Page 87 of The Cute Psycho

"Is that what I am for you?" I raise an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

"Mmm," she burrows her face into my chest, "you're mine," she says, tracing her name on my skin with her fingers.

I've never belonged to anyone before, and the prospect of being hers fills me with an unprecedented warmth.

"I..." I start, but I'm interrupted by a knock on the door.

Quickly helping her dress, I right my own clothes as I open the door.

"The entertainment is about to begin," an employee informs me, and I give him a nod.

"Ready?" I turn toward Sisi, and she comes to my side, lacing her fingers through mine.

"Let's do this," she whispers, kissing my cheek.

The employee scans his finger on a steel door in the back of the club, motioning us to follow him. We're led down a dark corridor until we reach a set of stairs. As we start descending toward the basement, noises begin attacking my ears. The music is blasting, but it's almostdrowned out by collective voices yelling, cheering and cursing. For a moment, I am confused, since this is merely supposed to be an auction.

But as we step onto the platform, the entire basement spreading in front of us, I realize why Enzo had said their entertainment isvaried.

The basement had been turned into a fighting arena. A big stage stretches in the middle of the room, with people surrounding it as they cheer on, some swinging their auction paddles around while yelling exorbitant amounts.

As the employee shows us to a corner, he gives me an auction paddle with the number sixty-four on it. He doesn't even glance at Sisi as he leaves, and I'm once more reminded that in these places women are little more than chattel.

She doesn't seem to notice the affront, her eyes glued to the stage as one man climbs up, a microphone in his hand.

"Is everyone ready for tonight?" he calls out, people yelling yes at him. Introducing himself as Mauro, he goes on to give a brief introduction of what's up for tonight.

I half-listen to him, my eyes focused on my surroundings as I take in everyone, looking for familiar faces. Off the bat I see people I'd been following for years, all elbows deep in human trafficking.

Now, who could be Miles' broker...

I somehow don't doubt that Mr. Petrovic must have worked for him at some point, or any other influential person, since someone must have sent those people to look for him. I'd looked into their backgrounds trying to tie them to someone in Mr. Petrovic's inner circle, but I hadn't gotten any hits on that. Too bad Mr. Petrovic ended up dead not long after he'd divulged Miles' name, since I have no doubt he had more information than he'd imparted.

"Are they..." Sisi tugs my hand as she nods toward the stage. Two men, looking more like killing machines than anything, walk on the stage.

"On the right we have Seth, hailing straight from the pyramids. With a total of fifty kills under his belt, he is yet undefeated in the ring. He's been without a master for the past two months, so place your bets gentlemen. We're going to have an interesting show."

The host introduces one of the men, a hulking beast of at leastseven feet and a half. His entire body is filled with scars, one of his eyes replaced with a glass one.

"Damn, that must be tough," I mutter.

"Why?" Sisi leans into me.

"That's a hell of a disadvantage for a fighter to have. You need your eyes for coordination, but also for peripheral view. If he's managed so many wins with only one eye..." I whistle in admiration.

"Next up is Drew, our resident champion. Mr. Meester has allowed us to borrow him for yet another entertaining evening. Let's give a round of applause to Mr. Meester." The host motions to one of the men at the balconies who waves smugly at the crowd.

"Who is he?" Sisi asks.

"A crime lord, more or less," I say with half a smile.

I had expected to see people I know here, since most of the criminal world has no scruples, certainly not when it comes to the easiest and cheapest form of exploitation—human labor and sexuality. But I certainly hadnotexpected to see Petro Meester here.

And now it's imperative he doesn't notice me.

"Let's hope we don't get his attention," I tell Sisi, giving her a quick rundown of my history with the man.

A Ukrainian immigrant, he'd been under my father's wing for a long time before branching out and building his own empire. All had been fine and dandy, until Misha had killed father, and then I'd killed Misha.

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