Page 105 of The Vagabond

I wish I could say I recognize them—from the first auction. But I don’t. That time’s a blur of chains and cold floors, of leering faces and laughter that scraped against my skull like razors. A sick dream stitched together by trauma and adrenaline. My mind did what it had to do to survive—it erased what it could. Filed it underdo not open.

But him? My captor? There’s no forgetting a man like that. He made sure of it. He didn’t just enter a room—he claimed it. Like the air bowed to him. Like cruelty was stitched into his DNA. And the moment he stepped into my world, I knew the rules had changed. Because he doesn’t look at me like I’m human.

The first man is tall, lean, almost skeletal, with hands too delicate for anything but harm. He smiles at me like he’s already imagining what my insides look like. I look away, trying to hold myself together.

The next wears a pristine suit with gold cufflinks, his hair slicked back like he’s a villain in a boardroom drama. Most likely, he is. His eyes don’t settle on my face. They track the curve of my hips, the arch of my spine, like he’s appraising property. Cold. Calculated.

“It would’ve worked in your favor to clean her up a little before we arrived,” says the man in the crisp suit, turning his gaze toward my captor with barely concealed disdain.

The third man—twitchy, younger, maybe early thirties—mutters something under his breath. His lips barely move, buthis eyes never leave me. He stares like I might vanish if he blinks.

Then there’s the last one. The fourth man. He doesn’t speak. He justbreathes—loud, labored, foul. Built like a butcher’s block with a neck too thick for his shirt collar and scarred hands that look like they’ve only ever known how to bruise and break.

“This is your moment to make a move,” my captor says, voice smooth and venomous. “High bids only. She’s not just inventory—she’s a rare find. One of the few who made it out yet still ended up back on the block. And…” He lets the word hang, like it’s dipped in gold. “Her affiliation with the Gatti family makes her a high-ticket item.”

“A bit reckless to advertise her as that, don’t you think?” the third man says, his tone jittery. “The Gattis nearly tore the city apart to extract her last time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mr. Cufflinks sneers, flashing a grin full of contempt. “I, for one, can’t wait to use her to crush the Gattis. Knock them off their self-appointed thrones.”

His hatred for them simmers just beneath the surface, obvious and ugly. I don’t know what his beef is, but one thing’s clear—he’d pay good money for the pleasure of vengeance.

“This is exactly why I kept the auction private,” my captor says, with a clap that echoes too loud in the space. “I trust you’ll all honor your NDAs, no matter who wins.” He rubs his hands together like a man about to unwrap a gift, and a slow, vile grin creeps across his face. “Shall we begin? First number that makes me forget the stage—she’s yours.”

They start circling. It’s strange. Surreal. They move in slow, deliberate steps around me, like predators unsure if their prey is still breathing. No stage this time. No lights. No forced nudity. But I’m still on display.

They’ve seen me before—maybe not all of them, maybe not clearly—but they came here for a reason. They have an agenda.And somehow, standing here fully clothed feels even more exposed than the first time I was sold.

The fourth man, Mr Thickneck, steps in first. Of course he does.

“Let me sample,” he grunts.

“No,” my captor says, voice flat. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

The man huffs a joyless laugh. “Then I’m not bidding.”

“Suit yourself,” my captor says, turning to the others.

Mr Thickneck reaches for me. I jerk back. The chair scrapes violently. My heart slams against my ribs, my teeth bared like an animal.

“I saidno,” my captor repeats, louder this time. “Bid highest and she’s yours to do with as you wish. Until then, no touching and no sampling.”

But the man doesn’t stop. He continues to advance on me, until a loud bang echoes through the basement.

The sound is an explosion inside the quiet. For a moment, I think it was inside me;fear,clutching at my walls, begging to be released. Then I feel it. Warmth. Not mine. His.

It’s blood. It splatters across my face in a hot, wet spray. It drips into my eyes. Into my mouth. I gag. I scream, but it’s a sound that gets strangled halfway up my throat.

The man’s head is gone. Just gone. What’s left collapses to the floor with a sickening wet slap. A bloom of red spreads across the concrete. I can’t breathe. Can’t scream. I’m frozen, bathed in gore, painting the nightmare with someone else’s death.

The others recoil.

“What the fuck?” Mr Cufflinks barks, recoiling. “That was a government official!”

“You just shot a client!” The first man hisses, stepping backward, as though fearful he could be next. His tall frame wobbleswhen he looks down and realizes he has blood splatters on his shoes.

My captor lowers the gun, unbothered. “He knew the rules.”

“We’re complicit now.” Twitchy speaks for the first time. “There are cameras. There are—fuck—agencies that track these people!”

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