Chapter Twenty-three
“And last but not least,” the auctioneer said, “we have something special for our last lot of the evening.” He flashed the audience a smile. “I know some of you have been saving your money, so let me assure you there’s no point saving it beyond this point.”
He gave my chain a theatrical tug. “I’m not yanking your chain”—another exaggerated pull that I didn’t find remotely amusing—“this really is the last lot of the evening.”
Titters of laughter drifted through the audience, one woman fanning herself.
“So let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?” he said cheerily.
“Six feet of muscle.” He leaned toward the audience and winked.
“But not too much.” A shove in the back provided a silent instruction to turn.
I took the hint and turned. Not because he wanted me to, but because it meant presenting my back to the audience instead of having to look at them.
“Nice arse,” he announced. “Meaty. Very fuckable.”
“What about his cock?” a female voice called out. “I don’t have the equipment to fuck him.”
“You should get it,” another woman shouted. “Nothing beats a good pegging session.”
That got an even bigger laugh. What kind of sick, twisted people were they?
The auctioneer smirked. “They assured me that his cock is plenty big.”
“Show us!” A man’s voice this time.
Others immediately joined in.
“Yeah.”
“Show us.”
The auctioneer tutted disapprovingly. “Now, now. You know that’s not how this works. Only the lucky buyer gets to see his cock.” His gaze swept the room. “If you want to see, you’ll need to put your money where your mouth is.”
He turned me back toward the audience. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and applied pressure. The message to kneel was crystal clear. The problem was that I very much didn’t want to.
He pushed harder.
I stayed upright.
He leaned in until his lips hovered an inch from my ear. “Want me to give the order for a little zap?”
Rebellion and common sense fought briefly.
I really wanted to tell him to go fuck himself.
But it would be pointless when the result would be the same.
Either I knelt now, or however many volts they pumped through the collar would force me down anyway.
Possibly with the bonus of me vomiting in front of an audience, if the previous demonstration had been anything to go by.
I knelt.
The auctioneer smiled. “Good boy.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered.
Ignoring me, he turned back to the crowd. “I was going to start the bidding at four hundred, but as you can see this one’s spirited.” His fingers drifted through my hair, and I instinctively jerked my head away.
He smiled wider. “A rare gem waiting to be broken.”
Broken. I really didn’t like the sound of that.
“So for that reason, I’m going to start the bidding at six hundred.” He swept his gaze over the audience. “Do I hear six hundred?”
A man with a predatory gleam in his eye lifted a paddle. “Here.”
“Six-fifty,” a woman called.
“Seven hundred.”
The numbers climbed quickly after that in increments of fifty until it reached twelve hundred. Only then did the pace begin to slow with people dropping out.
Every time bidding stalled completely, the auctioneer found some new way to provoke me.
A hand in my hair.
A grip on my chin.
Commentary about my body.
Eventually, I wised up to the game and refused to react whatever he did. By the time the bidding reached fifteen hundred, only three people remained. Two men and one woman.
I studied them and tried to decide if I had a preference.
The woman looked to be over sixty, most of her hair gray.
Did that make her safer? Maybe she wanted someone to do the housework.
Something in her expression told me that absolutely wasn’t the case, that she had other plans for me.
I just didn’t know what those plans were.
The two men were younger: late thirties to early forties. Neither gave much away. One of them bid with barely perceptible lifts of his paddle. The other only nodded. All three seemed equally determined to win.
Meanwhile, I kept scanning the crowd.
Looking for dark hair and blue eyes.
Searching for Nico.
Every time I came up empty.
Eighteen hundred. The pace slowed again.
One man hesitated, as though trying to decide whether I was worth continuing for.
The auctioneer slid a hand over my chest and pinched a nipple. I gritted my teeth and stayed still. Frowning, he gestured toward the wings of the stage, and I barely had time to brace myself before the collar sent another burst of electricity tearing through me.
For at least a minute, I was completely useless. All I could do was slump forward, ride out the pain, and try to remember how breathing worked.
When I finally regained my voice, I had little control over the words that came tumbling out. “You motherfucking bastard. You’re all fucking twisted. Every single one of you. When I get out of this collar, I’m going to find you. I’m going to slit your throat and piss in the wound. How about that?”
The bidding resumed. The man who’d looked ready to drop out showed a renewed interest, which had presumably been the point. And I’d played right into their hands. Again.
Just as I started to accept that maybe this was my life now, something caught my eye at the back of the room. I almost missed him, tucked away in the shadows.
But no.
A tall, dark-haired man in an expensive suit stood there watching.
Nico.