Page 239 of Bad for Me

Sometimes, that’s accurate.

Others…

“She’s a jealous bitch. If I told her you and I had a quickie, she’d flip.” Angelo gives me an amused look. “Don’t tell her you know she’s cheating on Victor with me.”

I don’t understand how a woman with at least two powerful men at her beck and call would care that one of them fucked someone else, but some people are hypocrites.

Like everyone in the mafia world, it seems.

Angelo waggles his eyebrows at me. “I wouldn’t tell her we used to fuck, either. You’ll have to find somebody new for your quickies.”

“You’d think it’d be easy to find someone, but it turns out arms and drug dealers have a hang-up about being fucked by a human trafficker,” I say, unable to keep the irritation and bitterness from my voice. “It’s like some ways of ruining lives are somehow better than others.”

“Hey, don’t look at me. You know I don’t give a shit.” Angelo takes a sip of his rum and looks back at the stage. “Not gonna lie, though. So far I haven’t been impressed by…”

He trails off, and I turn to see what he’s staring at.

In all my years helping with the auctions, I’ve rarely seen anything like what’s on stage now.

Normally, the products are young, pretty women. Sometimes young men, too, skinny and underfed from having lived on the streets for too long. They’re too much like boys for me, though, and I guess even I have some scruples.

But the person they pull onto the stage now is different. He’s older—I’d peg him at least in his thirties—with mild scruff on his face and a very defined body. He isn’t large, but those lean muscles on display speak of quiet strength.

I swallow hard when I see him.

He’s so different from our usual that I think somebody must have made a mistake. The people gathered seem to realize something is off, too, because whispers get louder.

The man walks onto the center of the stage with his head held high and kneels when ordered to.

“This is Misha,” the auctioneer says, pointing to the product. “I know what you’re thinking: wow, he’s soold.”

Disgusting, but that’s probably exactly what most of these people are thinking.

Several people snicker about that.

“Misha here thought he could steal from us, though. Started out as a promising recruit, but I guess he got greedy. So we figured, we’d let him get a real taste of what it’s like to ‘work’ here.” The auctioneer laughs.

I don’t. I’m too entranced by the look on Misha’s face, the way he looks so calm amidst a hellhole that would make most other grown men panic.

“Now, he doesn’t look like much, so we’ll start the bids fairly low. But think about how much fun you can have taking apart a man like him!” The starting bid is only half as much as some of the women went for.

Before I know what I’m doing, I raise my paddle.

Angelo gives me a look. “Seriously? You just said you don’t have the time.”

Another person raises their paddle and suggests a higher amount. The auctioneer seems surprised that there’s even a small bidding war at all, but he suggests a higher amount, and I match it.

I ignore Angelo, too focused on the man on stage, on the other person who tries to take this prize away from me — because that’s what this Misha is: a prize.

Fuck, I already know I’m in over my head, but I can’t help it.

The other bidder turns to glare at me, but they seem to realize just who I am because they don’t hurry to match my bid. Nobody else wants to bid against me either, and after another few seconds, the auctioneer points at me. “Sold!”

I know the procedures, of course. Somebody will come and get my banking information, I’ll transfer funds through various anonymous accounts, and in the end, I’ll be left with a chained-up person to take home with me.

What I’ll do from there, I have no fucking clue, but the adrenaline bursting through me doesn’t seem to care about that.

Angelo gives a low whistle. “Gotta say, I didn’t expect that, Raul. You want help carting him home?”

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