Chapter 3
Lincoln
The rage is indescribable, burning through every vein and sinew of my body. It takes me seconds to reach the stage, and less
time to have my hand around this pathetic fuck’s throat—my fingers clamped in a bruising grip, obscuring his snake tattoo.
“What part of ‘deliver her to my car’ do you think gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what
is mine?” I snarl, certain that the sight of his filthy hands on her delicate skin will haunt me for eternity.
I squeeze his throat tighter, until his eyes bulge in their sockets and he claws at my arm in a plea for release. Imogen remains
on the floor, staring up at me like she doesn’t know who to be more afraid of—the animal who just grabbed her like she was
a racoon stealing trash, or me. I shake him. “Answer me!”
“Mr. Knight, sir,” a soothing voice is at my ear. I recognize him as Faraday Barnes—one of the organizers of tonight’s event.
A snake with a smooth tongue, employed by the Brotherhood to be the face of such proceedings, so that they can continue to hide within the shadows like the cowards they truly are. “He can’t answer
you with your hand around his throat like that.”
I loosen my grip just a little, enough for him to croak out a pathetic apology.
I should force him to his knees and make him apologize to her, but there’s a danger that my demand would reveal too much of why I’m really here tonight.
They have always believed of me only what I want them to believe, and that is that I’m as sick and twisted as the rest of them.
If they suspected my true motives, or who she is to me .
. . the consequences would be too dangerous for both of us.
I shove the disgusting little prick away from me and wipe my hands on Faraday’s jacket, desperate to remove the stench of
him from my skin.
“My apologies, sir, when you requested she be delivered to your car, Alec here assumed . . .” He clears his throat and dips
his head a little. “It was not intended to cause any offense.”
I roll my neck and pretend that his act of deference has appeased me. It has not. “Do not touch my property again.”
“Of course, sir. Would you like one of my men to escort her to your vehicle while you pay your tab?”
I glance down at her and she’s still staring up at me, vivid green eyes filled with both fear and determination. I wear my
mask in public, but no doubt she would also be staring at me with horror if she could see what lies beneath it. No, I do not
want any of his men to escort her. I want none of their lecherous eyes on her. I want there to be no chance of them speaking
to her, and allowing their vile words to wash over her skin. The truth is I don’t want her out of my sight for a second longer.
Not until we’re away from here and in a place where another soul will never lay eyes on her ever again. “She may accompany
me while I make the payment.”
Faraday blinks twice, but quickly schools his face to neutral. It is unheard of to allow the goods to remain in this area once they are purchased, but I am no ordinary buyer. He gives a curt nod, displeased but too much
of a shrewd businessman to refuse me. “Of course, sir.”
I’m tempted to hold out my hand to Imogen, if only to see if she would take it. But I haven’t felt the touch of another woman for so very long, to feel her skin on mine may be enough for this facade I so delicately crafted to crumble into ash. Instead I simply look her in the eyes. “Stand.”
She smooths down her dress and sets her jaw in grim determination. And then she stands, all elegance and poise, her gaze still
locked on mine.
“Continue to do as you’re told and we will be out of here in but a few moments. Understand me?”
She nods.
“Then come this way, Lot 51.”
I don’t miss the way that title makes her bristle, as it’s designed to do. The Brotherhood aren’t the first to use numbers
to dehumanize their prisoners. But I would not chance calling her by her name in front of these men and risk that the sound
from my lips would be an echo of a name I have spoken many times before. In a past life.
Obediently, she follows me to the small office where payments are taken, where a dozen other buyers are paying for the souls
they just stole. Rage still simmers deep in my veins and I snarl at anyone who even glances at her. They mutter about how
much I paid for her, but wisely, they look away. And all the while she quietly stands among us, her head bent low and her
eyes on the floor.
An angel among demons.