Page 4 of Darkest Sin

Broken Nose clenches his jaw and glances back at me. Just to rub salt in the wound, I raise my hand to the base of my throat, drawing my thumb across it and signaling just how quickly I’ll end him if he were to win. He narrows his gaze, then raises his hand. “A million, three.”

The auctioneer nods. “Welcome back to the party,” he says before looking around at the crowd. “Do I hear a million, four?”

“Right here,” a new bidder says, raising his hand and making Broken Nose’s eyes widen in outrage, his face turning red with rage.

The numbers continue rising, and I turn in my cage, gripping the bars and resting my head against it, no longer caring who wins. It’s all the same. Whether I go to Broken Nose or some other asshole, they’re all going to treat me the same. I’ll be a prize. Something to destroy. Property to be used.

A shadow falls beside my cage, and I lift my head from the bars to find the intense, strange man I’d seen earlier staring right back at me. His gaze narrows on mine, and I’m struck by just how dark his eyes really are. It’s like staring into two deep pits of hell that beckon me in. There’s no doubt in my mind, this man is the devil.

His gaze falls away, and I let out a shaky breath, my hands still trembling against the bars. It’s as though his stare alone is enough to hold me captive. This man is worse than I could have thought. Seeing him up close like this rattles me to the bone.

He takes just a single step past my cage, and I watch as the men around him hesitantly shuffle away, their sharp gazes quickly morphing into unease. The man raises his head and looks straight at the auctioneer. “This one is mine,” he says in a deep, thick, Romanian accent.

The auctioneer fumbles, his eyes widening as everyone whips around to take in this strange, terrifying man. I watch as the auctioneer glances toward the piece of shit running this show, visibly shaken by the newcomer’s presence. The man who snatched me off the street and put this whole thing together glances down toward my cage, looking over me before turning his sharp stare on this Romanian nightmare.

“We can negotiate in private,” he says. I realize that every last person in this fucked-up underground warehouse knows exactly who this man is. And the fact that he’s shown an interest in me is some kind of big deal—I just wish I knew why.

“No,” the terrifying man says, that thick accent waking something lost deep within me. “I said she is mine. I will take her now.”

My back slams against the bars, and I realize I’ve been backing up to put distance between me and my new owner. While nothing has been formally agreed, I know without a doubt this man will get what he wants.

“O . . . okay,” the piece of shit trafficker says, watching as the Romanian narrows his eyes, the sight making my knees shake. “Yours. She’s yours.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters before glancing back at my cage, this time letting his gaze travel over my body. He starts at my head, taking in every inch of me. The soft curl in my blonde hair, the subtle arch of my back, my tits and waist, right down to the way my ankles hold me up in these ridiculous black heels.

Approval flashes in his eyes, making my stomach clench, and I hesitantly take a step forward into the center of my cage, my eyes locked firmly on his. Just like earlier, I can’t look away. I suck in a breath, every second of this connection growing more intense, more wicked, and more terrifying.

As if on cue, the large security guard who’d stepped in with Broken Nose appears at the door of my cage, and I tear my gaze away from my new Romanian captor. The security guard, who’d so casually disregarded my life, now looks at me with such pity that it almost tears me to shreds. “May God have mercy on your soul,” he murmurs, meeting my stare as he slips the key into the lock and opens the door, his gaze filled with darkness.

Fear pounds through my veins. Only an hour ago, this man was more than happy to allow some asshole to purchase me, to spend their time abusing and destroying me without a fucking care in the world. He didn’t care if I lived or died. But now that this Romanian has claimed me as his own, it somehow warrants him to fear for my soul?

Fuck.

The cage door swings open, and I find myself glancing back at the auctioneer to see the same pitying look in his eyes. Hell, Broken Nose doesn’t even try to put up a fight.

The Romanian dude captures my stare, and the way his eyes burn into mine sends a chill over my skin. “Come to me,” he says in that thick accent, his words penetrating deep into my chest like an agonizing command, summoning my unbreakable obedience.

I swallow hard as the warehouse settles into a chilling silence, every eye in the room watching as I shakily step from my cage, the sound of my heels clicking against the blood-spattered concrete.

I take one step and then another, each daunting move bringing me closer to my undeniable end.

What does this man want with me? Who the hell is he to be able to walk into a room filled with men like this and command authority in such a brutal, unsettling way?

My heart races and my palms sweat, but his ghostly stare draws me in until I’m standing right before him, my whole body shaking with unease. “Understand me now,” he says, his voice so low yet somehow heard throughout the warehouse. “You are mine. You belong to me. There is nowhere you can run or hide. No escape. No freedom. No reprieve. If you follow my rules, you will find life with me quite satisfactory, comfortable even. If you do not, if you refuse me, you will spend every waking hour wishing for death. Is that clear?”

Swallowing hard, I will myself not to crumble and nod my head, knowing without a doubt he means every word he says. The terror has a chokehold on me, and I try to get the words out past the fear weighing me down. “Yes, I understand.”

Those dark eyes blaze, refusing to break away. “What is your name?”

“Chiara,” I tell him, his height and brute size overwhelming me. “Chiara Matthews.”

“This will be the last time you hear the name Chiara Matthews. She no longer exists,” he says, stripping me of my identity with nothing more than a thick Romanian accent. “Forget your old life, scrub it from your memory. Your friends, your family, schooling, or work. Your world revolves around me now. You cater to only me. My every will and desire will be your only priority.”

Fuck.

I nod, the weight on my shoulders making me feel smaller than ever before. I can’t help but wonder if this asshole has a Daddy kink, but I think it might be more than that. He’s not looking for some whore to call him Daddy and act like a brat. This man wants complete submission, and I don’t mean the Fifty Shades type of submission. I’m talking about the real messed-up shit.

This man wants complete ownership. He wants to strip me of my identity to the point where my world no longer exists. My name will be wiped from public record, my life wiped from existence. Those who once knew me will be made to question if I was ever really there. My friends, my work, my life . . . all of it gone, just like that.

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