Page 1 of Skin Trade

Chapter One

She was third in line … third. It was preposterous, and it bothered her, even though it shouldn't have. But it was like not being good enough to be first, or not being grand enough to be last. Last was the best of all spot … the finale. The moment after the performer has gone off stage and the lights haven't come back on yet, but the crowd waits with hushed breaths and the whisper of 'more' on their lips.

A young girl sat on the only stool they had. She was easily the youngest in the room -- couldn't have been over the age of twenty, perhaps not even a day over the age of sixteen. Rather than feel sorry for her, Payton found herself envying the girl, being annoyed at her. She had acne marks across her cheeks, and her eyes sunk into her face. She might have been attractive once, but now she was used up. She wore only a small pink dirty thong and her ribs stuck out too much making the skin over them sink into the gaps between each bone. Her tits were so small; even as she sat with her arms pushing them together to give them more of a life, they didn't cover the chain hanging from her collar and resting between them.

Worse still the girl was last … how was she last? Was this all the rage now? Was that the thing? A half-starved, already drained waif who would likely be dead in the next year? Was she the prize picking?

Even her nipples looked like they’d been placed. They were like the little puffy balls found in children’s craft boxes, stuck on with cheap glue. Payton couldn’t help herself. As soon as the thought entered her head, she imagined little stick on eyes and laughed.

“You think this is funny?” an older woman said. There were six of them in the room. There had been eight to auction, but two had already gone through and not come back. “You think it is funny to laugh at us in here? I bet you’re one of those rich daddy’s girls. The kind who flashes daddy’s friends her cunt, so they treat her to cocktails and parties. Do you think daddy is going to save you? That he will come here with his cheque book and everything will be fine?”

Payton said nothing to the woman. What could she say? She was half right … right about the daddy’s girl part. At least she had thought she was. She was under no illusion he was going to save her, though. Maybe a year or two ago she might have believed that. But not now. Whatever had happened to her father had prevented him from coming to get her. Whatever it was, must have prevented him from doing a lot, because he would never have left her to this place.

The older woman wore a red thong, and she did have breasts big enough to accommodate the chain. They were full and perky and would probably feel like rocks under her hands. She wore red lipstick too … a blood kiss in the middle of her pale face. It somehow aged her. If she’d worn something less garish, she might have been attractive.

The lock in the cast iron gate clunked with an echo that went around the room and bounced off every wall. The man at the entrance was big, burly. He had broad shoulders and a head plonked in the middle giving the illusion of no neck. His left arm bore a faded tattoo, and on his hands, he had the words' love' and 'hate'.

“You’re up,” he said to Payton. “Move it.”

She thought of giving the other woman the finger or something, perhaps even wave her goodbye, but instead, she picked up her chain and went through the way the man told her. The chain was big and bulky, and a good two metres longer than it needed to be. It balanced awkwardly as she tried to avoid it touching her skin, but it swung between her breasts. It had been around her neck for so long, her skin bore a red mark, bordering on a bruise. It made her skin tender. Like the others, she wore a thong, but hers was ice blue, the colour of a frozen lake on a sunny winter’s morning. At least she’d been able to choose that herself.

“Drop your chain into the bowl,” the auctioneer said to her when she stepped onto the stage in the centre of the room. He was a slender man, old, easily mistaken for a loving grandad and not someone running blood auctions in the middle of vampire heaven. She did as she was told, dropping the heavy chain into the bowl. It clunked down beside her.

Over ten men were sitting around, waiting to see what was being offered. Three of them had women with them, and one had a young man. They could all see her. The stage rotated slowly, turning her like cattle at a market, but then she supposed that was what this was — the Blood Trade auctions.

“Twenty-three years old,” the man said, as he began to read her particulars from his tablet. “Offered today by Creven Dubois.”

She snorted at the mention of her previous master’s name, but no one noticed. They were already immersed in reading about her bio like a shopping list of things they could check off and see if she hit their dietary requirements. She hoped they bloody choked on it.

One man sat forward in his seat, a young-looking man with dark hair, dark blue eyes and a glint of something different about him. He rested his elbow on his knee and leant his chin onto his thumb and curled his finger just under his mouth. His mouth was slightly open, and the tips of his fangs poked out. His gaze met hers, dark, liquid eyes. They made her want to look away. But she didn't, and neither did he.

“What is the starting price?” he asked.

The auctioneer swiped through pages. “Bidding starts at one hundred thousand.”

The man nodded. “Start at two million.” He didn’t look at her the same way the others did. They had their eyes on her breasts, her hips, the secret passage between her thighs, but not him. No. He stared at her, intent eyes locked on hers … on her face, her expression, her soul.

She would not be intimidated by him. No matter who he was.

“2.8,” someone else said from behind her.

“3,” he added.

“3.5.”

“4.”

“4.5.”

“5.”

“6.”

He got up, and she thought he was going to stop, perhaps leave, but he moved to the edge of the stage, jaw set, eyes fixated on her … all of her. Her skin heated under the way he looked at her like he could touch her just from there. "Ten million," he said. "In cash."

The only sound in the room was Payton’s heart racing. Perhaps it stopped, and maybe she was dead. There were worse places she could die. Worse places she could be.

“Done,” the auctioneer said, and everything else in the room faded away.

---