Chapter 2 #4
Guards escort the girl off the stage into a holding area.
It’s small, and those purchased for the night are kept separate from one another.
It’s a toss-up whether each girl will be bought.
Frankly, it depends on who is here for the evening versus who’s vacationing on their private yachts or flying around the world in their jets.
“Damn it!” Kenji slams his phone down on the table.
“Were you bidding? I didn’t think you did.” Wilson turns, eyes shooting between Kenji’s annoyed expression and the facedown phone.
Kenji shrugs, and after Wilson turns away, I puff out my cheeks and make a slingshot with my hands. He rolls his eyes and slumps farther down into his seat.
“Bidding three-fifty-two beginning at ten thousand. Do I have ten thousand dollars?” The number is familiar to me, so I look up.
It’s Juliette.
She stares, forlorn, directly at me. She’s not even hiding it—which goes against everything I told her.
Wilson glances between the two of us. His jaw is tight, lips pressed into an ugly, flat line, as if he’s trying to hide the flicker of something bitter in his gaze. He stares at me while he raises a hand. “Thirty thousand.”
Kenji kicks me under the table and covers up a snort with a cough, which is always creepy with the giant dragon wrapped around his neck.
Someone at another table bids, and Wilson’s hand shoots up again right after.
Juliette’s eyes grow wide and glassy as Wilson drives the bid up to fifty thousand. They dart between me and the three men bidding while her bottom lip trembles and worry creases her brow. She’s pleading with me.
It gets to the point where I have to turn away, so I stand, shoving my hands into my pockets and making my way to the bar. It takes a quick snap of my fingers, and the bartender gives me another glass of amber liquid. I sip it, watching the final bid for Juliette push over sixty thousand.
When “Sold!” is called out, Wilson sits taller. The predatory sneer in his expression changes to a low smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth, pleased with himself. He seeks me out, and I offer a nod over the rim of my glass. Idiot.
The same men who preach morals on camera throw money at these girls in the dark. They’d all have something to lose if the lights ever came on.
Standing, he motions goodnight before he weaves through the velvet and marble, eyes trailing after a weeping Juliette being ushered off stage. He must be in a hurry to get home, to make the most of his money spent.
My stomach turns sour, and an itching revulsion crawls under my skin. The force of my pulse causes me to down the rest of my drink.
It’s not her turn.
I swallow, deciding to stay leaned against the bar instead of returning to the table. Kenji will murder me for leaving him with Senator Graves, but it’s always the same. The second I walk in here, the noise, music, laughter, cigar smoke, and drunken members all shove together.
Too many people.
Too many eyes.
I stay close to the end of the bar and pretend to scroll through my phone even though I haven’t opened a single app. Answering emails would be a better use of my time, but I don’t want to miss the girls. I can’t miss them.
“Bidding six-forty-two beginning at ten thousand. Do I have ten thousand dollars?”
Pocketing my phone, I look up at the new brown-haired girl. She’s shaking, sweat seeping through her outfit, staining the red a deeper shade.
Immediately, seven hands go up for the bid. I expected this. She’s the new prize, and for many of these men the idea is …
“Fifty thousand!”
“Fifty-five!”
“Sixty thousand!” I scan the crowd, landing on one of the younger guys. He’s only twenty-two, and the guy is a sick piece of shit. Every girl he’s won the bid on hasn’t returned.
“Sixty thousand dollars. Do I have sixty-five?”
“Sixty-five!”
I roll my eyes. This is going to cost me. Although I’ve never seen a new girl go for over one hundred thousand.
“Seventy. What do you say? How about seventy thousand?”
The three left bidding look at each other, giggling like schoolgirls picking out their ice cream flavors.
I raise my hand, flashing an open palm.
The EV member acknowledges me, accustomed to my gestured bids. “Seventy thousand from the back. Do I have seventy and a half?”
All three men strain to look behind them, but I ignore them in favor of the man counting down until he announces, “Sold!”
The girl lets out a strangled sob while she’s led off stage.
The rest of the room resume their conversations, cigars, and drinks while they wait for the next woman.
I drain what’s left in my glass and force my face blank.
It’s over for the time being. Or perhaps the relief settling over me isn’t comfort, but corrosion. I’m too used to this.
“Your grandfather is missing out this week.” Senator Graves bulldozes over the tufted leather barstool in front of me.
Kenji rolls his eyes behind him, hands tucked in his pockets, while the bartender hurries to place a drink in front of one of the Eight before he complains. “I’m going to see if Knox will let me play with his comms. Let me know if you need me, Slade.”
I nod, and he strides off.
Senator Graves studies me. Dump the words sleazy and sinister into a box, shake it up, then dump it out—you’ve got Senator Graves. I’ve made it a point in the years I’ve known him not to be alone with him, so I finish my drink and set the glass on the bar.
Then I walk away.