Page 21 of Peyton's Price

It was over quickly.Peyton had just come to the sickening realization the auction had started when she was informed it was over.

The mood of her captors was jubilant.

“Well, well, I guess I was wrong,” Mega-Bitch said, her arms sweeping out in a gesture that encompassed Peyton. She entered the room, flanked by her ever-present set of guards.

“You set a record for the year. Most of the others went for average sums, but you went for close to quadruple. Our new buyer must be very keen. He snatched you up, despite having bought three other girls from one of our competitors a few years ago.” Pausing, she sniffed. “Of course, those were bottom-of-the-barrel offerings—girls without your kind of looks to recommend them. In fact, one was quite ugly. But your new owner has a reputation. He’s what people in our business call an eclectic collector.”

Peyton didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing.

The woman didn’t care whether she received a reply. She was too busy gloating. “We’ve been trying to get in bed with this particular buyer for years. Who could have foreseen thatyouwould be what he was looking for?”

She finished with a shrug as if her clients’ tastes in sex slaves were none of her business.

Peyton’s stomach did back-flips. “What had happened to the other women he bought? Are they still alive?”

Mega-bitch shrugged. “I suppose. Unless they annoyed him too much. If that’s the case, they’re fish food.” She glanced at the guards, annoyance flitting across her features. “Well, get on with it.”

The smaller man reached into his pocket. He pulled out a syringe.

Peyton’s scrambled back, almost losing her balance on those high stilettos. “Wait, that’s not necessary! I’ll come quietly. Haven’t I cooperated?”

The woman didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on her phone, reading a message—no doubt her mind had moved to her next set of victims. She didn’t bat an eyelash when the guard grabbed Peyton, twisting her arm so hard she screamed as the syringe was jammed into her neck.

Peyton slid down to the floor, her voice dying to a hoarse whisper. The last thing she registered was the woman’s heels clicking on the concrete as she walked out the door.

* * *

Movement and noisepenetrated the thick fog. Peyton struggled to clear her vision. Bleary-eyed, she sat up as her seat swayed, her hands numb from the cold.

She was on a helicopter. A grey blanket had been tossed on top of her, but it had slid off, leaving her in that thin white dress in the icy air. She squinted out the window, trying to make out any landmarks, but it was pitch black.

There were four seats in the cabin, but the one next to her was empty. She was alone in the backseat. Two men were in the front, the pilot and another man, presumably a guard. Both wore earphones with little microphones attached to them.

Her first muddled thought was she should try to escape now. She could hit the guards with something, but when she raised her aching arms a few inches, she realized her hands were bound together with a twist tie. Another had been looped through it, securing it to the chair’s metal arm.

Peyton swore aloud, but the men didn’t react. They couldn’t hear over the noise of the motor. She closed her eyes, trying to get her bearings, but it was damned hard to focus on anything except the frigid cold. Unable to use her hands, she shifted her legs experimentally, lifting then until she could grab the blanket. She drew it over herself as best she could.

A few minutes later, the man next to the pilot noticed she was awake. He got out of his seat and fitted her with a helmet, jamming it roughly on her head.

“You’re lucky,” he said, his voice tinny and digitized in her ear. “The buyer has generously decided to meet us halfway. We’ll be landing shortly.”

He turned and nudged the pilot, pressing a button on the console. “The depraved fuck must be eager for fresh meat. God knows he doesn’t have to pay for it, but he still gets girl after girl every year—or at least, he used to. It’s been a while. The boss is pretty happy he started up again.”

Peyton grimaced, pressing her hands hard against her abdomen to keep from being ill. “Um, I think you pressed the wrong button.”

He hadn’t cut the audio to her helmet, as he’d intended.

The man laughed. “Whoops.”

Shrugging, he turned back to the dark in front of the windshield. Neither man said another word for a long time. After she’d had enough time to calm down—and grow slightly bored—the pilot pointed.

She craned her neck to glimpse over their shoulders. Gasping aloud, she gawked at a massive yacht, its light bright enough to illuminate the sea around it.

It was the biggest non-military vessel she’d ever seen, a floating island in the middle of nowhere.

“I had no idea we were over the ocean,” she muttered as they circled the boat. No one answered her.

The boat grew larger the closer they got. There was a raised platform with a giant H at one end. Blinking, she shuddered as the pilot brought them closer, touching down with a soft clang of metal on metal.

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