Page 7 of Bought and Broken

I’m sure the only way she’s still on her feet is because her friend, Summer, the blond bimbo, is holding her up. I’m sure Summer is aware of Devon’s extreme fear of blood, since they’re besties, so she’s got this handled. It doesn’t stop the ache in my chest though, knowing Devon is panicking. Knowing I could make this better in mere seconds. I always was the only person who could calm her down in tough situations. Not even her twin brother has that talent. It was always me.

Maybe if Devon hadn’t completely destroyed me, I’d help her. But she doesn’t deserve any kindness from me. The only thing she deserves is my wrath, and that’s what she’ll get for the rest of our lives. She can suffer alone—just like I did.

Chapter Three

Devon

Present day…

I reread the email for the hundredth time, still unable to believe I’ve been accepted to the auction at Club Lust. But there it is in black and white, right on my phone screen.

I am pleased to announce you have been selected to participate in the Night to Remember Auction…

My father would lose his head if he found out. My brother too. Which is why they will never know. I didn’t tell a single soul about being selected—not only because they made me sign an NDA, but because I need to do this for myself. I don’t want to hear anyone’s opinion on it; don’t want any voices in the back of my head to tell me what I’m doing is wrong.

I need this.

So, instead, I begged my best friend, Summer, to cover for me. We came up with a story about going away for the weekend. Something I had to beg for because my father rarely allows it. But I caught him when he was distracted and used just enough words that I wasn’t lying.

Summer hassled me about telling her what I was up to the entire time we planned our “trip”, until finally I admitted I’d signed an NDA and legally couldn’t. I knew that would only make her worry more—which it did—but she stopped asking what I was doing, and instead turned into a mother hen and went on and on about how I better not be doing anything dangerous. Which I’m not… right? The men at this place have been vetted. I’m sure they’re harmless.

Summer’s problem is that she used to be the party girl. She’s done all the crazy things, so she’s aware of what I could get up to. Even though she’s a mom now and hasn’t seen the inside of a club in years, she’s not stupid. The last four or so years of her life haven’t been easy. When her parents found out she was pregnant, they kicked her out. No questions asked, no excuses accepted. She was out on her ass at just twenty. And though I understand her worries, she needs to let me do my thing. The last thing I need from Summer is for her to turn into an overbearing worry-wart like Dad and Dane.

Not going to this auction will ruin my plan to leave this house, and it’s the only plan I have. For months, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get out of my family’s death grip, and every road was a dead end. Until this auction fell into my lap.

It’s not that I don’t love my family—I do. I love my brother and father dearly. But I’m twenty-three and I’m tired of feeling like a caged animal. Dad tells me I’m not ready to be on my own. Dane, my twin brother, agrees with him. But they’re just overprotective boys who don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m sure there are plenty of things I don’t know about life, but that’s their fault. They don’t let me experience things; don’t let me live. I’ll learn all I need on the way. All they’re doing for me is setting me up for failure. The longer I stay here, the more I’m hurting myself and the future I could have.

When Summer was kicked out of her house, she picked herself up. Why can’t I do that? She didn’t have a single thing but the clothes on her back. Now she has a steady job, her own apartment, her daughter is in daycare, and they’re happy. Sure, there were many crying-fests and panic attacks along the way, but she’s good now. I’m prepared to go through a rough patch if it means coming out better in the end.

Summer doesn’t regret a single thing, either. It sucks she doesn’t have her parents’ support, but she has her own family. She and Astrid have a good life. And I’ve babysat her many times! I think if I can handle watching a baby, I can handle anything. Yet both Dad and Dane still think they need to set rules like I’m six. Though Dane is my brother, he acts like a second father—as if being a handful of minutes older than me matters.

I read the email again, and the excitement has me smiling ear-to-ear.

In the email, they refer to me as merchandise.

It shouldn’t make me smile, but it does. Being referred to anything other than “my baby girl” or “little sis” is a freaking relief, even if the term could be considered derogatory. I’m ready to be looked at as something more than a fragile child. I should be regarded as the woman I am.

It’s likely my father and brother’s issue is that my mother died when I was ten, and they’re afraid of losing me too. I get it. I don’t like the thought of losing my brother or my father. But I’m not her. I won’t be reckless the way she was. I know drinking and driving is dangerous, not only for me, but for other people. My mother made a stupid decision. One that cost not only our family, but two others. It was terrible and it’s always in the back of my mind when I have a choice to make.

But my brother thinks just because I don’t talk about what happened to my mother, that I don’t know what she did was wrong. That I’m just blowing it off as something silly, when that is so far from the truth. It’s just that thinking about it hurts—it hurts a lot. And what happened happened… I can’t change it. I need to move forward because my mother would not want me miserable for my entire life over a bad choice she made. I’ve accepted that my mother is gone. I’ve chosen to move on. Why am I being punished for that? It doesn’t mean I loved her any less, it just means I respect myself enough to give myself a good life and not spend it wallowing in her tragic shadow.

“What are you doing?”

I shut off my phone screen by the side button and shove it into the waistband of my bicycle shorts. The surge of panic that hit me over realizing I’m not alone is quickly overtaken by rage when I process who it is that spoke.

“Nothing,” I say cockily.

Tatum scowls.

Did I mention he’s an asshole?

“Bullshit. You were staring at your phone like you won the lottery.”

I scoff. “It’s none of your business.”

I go to the fridge because I want something sweet. It’s why I came down here in the first place.

“Don’t you ever wear clothes?” he complains, his voice sounding right behind me.

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