Page 13 of Broken

“Everything alright, mate?” I ask with a supportive smile to show him I actually care about the answer. The thing with Grant is that he has never been raised with anyone who actually cares for him. So the only time these sort of questions are asked is by work associates who have absolutely no interest at all in the answer. Since I met him, I have been trying to show him I can be trusted and that I genuinely care about him, like a friend would. I have spent the past few months working on it, and since he let me move into the house about two months ago it has been working. I mean, we are like chalk and cheese, and the majority of the time I am putting on an act, but it’s starting to work. The more I have gotten to know Grant and have seen how seriously deprived of any kind of love or affection he has been for most of his life, I actually feel an overwhelming sadness for him.

“Why does he do that, everytime? It’s like he doesn’t give a shit about who I am or that I’m here. He’s only interested in you. He even calls you fucking son!” He’s seething. His voice is both angry and only a whisper because he knows better than to cause a scene in front of his father's associates.

I remember one time when I’d only been working with Grant about a month and he was so unpredictable, basically a mess. He started on a waiter who served the woman he was with before him. Etiquette says it is always the most important man who should be served first, which was his father. Then his key associates, followed by their women and then everyone else. The waiter had presented the food to Grant’s date before him, on instructions from the old man. I think it was a way to test him and, boy, did he fail. Grant was punished for bringing shame and humiliation to his family name at a public event. I was made to stand by and watch as Alan rained blow after blow down on Grant’s body, sometimes even using his belt. I was also casually informed that this was a warning for me too. I was employed to control Grant and I had to get my ass in gear. That's when I started the friend approach, but it was obvious that the beating I witnessed was not the first. Grant had built some very large walls that I needed to get through.

“Grant, mate, you know he does it to wind you up. This is his way of testing you. He’s trying to make sure you have learnt how to behave. That’s exactly why we need to go into that room together and you have to be in control of yourself the whole night. No kicking off or doing something your father wouldn’t approve of. Just watch and learn how the business, that you will one day soon be running, operates. The more information we gather, the more we have to give to Eli and you know that is essential. Your father is a tough man and he is making sure you can follow his instructions. So can you? Can you go in there, sit down, behave, and just watch and learn?” I ask and I can see his face relax as he identifies with what I have said. He knows that this is the type of tactic his father would normally use.

“Fuck, of course, you are right. I can do this. Let's go and see what lesson number one is about. With the mood I’m in right now, I really hope it’s not fucking guns. The temptation to use one would be great,” he says with a light chuckle.

We walk into the warehouse and I'm shocked to find that the inside looks nothing at all like an industrial building. It has been sectioned off with walls to create different rooms and the main one we are standing in at the moment is decorated as though it is an elaborate gentlemen’s club. I am suddenly wishing I had worn a tie with my shirt. The walls are draped with velvet curtains and the floor is an ornate hardwood floor. Over to the side is a large mahogany bar that appears to be fully stocked. Dotted around the room, there are large circular tables surrounded by plush velvet seats. On each of the tables is a small lamp and they are providing the majority of the light for the dimly lit room. The tables are all filled with men who are dressed in expensive or extravagant suits, and they all have a drink in their hand. There are a couple of waiters dressed in pressed black dress pants and a white jacket, but I can only see two and the barman. They appear to be moving with not only great speed but efficiency also. I guess the more people the boss hires to work the bar, the more people who are exposed to his business. It is the barman who stops what he is doing and escorts the old man, Grant, Bullet, and myself over to the empty table at the very front that was reserved for us. It appears that we are the last to arrive. Directly in front of us is a large stage with spotlights shining down onto it. It doesn’t take a genius to add together a room full of males and a stage, it’s obvious today’s lesson is girls.

Before I have a chance to say anything to Grant, as it's always best to warn him, even though I’m sure he’s worked it out for himself, the lights in the room dim and a short man with a large round belly and a bald head waddles onto the stage. He’s holding a microphone in his hand and introduces us to this month's auction. He explains that the boss will always be given the first pick of any girl that he wants to keep and if he declines then the auction begins. I can feel the bile begin to rise at the situation that I’m taking part in. When I signed up for this job, I knew that the old man had a female trafficking ring running and that I would most likely have to take part in it if I wanted to learn the business. But knowing that they are auctioned off to these disgusting rich men like they are slaves affects me in an awful way. Actually seeing it in the flesh is something so much worse, you can’t even begin to create it in your imagination. My nausea worsens when ten young girls walk out onto the stage.

The girls have obviously been made up by a specialist because their hair is washed, styled, and set perfectly. They have make-up splashed across their faces and their nails are just as false as the smiles they are being made to present. They are all wearing stiletto heels and various different styles of sexy lingerie. I’m sure all the men surrounding me in this room think they look like beautiful women desperate for sex and ready for buying, but I can see the truth. They all have a look of sheer terror in their eyes. Their faces, below the make-up, look gaunt and if the colour of their body is any indication, they are also very pale. Their bodies may look sexy to these perverts, but to me, I can see their ribs protruding, and they don't have any meat on their bones the way they should. These girls have probably been kept in captivity with very little food and drink for a long time to get their bodies to look like this. No matter how mature the make-up makes them look, some of these are young girls. If I had to guess, I would say there were a couple around the fourteen to sixteen year old mark. The knowledge in itself not only makes me sick but it also makes me angry. I hate the idea that these perverted men are going to buy these scared little girls and use them most likely as sex slaves. This is no life for these broken young girls. That's when I realised that this is the life that they agreed to and so did I. I wanted to learn the Blakeman family business and this is it, so I better shut up and do my job because now I have learnt the first of the three trades, I know too much to ever get out of this job alive.

The auction begins when one of the older girls, I would guess around nineteen or twenty years old, steps forward into the spotlight. She has long red hair and the same makeup and smile that all the other girls are wearing. They have obviously been trained very well. She is wearing a padded jade green bra and matching panty set that very much compliments her hair colour. I can tell straight away that the bra must be padded because she barely has an ounce of meat on her bones, she has no real female curves and so there is no way she has what looks like a good handful of tits. The fat compere announces her as Leyla and she is made to twirl and bend to give the men behind a good view of the produce. Once she is back facing us, I can see the flush in her cheeks, clearly embarrassed about the fact she had to present her ass to this large group of men. First, the compere looks over at Alan and when he shakes his head to indicate that he doesn’t want her, the bidding begins. She is clearly very popular and sells for sixty thousand pounds. She’s then escorted off the stage and taken to a room in the back. Alan informs me that all of the winners collect their prizes at the end, only after they have paid. I turn to face the man who won the auction and see that he has Mr Timpson, or Timmy, as everyone calls him standing beside him taking down some details. Timmy is the Blakeman family accountant and the person who is responsible for making all the money earnt tonight look legal.

I am still looking over at Timmy, trying to work out how he gets the money and what he does with it when I hear the next auction begin. I’m pulled back to the attention in the room when I feel Grant, who is sitting at my side, sit up straight and a small groan leaves his lips. I look up onto the stage and there is a small girl with white blonde hair cut just level with her shoulders. Her pale skin and ruby red lips made her seem almost ghostly. Although she is clearly as emaciated as the other girls, she has still managed to keep some of her curves, probably natural. She has a plump ass and decent sized breasts that are made to stand out even more by the red lace bra and thong set that she is wearing. It’s very clear she is beautiful, and when, or should I say if, she is healthy and cared for she will look even more stunning, but she looks young. The announcer puts her at eighteen, which is not much younger than us, but her short height has her looking so much smaller. It’s obvious Grant is attracted to this girl because, not only has he sat bolt upright to pay attention, he’s also casually adjusting his trousers, clearly turned on. Then the announcer makes things even worse by announcing that the girl, Katyia, is in fact a virgin. I hear the small groan he releases and within seconds he is leaning over me to plead with his father to keep her for him. I could see the genuine desire and want in Grant’s eyes, but Alan just waves him off, dismissing him like he should never have even spoken. He signals to the compere to commence the auction and that is when all Hell breaks out.

The bidding gets up to one hundred thousand pounds and I can see that Grant almost has steam shooting out of his ears. He’s biting his lip and a little drop of blood appears on his lip. I see him look over at the current highest bidder, the same guy who has been consistently bidding from the beginning. He looks to be only a couple of years older than us and when the light hits his face, I realise he’s famous in our world. He runs a local thug gang and has a thing for destroying young virgins before putting them to work in his brothel. Grant must see who the bidder is too and I see him look around the room with a pained expression. I know that he wants Katyia, but he also knows his father has forbidden him from speaking at this event. If he speaks up for her, he risks a severe punishment and so do I. At the same time, we both look up to Katyia and see the fear in her eyes, she appears to be trembling. Grant looks over at me, knowing that our fates are both intermingled and thinking that we have this new comradery, he is asking for my permission to go against his father, to risk everything for this girl. Normally, I would disagree and be fighting him at every turn, but not this time. This is different. This is the first time I have watched him assess the room, look at all possible scenarios, and ask me for permission. This is not a reckless decision made to punish his father and cause a scene. For the first time since I have known him, Grant is doing something for someone other than himself. He wants to rescue Katyia and I let him.

The compere is getting ready to sell to the gang leader for a hundred thousand when Grant calls out in a loud and firm voice, “Half a million.” There are gasps of shock from around the room. Not just at the extraordinarily high price, but at the fact the boss’ son just bid on a whore. I can feel the rage radiating off the old man from where I’m sitting. The compere looks over at the gang leader to see if he can top the offer and he shakes his head to decline. The offer is put out to anyone else in the room but the air remains silent. Then the fat man looks over at Alan, just to double check that he has permission to complete the sale and I see him give a very stiff nod.

The beating Grant got for saving Katyia was horrendous. I have never seen a guy take so many lashes across his bare back with a belt. He was then punched and kicked repeatedly by Bullet until his face was so swollen, he was barely recognisable. I was told that if I took him to the hospital, the same would happen to me. So I took him back to the house, along with Katyia. I called a doctor to check them both over as I was worried Grant might have internal injuries. The doctor came regularly to administer painkillers and tend to his wounds. He mostly stayed asleep because of the heavy pain meds that he was given. Katyia visited him every day. She sat by his side, just being there with him. Once, I even walked in and caught her holding his hand. She looked embarrassed, but I smiled. I don't think he has ever had anyone love or take care of him, maybe Katyia will be good for him. At her request, the doctor taught her how to change the dressings and how to sterilise his wounds. During the times he was awake, I know they talked and grew close. But once he was healed, he was summoned to a meeting with Alan. At that meeting, he was told he could keep Katyia as a whore and only a whore. She was not to live with him, date him, and certainly not marry him. She is a dirty, poor, little Russian whore, according to the old man, and that makes her nowhere near good enough to marry a Blakeman. He said that if Grant did not follow these rules, he would take his little Russian toy away for good. The next day Grant bought Katyia a beautiful penthouse that she chose, in a nice area of London. He said that she could go anywhere but she wanted to be near him. I know Grant did eventually take Katyia’s virginity but not because she’s his whore. They fell in love and I knew how much it pained Grant to be seperated from her. It hurt even more when Alan insisted that he find a suitable girl to marry, or he will choose for him.

My strolldown memory lane is cut short when I realise Grant is talking to me. He is also waving his hand in front of my face because I had checked out mentally whilst I visited the past. Before my space out, he had looked totally relaxed, but now I can see the pain in his eyes. He is thinking about the question I just asked him. Will this be the last time he sees Katyia? I want him to go to her thinking that. I want him to realise he cannot give her up. Then I’m hoping that his disgust at not wanting to be like his father will be so great, he will not want to have a wifeanda mistress. When this happens, he will have to let Ava go because in the last two years that I have known Grant, I have rarely seen him say no to Katyia. He gives her all the things that she asks for and more, except for the one thing that she wants the most, him. With all of that information flying around his head, Grant heads out of the front door and I see Vic in the car waiting outside. As he gets into the car, I close the door and head towards the room I left Ava in.

Chapter Thirteen

Ava

To say that my head feels like it is about to explode would be a massive fucking understatement. I look around and absorb the surrealness of the situation I find myself in. I am standing in the most elaborate, entrance hall that I have ever stepped foot into. There’s a fucking chandelier above my head, dripping with crystals that would probably pay my way through school. I’m wearing a gorgeous red dress that clings to my body in such a way, even I think it looks sexy. Then you add in these hot stiletto heels that give me so much boost, it shapes and plumps out my arse as well as making my normally short legs look a bit longer. But my surroundings are not the most bizarre, my mind is whirling at the idea that I have just been proposed to. Well, actually if we are being technical, I was just blackmailed, informed I have no choice but to get married, and then my apparent fiancé decided that he needed to leave as he has something more important to do. What I‘m really struggling with is how Papa could have gotten us in this much trouble. He always promised me that he only gambled with the Blakemans. I have never found out how they know each other, but Mr. Blakeman has always shown my papa kindness where his debts are concerned. He has even helped him on some occasions by banning him from certain gambling events when they knew he couldn’t pay. I also know now that he’s responsible for the ban the other gangs have on doing business with him. So, why now have the 49er’s allowed him to gamble? Now his life is in danger and if I want to save it, I have to give up my own.

Suddenly, I feel very claustrophobic despite being in this massive room. The dress feels too tight and it’s as though the whole world is closing in on me. I start to pace, but doing that just increases my breathing. I can feel my heart starting to race and the whooshing of my blood and the beat of my heart is rushing through my head. I feel like I can literally hear my heartbeat racing in my head. It speeds up as my breathing has now turned into hyperventilation. Gasping for breath, my stomach pulls in as far as it goes to allow the much needed air to get into my lungs. Before I have a chance to fully inflate my lungs, my brain is telling me to breathe again. The more rapidly I inhale, the less oxygen I’m getting in, but my brain doesn’t register that. All I can feel is panic. How the hell am I getting out of this situation? I feel so trapped and I don’t know what to do. These thoughts race through my mind on a continuous loop and the panicking gets worse.

Spots of black start to appear in my vision, a side effect of my lack of oxygen most likely. The whooshing and beating of my heart is still audible in my head but in addition to the new black spots, I start to feel as though the whole room is spinning. I'm standing under the chandelier and it feels like I’m on a merry-go-round being spun around as fast as it can go. My stomach starts to flip and all the expensive champagne I had earlier starts to slosh around. It now feels like a competition to see whether I will pass out or vomit first. At this stage, I'm not sure which I would put my money on.

I close my eyes in an attempt to slow down the dizziness, in hopes that will stop the urge to throw up on this fancy floor. Then I realise I would have to throw up on the expensive floor or maybe in a nearby vase because I have no idea where the nearest bathroom is. I’m not even sure I can get back to the room I was given. Having my eyes closed really doesn’t help because I can feel myself swaying even more, but thankfully the urge to vomit is reducing. I think I can hear something over the pounding in my head, but I’m not sure. A few seconds later, I feel my legs give way beneath me, but instead of hitting the floor, I feel myself being lifted and cuddled up against a strong hard chest. The smell of peppermint, a woodsy-scent, and something I know I have smelt before, drifts into my airway as my face is pressed against a wall of muscles. Strong arms are supporting me around my back and under my legs. I’m being carried like a bride would be carried over the threshold. Typical me, even in a moment of crisis I turn to romance.

Laying my head against the warm chest feels oddly reassuring and it doesn’t even occur to me that I have no idea whose arms are surrounding me. For some strange reason, I feel safe, which is insane because I have essentially been kidnapped by a crime family. I’m most definitely not safe and probably never will be again. But instead of freaking me out even more, I feel the beat of his heart against my face. The soft gentle rhythm is soothing and I know my own breathing and pulse are slowing down to match his. It’s like a hypnotic spell that drifts through my ear and over my body, causing our hearts to beat together in tandem. It should be a weird sensation, knowing that my heart beat matches anothers, but instead, it feels oddly perfect.

Without opening my eyes and just focusing on the sensations around me, I’m aware that we are travelling fairly quickly up some stairs. It feels like we turn a few bends and go through a closed door before I finally feel my arse land on something so amazingly soft. It’s such a weird contrast to feel half of my body sitting on something so soft and inviting, yet the rest of me continues to cling to the hard body as though it is my lifeline. I need the heart rate and the heat to stop me from losing it. I feel him start to pull away and as my head leaves his chest and I can no longer hear the calming song coming from his heart, I start to panic again. For the first time since being swooped into his arms, I hear his voice.

“Breath, Ava. It’s me, Ryder. You are safe with me. I’ve brought you upstairs to my bedroom just until you calm down. Mine is on the same floor as yours, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go to your room just yet.” I hear the gentle tone of his voice and my heart starts to speed up, but this time it’s not out of panic. I’m shocked that this beautiful guy, who doesn’t even know me, would know that I didn’t want to go back to that room. I’m not ready to have anything labelled as mine in this house.

Ryder must feel my heart start to race and thinks I’m panicking again. He begins to stroke his hand through my long silky hair. Even though I may not have the greatest self esteem in the world, I know I am not ugly. The part of me that I’m most proud of has always been my long, thick, raven black locks that sweep down my back, almost touching the crack of my arse. I spend time washing and conditioning it to ensure that it looks shiny. I know it probably sounds stupid, but it is my way of making myself feel good. I don’t mess about with make-up or getting dressed up, and even though my hair is usually in the easiest style I can be bothered to do that day, I still take immense care with it. So having someone run their fingers across my scalp and down my long hair, brushing gently against my arm on its travels, sends a shiver down my spine. Heat floods through my body and I can feel it pool in my sex. Obviously, Ryder is not aware of this, but what he is doing right now is one of my biggest turn ons.

I know I have to get him to stop because the last thing I need is to be sitting on his bed feeling so horny, I do something stupid, right after being proposed to by his boss. Oh fuck, this is a bad situation and even though my mind is very aware of this, my body appears to be crawling further into his arms and almost mewling like a cat. Traitor!

As his hand makes another journey down to the ends of my hair, I finally open my eyes and risk a glance up to meet his. The glistening emerald orbs that are staring back at me have a heat in them that rivals my own, but there is also sadness there. It looks like maybe Ryder is battling the same feelings I am. The fight over what our bodies feel and what our brains know we can’t have. I have to keep my arms clasped around his neck because the temptation to touch him anywhere else is too great. I know once I lay my hands on his rugged skin, I won't be able to stop. I give him a small smile to let him know that I am fine now. Any problems I had with my heart racing and my breathing panting is now no longer caused by panic. It’s now accompanied by a wet red silk thong and nipples that could cut glass. In fact, I’m clinging onto him so tight, it’s a miracle they haven’t drawn blood yet. He registers my little smile and in turn, gives me the sexiest, cocky one-sided smirk that I have ever seen. As just the right side of his mouth curves up, he looks like a sex god who is about to wink at me and make me pass out.

“You doing ok there, little vixen?” he asks whilst staring into my eyes. The nickname he uses for me does wicked things to my body. How just the use of one little nickname can make me feel so powerful and sexy is amazing. It’s something I have never felt before and the fire in his eyes as he gazes over my face causes a blush to appear in my cheeks. Most guys would look at my breasts, my arse, or my body in general, but Ryder seems mesmerised by just my face. My brain tries to remind me he’s a bodyguard for one of the most powerful crime families in the world. He has probably done illegal and unspeakable things, but that seems like a completely different Ryder than the one I’m looking at right now. This Ryder is kind, caring, and considerate. He put me before his boss, which doesn’t scream the world's greatest bodyguard. But mostly, and I know that this will sound beyond stupid, I just feel totally safe with him. That he will protect me and I have an awful feeling that being married to Grant means I’m going to need protecting.

My brains well timed reminder that I may technically be engaged to Ryder’s lunatic boss is like throwing a bucket of cold water over me and I let my arms drop from around his neck. What am I thinking? Ryder is more off limits than anyone ever could be and yet I am still sitting on his knee with my body crushed against his. Pulling back, I see the pain flash across Ryder’s face at my necessary rejection. But I have to back away. I can already feel the desire I have for this gorgeous Adonis and it could be dangerous to us both if we were to act on it.

Sitting on the bed next to him, I look down and realise I’m still wearing this ridiculously tight dress. It feels as though it’s closing in on me, despite the soft flowy material. I think it’s just a physical reminder of everything that happened with Grant and the reminder my papa’s life is in danger. I always thought that whatever proposition Grant put my way when I walked into this house, I would have a choice of whether to accept it or not. Even when my stupid brain genuinely thought he might be offering me a job. But now I know the whole choice aspect was an illusion. I played right into his hand because he knew that all he needed to do was to get me here and I was trapped. This dress is just acting as a reminder for how truly trapped I am.

“Ryder, I need to get out of this dress.” I see his eyebrow raise up at my statement and when I play it back in my head I can hear what he heard. I roll my eyes to let him know that ship has sadly sunk. I can’t say it sailed away because then the temptation to sail it right back into his gorgeous arms would be too great. So, I bombed the fucking thing to remove temptation. Then I hear him let out the most gorgeous little chuckle I have ever heard. How is it possible for a chuckle to be sexy?

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