Chapter 2
Lincoln
She stumbles onto the stage like a newborn foal, all long limbs and glossy dark hair, blinking in the harsh spotlights illuminating
her face. Full pink lips and long lashes flutter against the olive skin of her cheeks. I can recall her striking green eyes
even if I cannot see them.
Imogen DeMotta. Daughter of Luca DeMotta and tonight’s most prized auction lot, which is why she has been saved until the
last. No sense in selling off the most sought-after goods first. How, then, would the Brotherhood retain the attention of
their most affluent customers? This isn’t the first auction of its kind. The Brotherhood hold them every other year, however
it’s only the second one I have ever attended. The first was sixteen years ago, when my cause was a new one. I no longer attend
such events, at least not in person. But I’m aware of every single one, and of every single lot that is sold.
Perhaps it’s a misguided attempt at some redemption—an effort to save my blackened soul. Not that my soul is worth saving.
Nothing has changed in sixteen years. It’s still a room packed full of men in custom-tailored suits, reeking of cigars and the finest Scotch money can buy.
Businessmen, lawyers, supreme court justices, politicians, oil barons—they come from every walk of life.
All of them linked by a common thread: They see women as a commodity to be bought and sold and have zero qualms about watching it happen.
Even if they do not have the means to buy, they still like to watch the show.
Men who, to the outside world, appear to be respectable gentlemen.
Yet within these walls—without the disapproving eyes of their wives, their colleagues, their friends, or their family upon them—those men behave like animals.
Mob mentality has always fascinated me. How individuals can be so easily swayed by the will of the crowd. Those who are attending
these events for the first time are easy to spot. They fidget uncomfortably at first, eyes shifting left and right as though
they’re naughty schoolboys fearing they’re about to be caught doing something they shouldn’t be at any moment. But after the
first few women—for it is always women—are sold, they lose their inhibitions. Enthused by the new and illicit nature of it
all, they lose sight of their sense of right and wrong and join in with the rest, often with even more vigor than their more
seasoned counterparts.
Sex is a trade as old as time, and the Brotherhood has perfected it into an art form. The biannual auctions last an entire
day and are as elaborately catered as the wedding of an oil baron and a society princess.
A whole smorgasbord of women is put on display. Some are as old as their late twenties and used, as they’re referred to in the glossy catalog that is emailed to a secure database and can only be accessed with a thirty-eight-digit
passcode. Then there are the girls as young as eighteen who have been groomed for this life from a tender age. And they are
always the most highly prized.
The crowd, full of lobster, Scotch, and champagne by this point in the proceedings, calls for Imogen to remove her dress as soon as they catch a glimpse of her.
Someone a few feet to the left of me demands to see her virgin pussy, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek, having to physically restrain myself from crushing his skull with my bare hands.
What these sick fucks—deviant little boys who like to playact at being very important men—don’t understand is that she is
mine. And I would gouge out the eyes of every single one of them before I allow them even a glimpse of what lies beneath her
dress.
But I cannot do that. Not tonight. Not as Lincoln Knight at least. Instead, I do the only thing I am able to. I wait for the
auctioneer to open bidding, and while these useless pricks are grabbing onto their dicks and imagining what it might be like
to touch her, I make my bid. “Ten million dollars.”
That sure as hell shuts them all up. The most any woman has ever sold for here is five million. And she was a Saudi princess.
I would pay ten times that for this one. In fact, there is no price I wouldn’t pay for Imogen DeMotta. I’d give every single
goddamn cent I have.
The auctioneer tries to see who made the bid, but I’m at the back, among the shadows—the place where I’m most comfortable.
I only give him a heartbeat of my attention before my focus is drawn back to her.
She blinks under the bright lights, peering out into the crowd. The same crowd who would use her up and tear her apart if
they were given half a chance, yet she stands there like a warrior goddess. I notice the slight tremble in her legs but her
glare is determined. Defiant. She knows she’s the main event. She knows that some sick fuck is about to buy her like a piece
of cattle and do who-the-fuck-knows-what to her. Yet still, she stands there, facing her demons. Facing the monsters who want
nothing but to use her and hurt her—the same men who would piss themselves with terror if they were in her shoes.
Mutters and whispers of my name ripple through the crowd.
It’s true I don’t get out much and always cause a stir when I do.
They call me a monster too. Or a freak. Absentmindedly, I trace my jaw with my fingertips, feeling only the smooth ceramic mask that covers my face. I guess they would be right.
“Any advance on ten million?” the auctioneer asks, a distinct crack in his voice. He’s probably rock-hard in his tuxedo pants
thinking about how he’s going to spend his cut. My bid just added a hundred thousand dollars to his earnings for tonight.
He’s met with silence, as I expected. Although I was prepared to up my bid if necessary. There are others in this room who
have as much money as I do, and some who would buy her simply to prove that they could. But they do not speak up. Even the
most arrogant of men know when they are outranked, and as far as predators go, I am very much at the top of that food chain.
“Sold to Mr. Knight!”
Imogen’s knees buckle, and she drops to the stage with a thud. But nobody is paying her much attention as they file out of
the ballroom. She’s no longer a source of entertainment to them now that she belongs to me.
And as far as they are concerned, I am the fiercest monster of them all.