Page 95 of Ruthless Savage

“What the feck?” My heart races, and my feet are moving of their own accord, my hand on the weapon at my holster.

What are they bidding on?

“Five hundred,” someone else calls.

And the numbers keep rising until they reach a million.

I grab the arm of one of the men standing beside a woman. “What is this?”

His mouth twitches and so does hers. “Auction. You can buy their virginity.”

FECK!

She can’t be doing this! I won’t bloody allow it.

A vein throbs in my neck, my fist curling at my side as I walk toward the center of the room between the two sections of seats. And that’s when she sees me.

But she has no idea who I am, does she? I’m a stranger yet again.

I won’t be for long. I will not let her sell herself to anyone. Never. I’ll maim and kill any bastard who thinks himself worthy of her.

My hand tightens around my weapon, heartbeats galloping in my throat. I know what would happen if I killed someone here. Konstantin would kill me.

But right now, I don’t care if I live or die because I vowed to protect her, and this is what I must do.

“Three million dollars,” a man with a deep Russian accent calls, and her audible gasp echoes.

He’s not touching her. He won’t even get the chance.

I prowl closer as he stands up, getting ready to claim her.

“Going once…”

I’m rushing toward the stage, hoping to cause a distraction and to reason with Konstantin somehow before I do something I can’t take back.

My eyes land on hers, and I swear I want to rip my bloody mask off and tell her who I am. But I can’t even think about that now. All I can do is concentrate on how to end this.

“Stop this shite!” I call, but besides a few passing glances, everyone ignores me.

She jerks back a step, body visibly trembling, and from my periphery, I find a few of the guards storming toward me.

“Going twice.”

“Konstantin! You’d better put a stop to this!”

More people turn toward me, curious now that I’ve mentioned him.

But he never comes.

“Sold! To number 3762.”

The rest happens in the blink of an eye.

The gun is out in seconds, and just as the winner starts toward the stage, my body roils with rage.

“Don’t feckin’ touch her!” A roar climbs out of my throat just as one of my bullets rips into the winner’s head.

Screams erupt from the audience, and in the chaos, she stares at me, quivering.

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