Page 2 of Bought By the Owner's Son
We cross the doorway and enter a long hallway. “Follow me,” he commands, marching forward.
I fall into step behind him, scared to do otherwise, and we walk down the dimly lit hallway. With no way to ask him questions, I try to force my mind into remembering anything. Anything at all.
But nothing changes, and my memories remain elusive.
You’ll be okay…
The words appear in my mind like a beacon in the dark. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling it’s something I say to myself a lot. So, I repeat the words like a mantra with every step taking me closer to the unknown. There is no one to rely on. Not even myself. At the moment, I can only go with the tide and pray it doesn’t overwhelm me.
The man with the scar leads me down a flight of stairs to a room filled with several other girls, dressed in skintight, barely theredresses like mine. He withdraws a tag with the number one from his pocket and attaches it to my dress.
“Stay here, and when you hear your number, go through that entrance,” he says, pointing to another doorway. Then he walks away without a backward glance.
Everything is a blur, and my aching head isn’t helping. I look around, feeling lost, scared, and lightheaded.
What is this place?
I stare at the girls in the room—some of them seem upset, like they’ve been crying, while others are staring blankly at the wall. None of them seem to want to talk.
At least they probably remember how they got here, unlike me with all these unanswered questions cluttering my mind. I feel so stupid and helpless. Tears of frustration slide from my eyes, but I quickly dab them away.
I’m about to break the silence and ask if anyone knows where we are and what’s happening, when I hear a sharp voice call out my number. My heart starts to beat faster as I head out of the room, passing through the entrance like the guard instructed. I find myself walking onto a brightly lit stage, my steps heavy and my breath loud and erratic in my ears. I stop at the center of the stage, looking out into the dimly lit audience.
“Gentlemen!” a man shouts into a microphone, the noise going straight to my throbbing skull. “The time has arrived to bid on a damsel of your choice. We begin with this blue-eyed angel, and the bid starts at five hundred thousand!”
Bid? What bid?
I look at the faces in the audience, and my stomach churns harder. The sick delight and greed in the gazes of these men tells me all I need to know about what’s going on here. It’s an auction. The ache in my head intensifies, almost paralyzing, and the bright stage lights pierce my eyes, worsening the pain.
“Six hundred thousand,” someone calls.
“Seven hundred.”
“Eight hundred thousand,” a thin voice counters.
“One million,” another interjects.
I curl my hands into fists beside me, trying to push down the debilitating pain in my skull. With the fear twisting my stomach, the men in suits, their loud voices, and the lights, I feel like I might pass out at any second. I blink hard, pushing at the sick feeling inside me just as my gaze moves to the edge of the room.
Standing at the far end of the room is a tall, handsome man, holding himself rigid. His dark brown hair falls smoothly over his forehead, and his eyes are penetrating and cold, holding my gaze from across the room and sending shivers of awareness down my spine. I keep my eyes on him, watching as he raises a round glass to his mouth with a deliberate slowness.
My vision swims again, and this time my feet wobble dangerously in these ridiculous heels.
Oh, crap.
My body grows lighter, a familiar darkness tugging at the edge of my consciousness.
No, please. Not here.
Chapter Two
Lucian
I’ve never let my emotions rule my thoughts.
Especially when it comes to my father’s despicable auction house. I’ve made it known how distasteful I find his business of selling girls to his perverted clients. Over the years, I’ve ignored this part of the establishment, steeling myself from feeling petty emotions like empathy and compassion as I watch young women being sold to the highest bidder.
It’s a way of not giving my father the upper hand over me. We both know where we stand in the organization, and I act like I’m not bothered by his evil trade. Interfering would be considered a sign of weakness, one that he wouldn’t hesitate to exploit.
