Page 2 of His Public Claim
But then, my family were all appalled when the Braintree kingpin strolled into our house with his men, andsneered that the only thing worth taking in exchange for my father’s debts wasme.
And when I revealed I was untouched?
Yeah. Well.
“Nicole is an exquisite prize,” the auctioneer says, snapping me back to the present.
I keep my gaze ahead. Or I try to, but I can’t help it. A movement in the audience catches my eye. A man in a gold rhino mask palms the front of his trousers where there’s a bulge… Oh gross. A shudder goes through me.
My spine is steel. It is titanium. That’s the only thought that prevents me from falling down and crying.
“Five feet and seven inches tall,” the auctioneer continues. “That blonde hair is fully natural. So are those perky breasts by the way. A 32B, they’re a perfect little handful.”
They’re telling everyone mybra size? My cheeks flush. I guess those Essex girls snitched. This is the worst humiliation of my life. I swallow and swear they won’t break me. I can be strong. I must be.
“For those of you at the back, Nicole has unusual blue eyes, that seem to almost have a hint of purple. They’ll look so pretty watering as you take her, don’t you think?”
A sob rises in my chest.
Titanium.
I am unbreakable. I am doing this for my family. I will not regret this, however much it hurts. I was promised no permanent damage.
Apart from my hymen. Obviously. A little blood is to be expected.
“Young and fresh at twenty-three years old and the finest pedigree, a princess from a significant London mafia. But. Not only are you bidding onquality.”
The auctioneer leaves a dramatic pause.
I begin to stare back insolently at the audience. An eagle. A jackal. A glistening tiger leans over to share a word with a lion. These rich, spoiled, powerful men who think they can have me. I might have to give them my body, for this night, but whoever wins will never have my soul.
“All this beauty isn’t all, there’s another bonus.”
I hear the smile in his voice even as I continue to look forward into the crowd.
“Not only can you have full use of our Nicole.”
I’m nottheirs.
“This will be herfirst time,” the auctioneer announces. “You are bidding to win her virginity.”
There are whistles and lewd comments and clapping. The cobra in the front row leans over and laughs with his snake friend, making a coarse gesture.
And that’s when I see him.
The wolf.
He’s at the back, motionless. Wearing a perfectly-tailored dark grey suit with a silver shirt and tie, he’s a shade lighter than anyone else, but still intimidating.
This man in a wolf-mask is different to all the rest. He doesn’t grin with lustful intent, or chatter. His arms are folded and he’s big. The image of Lev flickers in my mind, but no. It’s not him. The kingpin of Dalston is loyal to London. He wouldn’t be welcome at an event like this, run by the Essex cartel.
But even so, as I stare at the man in the wolf mask, I imagine that I make out his grey eyes, steely and commanding, and bright and knowing. Irrational confidence washes over me.
I can do this. I can survive.
“You’ve all paid a substantial amount to attend, and areundoubtedly impatient to begin. Shall we start the bidding at one hundred thousand?”
There’s silence.
