40. Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Remington
I’m escorted upstairs to a bedroom where three women in matching pale blue shift dresses and white sneakers are waiting. Their heads are bowed, hands clasped in front of them. The unsettling sight is more than a little creepy.
As soon as the door snaps closed behind the thugs, the women descend on me.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” I cry when they start trying to undress me. “Don’t touch me!”
I fight them, but they’re stronger than they look. Every trace of being meek and mild has disappeared. Realizing I won’t be able to stop them, I relent.
Without a word, they strip off my clothes, my watch, and the necklace Colton gave me. My necklace with the tracker.
Once I’m naked, they usher me into the bathroom and force me into the tub. Then I’m scrubbed head to toe by the three robotic women.
The entire time, I beg them to help me. When I realize my pleas are falling on deaf ears, I give that up. They won’t help me. They’re too brainwashed, too drugged, or too scared. Maybe all three.
They dry my hair, then dress me in black lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and an expensive necklace of diamonds and bright green emeralds.
Without a word, the women move toward the door, carrying my clothes and my tracker. When I try to follow them, two armed men standing guard in the hallway stop me and lock me inside.
I search the room for a weapon. A pen. A letter opener.
A fork. Anything. But they were careful to make sure there’s nothing here that can realistically be used to defend myself.
I’m sure I’m not the first to search this room for a weapon or an escape route.
All the lighting is recessed, which means there are no lamps I can swing at someone’s head and no electrical cords to strangle someone with.
There isn’t even a window to break and jump out of.
There’s nothing but a couch, an oversized chair, and a king-sized bed flanked by two nightstands full of condoms and various sex toys, which won’t help me. I can’t do any damage smacking someone in the face with a dildo.
Think, RJ.
I need to get out of here and find a decent hiding place until Colton comes for me. And I know he’s coming for me. It’s the only thing I’m sure of.
A couple of hours have passed and I still haven’t figured out a solution. I’m pacing like a caged animal when the door opens.
My heart begins to race.
Wearing nothing but the emerald and diamond necklace and risqué lingerie, I’m escorted downstairs and into a ballroom. That’s when I become fully aware of what’s happening. I’m going to be auctioned off.
I want to escape, but I’m flanked by two men, each with a secure grip on my upper arms as they steer me through the room.
People dressed to the nines watch me with sick anticipation. They sit at white cloth-covered tables, complete with small floral centerpieces and expensive china. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was at a wedding reception. It occurs to me that this is the side Danny never saw.
Except for the brightly lit stage at the front of the room, the lighting is low and intimate. But it’s the man in the elegant suit who steps onto that stage that captures all my attention. The monster who held me hostage and had me tortured is waiting for me.
The sight of him sends a chill down my spine and makes me rear back. It suddenly feels like I’ve got ice water flowing through my veins. My heart begins pounding at an unhealthy pace, and I have trouble catching my breath.
Once we reach the front of the room, my escorts lift me off my feet onto the stage. The man in the suit grasps my arm in a firm, unyielding grip.
This isn’t happening.
The stage is cold beneath my stocking-covered feet. The bright lights are blinding, making me squint. The audience disappears into darkness, but I can still hear them. Low murmurs, a cough, the rustle of clothes, and the sounds of glasses and silverware tinkling.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man in the suit cheerfully announces in a clear, strong voice. “Allow me to introduce our final piece of merchandise, and tonight’s guest of honor, Ms. Remington James.”
Merchandise. That’s all I am to these depraved people.
“Fifty thousand,” a man calls out from the darkness.
Still gripping my bicep, the man in the suit runs a strand of my hair through his fingers. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“One hundred thousand!”
He watches his fingers drag along my bare arm from my elbow to my shoulder. “Her skin is as soft as velvet.”
“One fifty!”
I try to pull away from him.
His grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, but like every other time I’ve been in his presence, he shows no outward sign of annoyance.
It does, however, lead him to tell his customers, “Ms. James is quite spirited.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I hiss, trying harder to jerk out of his grasp. The crowd chuckles, and I realize I’ve proven his point.
“One seventy-five!” a woman shouts.
I feel sick.
I want to scream. To run. But I’m trapped…there’s nowhere to go.
What the hell is taking Colton so long?