Page 59 of Stalk Me

The way he emphasizes “unique” makes my skin crawl. His hand slides from my arm to the small of my back, propelling me forward until I’m standing before the assembled elite. Erik is similarly positioned opposite me, flanked by Griffiths and another of my father’s security men.

“My daughter, Luna, has reached an important milestone in her development within our organization,” my father announces, his voice warm with false pride. “And while in the past, she was only available to the select few, I’m pleased to inform you that for tonight and tonight only, you can all bid for the pleasure of her company.”

My father’s specialty cocktail is beginning to take effect. While I’m still somewhat aware of everything that’s happening, I find myself unable to form coherent thoughts or gather the strength to resist.

“As is tradition,” my father continues, “Luna will demonstrate her commitment to our values by participating in tonight’s entertainment. You might be asking yourself what else makes this night special. Well, let me tell you. While we usually allow two or maximum three people per night to enjoy Luna’s company, we decided to make an exception. As I said, tonight and tonight only, everyone who bids on my daughter will get their turn. The amount of your bid will decide your spot in the queue.”

The crowd cheers and claps. My stomach turns, knowing full well what my father means. His intention is to pimp me out to everyone to destroy what little self-worth I’m still clinging to. The worst part is that he’s doing it all in front of Erik.

“If you allow me to give you one bit of advice,” my father continues, his lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Aim for the top spots. She’s at her best when she’s still fresh.”

The crowd chuckles—every one of them as sick and perverted as my parents.

“Mr. Gallagher,” my father says, and Richard Gallagher steps forward from the crowd, resplendent in an expensive tuxedo that does nothing to hide the predatory gleam in his eyes. Belle’s father. He’s the reason Belle helped them, why she gathered information about Erik and me. She was doing her father’s bidding, just as I’ve always done mine.

“You’ve expressed particular interest in this evening’s proceedings, and you’ve been of great help keeping my daughter in line,” my father finishes.

Richard Gallagher’s gaze rakes over me, proprietary and hungry. “I’ve waited quite some time for this opportunity, Sebastian,” he says to my father, though his eyes never leave me. “Belle speaks very highly of your daughter’s… talents.”

Bile rises in my throat. His daughter reported on me, watched as I was manipulated and used, all to prepare for this moment. Like father, like daughter—predators breeding predators.

My eyes drift back to Erik, who’s straining against Griffiths’ grip, fury etched across his features. Beside him stands a tray of pills—different colors, probably designed for him specifically, targeting his past addiction. They want him weakened, too, and want to use his vulnerability against both of us.

I’ve seen myself in the mirror enough times to know how I look—my eyes glazed and limbs loose, signaling compliance. My shoulders slump slightly, my focus slowly drifting. When Richard Gallagher approaches, I don’t have the energy to flinch away from his touch on my bare shoulder.

“She looks ready,” he comments to my father, as if I’m not standing right here. “And the boy?”

My father glances toward Erik, who’s still refusing the pills being offered to him. “Give him the injectable version,” he orders Griffiths. “We don’t have time for his resistance.”

“No,” I whimper, but they ignore me.

Erik screams when Griffiths sticks an injection in him, squeezing out the addictive substances.

“Excellent,” my father says, gesturing to the platform. “Shall we begin?”

The crowd shifts, forming a circle around the raised area. Plush sofas and chaises have been arranged to provide optimal viewing of whatever’s about to happen. My stomach lurches as I realize—they’re not just going to watch; they’re going to participate.

Richard Gallagher takes my arm, leading me to the center of the platform. “You look just like your mother did at your age,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “She was my first, you know. Before your father claimed her.”

Fear surges through me, momentarily cutting through the drug’s fog. My father’s cocktail works in waves—moments of horrifying clarity punctuated by periods when my limbs feel disconnected from my mind. This is one of those clear moments, giving me just enough strength to pull my arm free. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Before he can respond, my father’s hand settles heavily on my shoulder. “Luna. Save your energy for the guests.” His smile doesn’t reach his cruel blue eyes. “As pretty as you are when you fight back, tonight is about cooperation. Be a good girl, or I’ll make sure you’re sedated through the rest of the evening.”

“Don’t worry about her, Sebastian,” Richard says with a predatory smile, his hand sliding to my waist. “I like them feisty.”

Behind him, Erik is guided to a chair placed directly across from us. Unlike the comfortable seating for the guests, his is rigid and wooden, with attachments that Griffiths uses to secure his wrists and ankles. He’s being forced to watch whatever happens next.

My father joins us on the platform, addressing the crowd once more. “Tonight’s entertainment features a special demonstration of loyalty. My daughter will show her commitment to our organization by pleasing our esteemed colleague, Richard Gallagher.” He turns to Erik. “And Mr. Stone will observe, learning what’s expected of those who join our circle.”

Polite applause ripples through the crowd, followed by the clinking of glasses being refilled. To them, this is just another evening’s diversion—the sexual exploitation of a drugged college student is nothing more than a sophisticated form of entertainment.

Richard Gallagher’s hand slides up my bare back, finding the zipper of my dress. “Shall we give them a show, my dear?”

My dress pools at my feet, leaving me in only the filmy lace of my lingerie.

“Remove the rest,” my father instructs, his voice cold. “Entirely.”

Slowly, under the hunger of the crowd, I follow his command. First, the underwear, then the bra, until I stand bare except for the jewelry my mother selected. Champagne is poured, and the men relax in anticipation of watching something sickening. I’m rooted in place, every impulse screaming for me to run, even though escape is impossible.

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