Page 45 of Ruthless Reign

I stiffen, hating the crude requests. Hating that they only see me as an object to be bought and sold, but what did I expect?

Paulina’s hand runs over my back, landing on the clasp of my bra. She lifts her eyebrows in question. “I want you to earn top dollar,” she murmurs.

Now is the time to decide how far I’m willing to go.

With my heart in my throat, I give a little nod, and she undoes the hook of my bra, letting the white lace slowly slide down my shoulders. For one long moment, I hold the fabric against my breasts, finding it hard to let go. Gathering my courage, I let the bra fall, revealing myself completely. I feel exposed and vulnerable as the crowd roars its approval. Despite being completely out of my depth, I know I have to give them what they want—a little show.

Shame coats my skin, but I push it down deep within.

Taking a deep breath, I manage a seductive little spin and run my hands over my bare stomach. As my nipples stiffen in the crisp air, the yelling intensifies along with lewd remarks. The crowd's excitement drives the bids higher, reaching numbers beyond my wildest dreams.

Sixty thousand dollars.

Seventy thousand dollars.

Even more.

Two men compete, driving the price up over one hundred thousand dollars.

For this price, what will they expect from me? A sinking feeling drags in my belly like an anchor. Will the highest bidder respect my limits?

Before I can dwell on it, Paulina leads me to the front of the stage. “Turn around and touch your toes,” she whispers. “You’ve gone this far; you might as well see it through.”

I know she's right, but it's still so humiliating. My face burns with heat as I turn away from the audience and, with my back arched, slowly dip down to touch the floor. Holding in place, wearing only lace underwear and stilettos, I’ve never felt so exposed.

The crowd responds, and the bets go up over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A little spark of excitement takes hold. This wasn’t for nothing. I've already made more than I hoped to.

“Show us your pussy already. We don’t have all night ... unless we buy you.” A voice from the audience. I don’t like how he sounds—aggressive and hungry, like I owe him something. Like he already owns me.

The auctioneer pauses the bidding, giving me a chance to decide. I freeze like a deer in headlights, caught between wanting to get this over with and make the most amount of money, and holding on to a thread of self-respect.

This time, when Paulina looks at me for confirmation, I shake my head. I won’t be bullied into getting naked in front of an audience.

But the crowd doesn’t care. It’s not just one voice anymore; now, it’s a chorus demanding that I take it all off, that I show them my pussy. That I touch myself and give them a little show.

The crowd grows wilder, more menacing. On instinct, I wrap my arms around my waist as my panic grows. Even Paulina seems unnerved by the crowd’s fervor.

Feeling entirely out of my depth, I realize there's nothing to do but get through the auction and hope like hell that whoever wins me has a shred of decency. Because I’m in way over my head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ROMAN

An ice pick lodges itself in my chest, cold and sharp, the moment I see her on stage. My blood seethes with a violent urge to kill every onlooker, but I’m also furious at Liza herself.

Is she so in need of money that she's willing to sell herself like a commodity on the open market for any man to bid on? She's engaged to a very rich man, and unless this gives her a little thrill, this makes no fucking sense to me.

But I’ll get my answers in time. I have more urgent issues to contend with right now. Like the way every man’s hungry gaze roams over her body. Their lust incites my rage.

Liza looks like a goddess fully dressed, but wearing nothing but a few scraps of lace, she’s perfection—smooth golden skin, flared hips, a generous ass, and perky breasts with rose-tinged nipples just visible through the delicate white lace hugging her curves.

A maddening feeling of possession pumps through my veins. She may not belong to me, but she doesn’t belong to these fuckers either, and I’ll make sure that every man in this room understands that she’s not theirs to claim before the auction’s over.

I can't stand the look of vulnerability that washes over her face with every crude jeer and whistle. It took raw nerve for her to step onto that stage, but any trace of that courage has vanished. The woman I see up there is drowning, in over her head.

But I won't step in just yet. She needs to feel the weight of her mistake.

I stalk through the room, keeping tabs on the rowdy crowd and making a note of the more vocal ones—the men I’ll have to kill before the night is over.

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