Page 31 of Red Captive

“You’re sendingallof it back home, then?”

Doesn’t he listen? I nod. “Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Let me guess; your father died, and your mother—”

“No.” I shake my head. “Actually, my father left soon after my first birthday. I don’t know him. I haven’t seen him since. All I have is a name and two grainy photographs. I have no inclination to chase him down or to get to know him. He left us. Left my mom. So, no, my dad didn’t die. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“I see.” He folds his arms; his eyes are hard. He looks angry, although I’m not sure why. “That still doesn’t explain the need for the money. Why can’t your family make their own money? Why do you need to sell yourself?”

I sigh. I really don’t want to tell him. It’s clear he’s judging me.

“Is it for your mother?” he prompts.

I nod. “I don’t like to see it as selling myself.”

“That’s what it is. That’s what you’re about to do.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of it? Because if you are, the general won’t be very impressed with you.”

“I don’t care what he thinks about me.” He gets this look for a moment that tells me it isn’t true. He cares, alright. Then he schools his emotions. “I would prefer to know; that’s all.”

“Yes, the money would be for my mother.” I push out a slow breath. “My stepdad died suddenly three years ago of a heart attack.”

He makes a noise like he’s listening, still unimpressed. Why would I expect anything different?

“I have a six-year-old brother, Caleb. My mother is sick. She can’t work. Very long story short, they need the money. Her medical expenses are through the roof. There is no one else to help out. If I don’t come up with some cash soon, they’ll end up on the streets.”

“That’s a very sad story,” he deadpans, his jaw tight. “Okay, if you’re going through with this, you’d better get dressed.” He tosses the things on the bed and starts to leave. “Don’t be late,” he says over his shoulder just before closing the door.

I don’t know what to make of him. At least I saw some sort of emotion today. I guess that’s something.

I open the first bag, and there’s a hairdryer and a curling iron. At least, I think that’s what it’s called. There are hair products like gels and hairspray. I guess a quick ponytail is outof the question. There is also a whole array of makeup products and applicator brushes. I really wish I could get a YouTube tutorial on how to use this stuff, but I can’t. I’m not allowed any contact with the outside world. What I wouldn’t give to call home. To hear my mom’s voice…Caleb’s, too. I swallow down a swell of emotion. I can’t cry now and make my eyes all red-rimmed and puffy.

There’s a leather bag, which I open. There is an array of smaller boxes inside. I open one and gasp when I see gold earrings. They’re the dangly kind, with a pretty pink stone. I open another box, and it’s a necklace. There are pearl earrings. A bracelet. A dress ring with a big square citrine. They’re all beautiful pieces. Not too fancy, but really gorgeous.

I gasp again when I unzip the other bag. There are several sets of underwear. All matching bras and panties. Lace, silk, satin. The colors vary from deep red to baby blue, each set more exquisite than the last. My heart sinks as I realize what this all means. Where this is headed.

Arghhhh!

I need to move on. I can’t think about it. I need to stay strong and hopeful that one of these men will be really nice.

There are several velvet boxes. I think there are shoes inside. I suck in a breath when I open the first box. Inside is a pair of Louis Vuitton heels. They’re open-toed with the symbols covering charcoal-colored leather. The heel is sleek and shiny black.

The next pair are Louboutins, for sure. They are black with the signature red sole. The epitome of elegance. I run my fingers over the smooth leather. I shudder to think what this must have cost. I’m almost too scared to peek into the rest of the velvet boxes or the garment bags. I have a feeling I’m going to find more of the same luxury items.

I’ll take good care of everything and give it back when I am done. I take my time doing my hair and makeup. I choose the pearl earrings. The dress ring is too big to fit on any of my fingers.

I go with the Louis Vuitton shoes because they’re not as high as the others, and pair them with a Gucci dress because it’s the most casual. It’s olive with a fitted waist and flowing skirt that goes down to my ankles. It’s quite beautiful. I would hate to see the price tag on these items. It must be horrific.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I can hardly recognize the person staring back, even though I barely used any makeup. My hair is down, but I blow-dried it, which is more than I do on most other days.

I have an unsettling thought: what if the guy I pick doesn’t pick me back? There aren’t that many women on Mistveil, but those I have seen are beautiful. Shifters are beautiful.

There is a knock at my door. “We need to leave in the next minute.”

It’s showtime.

“Coming,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm. I quickly spritz some perfume on my pulse points. It looks damned expensive, like everything else. Then I pull my shoulders back, tilt my chin up, and head for the door.

---