Page 1 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

Chapter 1

Shay

The spotlight’s glare is like a physical force, pressing against my skin as I stand on the stage at the Tease and Please Auction. My pulse races, an erratic drumbeat that matches the pounding of my heart. The auctioneer, a man with a voice like molasses, is selling me off to the highest bidder like I’m some kind of prize cow.

The heat of the lights above me is suffocating, baking into my skin while the chill of the room creeps up from the floor like an invisible force pinning me in place. My palms are damp, and I press them against my thighs, trying to hide the nervous tremor in my hands. Somewhere in the crowd, muffled whispers and faint chuckles rise and fall, a background hum that makes me want to bolt.

“Shay O’Riordan, ladies and gentlemen! A vision in white satin, a jewel yet untouched,” the auctioneer calls out.

The words land heavily, and I fight the urge to shrink under their weight. I swear I can feel every eye in the room on me. He’s laying it on thick, and the mention of my virginity sends an uncomfortable ripple through the crowd.

My cheeks burn despite the icy tendrils of air-conditioning sneaking under my flimsy attire. Virginity. As if that detail alone elevates my worth. It’s humiliating, but it’s also the reason I’m here. My ticket out of a life filled with my dad’s drunken rages and my mom’s blind eye.

At least I know the bidders at this auction are tightly vetted. Background checks, wealth, and secrecy—the three pillars of this strange, humiliating ritual. But knowing that doesn’t stop my stomach from twisting into knots as the auctioneer’s voice crescendos, building the anticipation in the room.

“Let’s start the bidding!” His booming voice snaps me back to the present.

I chose this, volunteered for it, because the money’s good. Good enough to escape and maybe even start over somewhere new. If the marriage doesn’t pan out, I have a backup plan. I’ll save the money I make from my sale, invest it wisely, and keep a nest egg growing.

At least that’s the lie I keep telling myself to stay calm. The truth is murkier. Desperation doesn’t leave room for tidy plans or carefully plotted futures. It’s about survival, plain and simple.

My attire, a glamorous white negligee chosen by the auction staff, clings and shimmers, making me feel exposed and vulnerable. The material hugs every curve, and the satin catches the light, creating an illusion of elegance that doesn’t match the turmoil inside me. It’s strange how something so beautiful can feel like armor and a prison all at once.

But the nerves clawing at my stomach are more about what comes after the gavel falls than standing here quasi-naked in front of strangers.

The room is silent for a heartbeat, and in that brief moment, the doubt creeps in. What if no one bids? What if I end up walking off this stage as humiliated as I feel?

But then, it starts.

“Five thousand!” a voice bellows from the left.

“Six,” another counters from the right.

A flurry of numbers follows, and I struggle to keep track. The auctioneer rattles off bids with an enthusiasm that’s surreal and detached, like this is a game and not my life being parceled off.

But it’s not until two voices, deep and harmonious as if woven from the same cloth, dominate the bids that my attention sharpens. They’re persistent and determined. When I squint past the lights, I see them. Two men who share a striking resemblance, clearly brothers. The resemblance is striking, though one’s expression carries an edge of humor while the other’s is all business.

Something about the way they stand—shoulders squared, heads held high—sends a shiver down my spine. They don’t seem like the types to waver or back down, and as their bids escalate, I realize they’re not here to lose.

“Sold to the Sutton brothers for fifteen thousand!”

The gavel smacks down, and my fate is sealed.

The sound echoes in my ears, loud and final, like the closing of a door I can never reopen. My legs are wobbly but I hold my head high as I steady myself, the knowledge that this is my escape keeping me upright.

It’s done.

I keep repeating those words in my mind, a mantra to keep myself from spiraling. It’s done. Or so I think until they approach me, these Sutton men, their strides confident, their eyes fixed on me.

“Miss O’Riordan,” the first one says, his voice smoother than it sounded during the bidding. He offers me a hand, and I take it, noting the strength in his grip. “I’m Angus Sutton, and this is my brother, Tom.”

Tom offers a nod, his grin easier, more relaxed than his brother’s stoic demeanor. “Welcome to the family… sort of.”

I blink, unsure how to respond, and Tom chuckles, the sound warm but slightly teasing.

I look up at the two men. Good lord, they’re huge, all broad shoulders and towering height. Dark hair, strong jaws, and blue eyes set in tanned faces. There’s no doubt they’re brothers. Their voices are deep, with an attractive drawl that catches me off guard. No leering or crude jokes, only genuine, open expressions. It throws me off balance, and I forget how to respond for a second.

“Listen, I need to be upfront with you guys,” I blurt, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m not into being shared in some kind of reverse polygamy situation. I don’t need brother husbands. One man is bad enough. So, if you think that’s going to happen, you can think again.”

---