Page 54 of Auctioned Innocence
His face is barely recognizable beneath the blood.
One eye is swollen shut, his lip split open.
They’ve broken fingers on his right hand, the digits bent at unnatural angles.
“No,” Maisie whispers beside me, her voice breaking.
“Choose, Sofia,” Madame Rouge says, stepping closer, her perfume carrying on the night breeze—something expensive and suffocating. “Surrender now or watch what happens to those who help you.”
She produces a small pistol from a hidden pocket in her dress, pressing it to the boy’s temple.
His eyes meet mine, terrified but trying to be brave.
He can’t be more than sixteen.
The choice isn’t really a choice at all.
My shoulders slump in defeat.
“Let him go. We’ll come quietly.”
“Sofia—” Maisie starts, her voice desperate.
“Smart girl.” Madame Rouge’s smile is terrible, victorious and cruel. She lowers the gun but doesn’t put it away. “Though I’m afraid someone still needs to learn a lesson about cooperation. About consequences.”
It happens so fast.
A guard grabs Maisie, spinning her around and forcing her to her knees.
The crack of his baton against her back makes me scream, the sound echoing across the rooftop.
Maisie’s cry is higher, sharper—pure pain as the hard plastic connects with her spine.
“Stop!” I lunge forward, only to be restrained by another guard, his grip bruising on my arms. “Please! It was my idea! Punish me!”
Madame Rouge watches with clinical detachment as the guard raises the baton again. “But this is your punishment, Sofia. To watch. To know that your actions have consequences for others.”
The baton comes down again with sickening force. “To understand that defiance costs more than just your own comfort.”
Maisie’s second scream is weaker, the sound catching in her throat.
The guard hits her again and again, each impact making a sound like a breaking branch.
“Please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face now. “Please stop. I’ll do anything?—”
“Yes,” Madame Rouge says simply. “You will. That’s exactly the point.”
They make me watch every stroke.
Five in total, though it feels like fifty.
By the end, Maisie has collapsed onto the gravel, her pink dress torn and dirty, her breathing shallow.
I’m forced to walk back to my room with a guard gripping each arm.
My mind feels numb, disconnected from my body, like I’m floating somewhere above the scene.
Is this shock?
