CHAPTER FIVE
Days had gone by since the last auction, and yet the aftermath clung to the walls like death—faint, lingering, impossible to fully scrub from the air.
The compound suffocated with heat and cruelty. Even the vents hummed like they were trying to choke back screams.
Every hallway felt like it was holding its breath, coiled tight with anticipation. The auction was scheduled for tomorrow night, and I felt the hunger leak from the walls, from the staff who walked past me like I didn’t exist—guards, handlers, and clients with polished shoes and dead eyes.
I hadn’t seen Montgomery since he brought me back to the compound. Hadn’t heard his voice. Not even a shadow of it behind a door. And I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
Mr. Hirsh kept me close.
Since that night, I hadn’t left his chambers. Not once.
There was a routine now. If you could call it that.
Morning silence was broken only by the sound of his boots across the marble. Cold water for a shower. A plain dress laid out on a chair. His voice, low and even, asked questions I didn’t dare answer wrong.
“How does obedience feel now, my puppet?”
Sometimes he’d make me sit beside him while he read reports or reviewed footage of the compound. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to. I wasn’t allowed to look him in the eyes unless he asked me to.
He didn’t touch me often.
But when he did—it was never cruel. Never kind.
Just controlled.
Designed.
Calculated.
I felt it in every glance he let linger, every subtle correction of my posture, every forced “thank you” for things I never chose.
It was a different kind of cage.
One you couldn’t see until it had already closed around your throat.
I'd been brought here over five months ago and never touched—not the way the others were. I wasn’t stripped down and paraded in front of guests, wasn’t catalogued with a price. Not until now.
My name had appeared on tomorrow’s auction list without explanation. And the entire compound felt off-balance because of it.
Mr. Hirsh said nothing when he summoned me that night, but his silence was a louder storm than anything any of the other girls would have screamed.
His chambers were darker than usual when I entered. No fire. No music. Just the low hum of the overhead vent and the distant thunder of rain beginning to fall outside.
He stood with his back to me, one hand braced on the edge of the glass bar cart. There was no drink in his other hand.
That was the first warning.
He turned. Slowly. And I saw it.
The mask of composure was still there—but beneath it, a hairline fracture spiderwebbed outward. Rage held in restraint.
“I kept you out of it,” he said. “I made sure you were never on those lists. That you wouldn’t have to stand beneath those lights like cattle.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you—”
“And yet someone changed the list. And someone has now ensured that you—my most prized possession—are going to be auctioned off like the rest.”
I flinched. Not at the anger.
At the word: possession.
He closed the distance between us in two precise steps, but didn’t touch me. His hand hovered near my jaw, but it never made contact.
“Do you know what they’ll do to you?” he asked softly. “The clients?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
We both knew.
His hand dropped.
He turned away, pacing. Just once.
“This wasn’t part of any plan I was informed of,” he muttered. And for the first time, I saw it—doubt. Not weakness. Something worse. A loss of control. And he hated it.
Finally, he stopped and looked at me again. His eyes were sharp enough to slice flesh.
“I will fix it,” he said.
“But if I can’t—” he stepped closer, slower this time, more deliberate “—you’ll walk that stage tomorrow night. And when you do, you will show them everything you have been taught.”
His voice dropped low, conspiratorial. Dangerous.
“Do you understand me, Starling? You will walk like you belong to someone.”
I swallowed. “You?”
A quiver of something passed over his face. Not quite approval. Not quite pride.
Something darker.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
He studied me for a long, breathless second then finally stepped away.
“You have one hour. Then I want you back here.”
He turned his back again, dismissing me like a king in a crumbling court.
And just before I crossed the threshold, his voice stopped me.
“Starling.”
I froze.
“If anyone touches you before tomorrow… anyone lays a finger on you…without my permission…” He paused. “I’ll burn this whole place down. You belong to me.”
*****
I sat on a cold bench near the back loading area of the warehouse, my wrists ached from where the handler grabbed me earlier. The bruises were faint, but I felt them. Reminders. Or warnings. Or maybe just proof I still had a body. Sometimes I wasn’t sure.
My thoughts felt thick. Fogged. Like someone had dipped my mind in syrup and left it there to drown.
I couldn’t remember the last time I truly slept.
The side door slammed open with a crack like a whip, tearing through the silence. I didn’t have to turn to know who was coming.
Tomas.
Each heavy step echoed in my chest like a death knell. His gold rings caught the flickering light, glinting like warning signals. The stench of cheap whiskey and bad breath hit me first—thick and suffocating, crawling down my throat like poison.
He smiled—a cruel, wide smile that split his face and made my skin crawl.
“There she is,” he said, voice low and dangerous, like I was a prize he was savoring. “My favorite little jewel.”
I froze, everything inside me shutting down. I stopped breathing all at once, trying to disappear into nothing.
But my body betrayed me. Tomas didn’t wait for permission. He never did.
“Mr. Hirsh said no one is supposed to touch me,” I blurted out, the words breaking out of me before I could stop them. “He said—he said I’m not supposed to be handled like this.”
“He talks too much,” he said blandly, like that settled it. Like Mr. Hirsh was background noise he didn’t have to respect.
His hand closed around my arm like iron, ripping me to my feet with a sharp yank that sent shock through my limbs. My legs buckled beneath me, but he held me fast.
“I’m owed a little time before the sale,” he growled, voice thick with ownership. “A reward. After all, I have kept you in one piece for all this time.”
Someone nearby muttered something about protocol, but Tomas sneered.
“Fuck protocol.” His breath was hot and sour on my skin as he dragged me closer. “She’s not just merchandise. She’s ours. I want to see what’s hiding under that fragile dress.”
I wanted to scream. To fight. But I was hollowed out, broken beyond the point of resistance. Every time I struggled before with Tomas, it had only made things worse. His cruelty was a game, and I was the doll he tore apart for sport.
So I let my body go limp, arms dangled like dead weight. I gave him no fight, no cry, no spark to feed his hunger.
But inside, panic exploded like shrapnel. My mind raced, my heart pounded loud enough to drown out the world. I was trapped—still theirs, still exposed, waiting to be sold like an animal.
I tasted bile. My throat burned with the sharp edge of fear and shame.
We passed a guard who didn’t even glance our way. Of course he didn’t. They all looked away. They all pretended not to see.
Then I heard it.
“Hey. Hey...”
The voice was familiar, but something in the tone made the hair on my neck stand on end.
Montgomery.
He leaned casually against a polished black SUV, dressed in a black driver’s uniform with sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked like he belonged—relaxed posture, calm expression—but his eyes were too sharp. Watching everything.
Tomas stopped. “What the fuck do you want, driver?”
Montgomery walked forward, slow and deliberate. “I heard you say something about a…preview?”
The other men in ear shot stilled. I felt the weight of their attention shift.
“I’ve been driving these clients around for months,” Montgomery said. “Listening to their filthy little stories. I even heard some good things about this one from the Warden specifically,” he gestured toward me.
“The Warden, what does he even know?” Tomas sneered. “She’s not ready for riffraff like you, anyway. This one’s going to sell high.”
Montgomery grinned, and it chilled me. “You scared I’ll find out she’s already worn out? Broken in too much by Mr. Hirsh himself?”
Tomas bristled. “Watch your tongue, driver.”
The rumble of a sleek black vehicle rolling over cracked concrete echoed through the empty space.
The car came to a slow stop near the center of the warehouse, tires ground softly against the pavement.
The door swung open with a sharp click.
Mr. Hirsh stepped out, flawless in his tailored black suit. The sharp lines of his silhouette were etched against the harsh floodlights, his silver ring catching a sliver of light as he adjusted his cuff.
Montgomery shrugged and raised his voice just enough for the nearby men to hear.
“Why don’t we let Mr. Hirsh decide? I’ll just borrow her for an hour. Give him a review.”
He moved like a predator in his domain, every step measured and sure on the cold concrete. “Let him have her, Tomas, you’ve already had your turn with too many.”
Tomas turned red, jaw tight, but he didn’t argue. He shoved me forward so hard I nearly hit the ground.
Montgomery caught me. His grip was firm, his hands calloused, but there was something steady in the way he held me upright.
He didn’t look me in the eyes.
“Come on,” he said, voice rough. “Let’s go have some fun.”
“Watch out, driver, she bites, that one!” Tomas yelled after us, a sneer dripping from his words.
Montgomery didn’t react. He just moved with quiet purpose, leading me inside and down a long, dim hallway lined with cracked concrete and flickering overhead lights.
We stopped in front of one of the private offices—an unmarked steel door, heavy and cold to the touch. The moment the door shut behind us, the air shifted.
He didn’t touch me again. Not like them. Not at all.
He locked the door and turned to face me. Finally, his eyes met mine.