Page 3 of Sold to the Investor

The man leads me down a long flight of stairs, stopping in front of a huge wrought iron door. Then he turns around and gives me a number tag with the number 4 written on it. “Clip this on you. When your number is called, go through that door.”

I nod in response, not daring to voice any of the questions echoing in my head.

“Better behave,” he growls, caressing his gun in one last warning before stalking off in the opposite direction.

I know not to take his warning lightly, so I wait, wondering what lies ahead of me behind the imposing door.

Chapter Two

Grayson

What the fuck was that?

I’m still reeling from the scene in the parking lot as I walk toward the main entrance of the chapel.

The young woman had been strikingly gorgeous, even as her face twisted in fear. I noticed her with the guard the moment I stepped out of my car. She clearly didn’t want to be here, and when he grabbed her, my protective instincts had flared to life. When her bright hazel eyes met mine, it was as if she was begging me for help, and I longed to give it.

It took my many years of discipline and Damien’s firm hold on my bicep to keep me from striding through the parking lot and slamming my fist into the guard’s face.

I have heard of the things that go on in this chapel. A club where lowlife businessmen can make dark deals, and a high-end brothel. Beautiful women available as entertainment for the evening.

Due to my wealth and business contacts, I’ve received invitations, of course. But I’ve avoided the place until now—I have no interest in such things, no need to pay a woman to spend time with me.

But then I overheard Connor Grant—my biggest competitor in the real estate business, and an arrogant asshole—whisperinginto his phone the other day after a meeting.“He’s offering his sister as payment? Get confirmation…virgin. The chapel…”

While I didn’t hear everything, and didn’t know exactly who he was talking to, I’d heard enough. Enough to give me a sick suspicion that the women at the chapel aren’t the well-paid escorts I assumed them to be.

I knew it was time for me to look into this chapel, and find out whether the women who work here are even here of their own free will. So I enlisted the help of my private investigator friend, Damien Hart.

Damien has also heard the vile rumors about the chapel and the business that takes place here. He convinced me that if we were to attend tonight’s event, we’d need to commit to the act—as potential buyers.

Apparently that includes not standing up for the woman in the parking lot, and allowing her to be mistreated. My fists are still clenched, and I can’t erase the image of her face from my mind. I swear to myself that I will get to the bottom of whatever is going on here.

I have no business here otherwise.

“Fucking bastards,” I mutter under my breath as we follow a group of well-dressed sleazebags into the building.

Damien lets out a dry chuckle beside me. “If you don’t want to be here, then maybe you shouldn’t do business with the people who come here,” he says as we draw closer to the entrance.

“Those two things have nothing to do with each other,” I reply, my tone hard as the memory of the frightened woman fills my mind.

Why the hell do I care so much about someone I’ve never met before? Why are her terror-filled eyes haunting my soul?

“Look, I’m going to look around a bit, and I have a contact to meet with. I’ll join you later if I finish on time,” Damien says. I nod, watching him slink away to the side of the building and blending into the darkness.

I enter a large room with a stage along one end, velvet red curtains draped above it, and I soon spot Connor Grant at the other end of the room.

Smug bastard.

He seems to be enjoying himself, already several drinks in, and I have to tamp down on the urge to walk over and wipe the smirk off his face.

I locate a place to sit near the back. Each chair has a small table that holds a buzzer and a small mic. I lean back in my seat, suspicion growing. This is like no brothel I’ve ever been in.

The first woman soon walks onto the stage, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from betraying my emotions as the bidding begins. It’s anauction. These monsters are not just bidding on the chance to spend an evening with a beautiful escort—they’re bidding for the chance to bring these women home. Toownthem. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing the type of men I do business with, but this is so much worse than I feared.

I try to find Damien in the crowd, but I don’t know where he’s disappeared to. In the process, I note the company I’m keeping. In the crowd with me I recognize public officials, police officers, and other powerful and wealthy men. And they are bidding, laughing and enjoying themselves. This organization has moreties and is more well supported than I would have dreamed possible.

My anger rises as my attention returns to the stage. The woman being trafficked has held up surprisingly well, her face betraying no emotion as prices are thrown around. But when she is made to perform for the man who purchased her, she starts to shake with fear. I remember Damien’s words.“You can’t help them all—and tonight is just about gaining information.”I turn away from the woman as her head begins to bob up and down in the lap of her new owner.

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