Page 46 of Heal Me

A little while later, men start filing in, a few at a time. They make themselves comfortable in the couches and chairs, chatting with each other while watching us hungrily, sipping amber liquor and red wine. Most of them are dressed in tailored suits, reeking affluence and old money. A few are wearing tracksuits, but their attitudes match the well-dressed men, their gazes cold and calculated, their postures arrogant and teeming with violence. They’re just as rich, if not more, than the others, but just don’t care to show it.

I’m trying not to think about who would be worse to be sold to when a cold, familiar voice breaks into my consciousness. As I turn my gaze toward the door, my world tilts and crashes.

Zoltan’s charming, cruel smile sends a slash of pain across my ribs. My vision blackens as my memories take me straight back to that agonizing night when I left him.

I stagger in the tall heels as the earth shudders beneath me. A sharp lick of fire across my thigh makes me cry out.

“Stand still,” the guard in front of me demands.

I rip my gaze away from Zoltan, gluing it to the podium, hoping he will somehow disappear. Hoping it was just a cruel mirage.

But there’s no escaping this man. No mirage. He steps in front of me, and the sickeningly sweet scent of his cologne drags a wave of nausea up my throat.

“My, my, what do we have here?”

I don’t meet Zoltan’s eyes. I tell myself it’s because I won’t grant him the satisfaction, but really, it’s because I’m spiraling. Seeing that vile smile of his again will make me crumble to the ground in a fit of panic.

“I’d like to place a bid,” Zoltan says, gleeful victory rolling off him in thick waves.

Perforated brown oxfords, tailored slacks, and a black silk shirt appear before me as a man comes up beside him. “Let me get a chance to show you all the merchandise before we start bidding.”

“I don’t care about the others. I want this one.”

Keeping my eyes on the ground, I see the yellow outline of a track suit as one of the other men comes up to the podium. I feel his eyes raking across me as if to find out what’s so special about me.

“Five million,” Zoltan offers.

The man who seems to be leading the auction considers for a moment. “Usually, I prefer to wait until I’ve presented all the girls and we start the biddings, but with this girl, I’m willing to make an exception.”

The man in the tracksuit rounds the podium and watches me from behind. “Six million,” he cuts in, just as the auctioneer is about to agree to Zoltan’s offer.

“Ten,” Zoltan counters.

“Twelve,” the man behind me offers, and I sense he’s only doing this for the power of competition.

“Thirty million,” Zoltan says with finality. “I’ll transfer the money immediately.”

The man in the track suit grunts. “You’re crazy. No bitch is worth that kind of money.”

“Oh yes, this one is,” Zoltan says to himself, taking a cigar from his inner pocket and lighting it. The puff of smoke elicits a sweet, cloying scent that sends me straight into a flashback ofZoltan pressing the burning butt onto my stomach—the searing pain as the embers melted my skin. I want to scream as the burn seems to crackle in every one of my round scars. It takes everything I have to remain upright.

“You have yourself a deal,” the man beside Zoltan says. Throwing a quick glance up, I notice it’s the same one who settled Dorin and Dax’s argument about the punishment.

I’m trembling all over as the guard taps the cane against my ass, herding me off the podium. I nearly fall, but Zoltan grabs me by the arm, keeping me upright. It’s a mercy I don’t want. Icy shivers roll across my skin, nausea twisting in my belly. I want to pull away, but fear has me in a vise, stiff and frozen, only moving because I have to.

“Would you like any modifications to the girl?” the man in the black silk shirt asks. “We have a wide range of possibilities. Tattoos, piercings, tailored leather gear. I can get you a list if you’d like some inspiration.”

Smoke puffs into the air as I feel Zoltan’s eyes raking up and down me. “A tattoo doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he muses. “Maybe even four. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. Four tattoos to make sure she never forgets who she is.” His voice morphs into a snarl as he makes his decision.

“Perfect,” the auctioneer says. “Let’s go into my office to handle the transaction. Meanwhile, one of my guards will take the girl back to her cell, and one of my men will handle your request first thing in the morning.”

“No,” Zoltan interrupts, digging his fingers deep into my skin as a guard comes up to take me.

“If you want to test your new acquisition tonight, I can have her strung up in one of our fine whipping rooms, so you can have some fun before settling in for the night.”

“I’m not leaving her out of my sight. I’m taking her home tonight. Get the tattoo artist ready now.”

The auctioneer seems to be considering before he takes his phone from his pocket and agrees. “I’ll make it happen.”

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