Page 3 of Sold to the Titan

He gestures to an iron door to my left and then starts to walk away, but I grab his arm without thinking. He gives me a dirty look and I quickly drop my hand. “I’m sorry…I was just…I was supposed to be here for a modeling gig, but I don’t really understand what’s going on. Can you tell me where I am and what I’m expected to do?”

His mouth tilts up in a small smile that sends chills running down my spine. “You’ll see, little bird,” he says cryptically, then walks away.

I’m still trying to make sense of everything when a loud voice from a speaker directly above me calls out the number six. Taking in a deep breath, I push open the heavy iron door and step inside.

I stop in my tracks as I’m suddenly blinded by bright lights and a roaring applause. Blinking against the harsh light, I try to make sense of my surroundings. I seem to be on some sort of stage in front of an audience of rowdy men, mostly middle-aged and dressed in dark suits.

I spot a few women in the crowd as well, but not many, all of them scantily dressed and seemingly attached to a man, either clutched tightly in a male embrace or… In the shadows, I catch sight of a head of long black hair bobbing over a man’s lap while he leans back in his chair, a predatory grin on his face.

My head starts to swim, my stomach revolting against the strong male stench in the large room.

Where is this place?

“Now, calm yourselves, gentlemen,” a voice says from beside me. I turn to see a middle-aged man on the stage with me, also dressed in a suit, a slick smile plastered on his face. “I can see why you’re all excited. Item number six is a beauty—and a virgin! Now, who’s ready to go home with this innocent little flower? Bidding starts at ten thousand dollars.”

The air grows thick with excitement and anticipation. My stomach tightens with dread, my heart thumping violently in my chest.

“Twelve thousand!” a man calls out, raising a numbered paddle.

My legs wobble as the reality of my situation starts to dawn on me. I’m not here for a modeling gig—I’m being auctioned off for money.

The events that led up to this moment flash through my mind in rapid succession. Was Vivian in on this?

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” another voice counters.

Oh god. What have I done?

“Seventeen!”

I gape in shock as the numbers keep flying around, ridiculously higher with each bid.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars!”

I can’t believe my ears. None of this seems real. I can’t believe that this many men are willing to pay such an immense amount to own me. Who are these people? Where is this place?

I have so many questions.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” a voice calls out from the end of the room. This voice is different. Calm, yet authoritative. The type that keeps powerful men grounded. I snap my gaze in his direction, and brilliant blue eyes meet mine. Dark. Possessive. My heart slams hard against my chest, and this time it’s not from fear. It’s something else…something potent. I can’t seem to look away.

It’s the man from the hallway. He came back.

Chapter 2

Cillian

What the fuck am I doing?

It’s been a long, frustrating night, and the last thing I want to do is participate in an auction of young, innocent girls. But something about this particular girl has me acting out of character. Up on that damn stage, she looks as lost and clueless as she did back in the hallway. I shouldn’t care. Hell, I should have gotten the heck out of here and never looked back, but something made me turn around and come back inside—a long-buried protective instinct that makes me want to save her.

You can’t save her. Just like you couldn’t save Lily.

I clench my fist, ignoring the jeering voice in my head and the gnawing guilt in my chest. Now’s not the time for that.

“Seventy thousand,” a raspy voice calls out, cutting through the thick silence that’s settled in the room. It’s a voice I recognize.

I keep my gaze locked on the girl, watching her every expression. She seems to flinch each time a new number is called, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Rage simmers inside of me at the thought of that sick bastard owning her. Not on my watch.

“One hundred thousand,” I counter calmly.

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