneath the auctioneer’s endless patter. Now I could finally see them.
A sea of faces. Men and women.
They sat at round tables with drinks in front of them, acting as if they attended a glamorous awards ceremony instead of… this.
A whistle cut through the room.
Then another.
Someone called something that I couldn’t make out.
Laughter followed.
I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I’d wanted to be somewhere less.