Page 2 of Cherry Auction

One would think that Caleb, being the owner of the mostexclusive BDSM club in Dallas, would understand people like me. But in spite of the life he’s lived, somehow, he’s still soft inside.

“Okay, not this girl, butsomeone,” he says. “Connection is important. All you do is work and take care of Moira.”

Time to don society’s tedious mask again. I smile winsomely. “Well, you have met my sister. Over and over andover.” I mock a cringe. “And too many times inmy face at the club. So maybe you’re not one to talk abouttaking careof Moira.”

His eyes roll. Façade or not, he’s at least acquainted with me enough to know that I don’t actually give a shit about my sister’s sexual exploits atCarnal. I’m happy about them, in fact. All I’m trying to do is keep my sister safe.

Moira’s what you call an anysexual. Anyone, anywhere, anytime. Addiction runs in families, they say. And our family tree is… well, statistically, Moira and me were fucked before we ever took our first fecking wail.

Carnalis a safe sandbox for her to play in. This world is a fucked ball of death and destruction hurtling towards its inevitable brutal, bitter end. But my sister is somehow still a bright fucking beam of joy and sunshine screaming back into the void. Not that she even knows it. If I have any purpose in this life, it’s to never let anything put that fucking light out.

“I’m serious,” Caleb keeps at it. “You should at leastconsidertaking a short-term sub. You know all the subbies at the club are drooling for you. Why not try?”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, saving me from continuing the useless back-and-forth banter. There’s no point in small talk about how I’m not interested in anything even relationship-adjacent. I am what I am and while I will try to present a socially-acceptable facade, I won’t apologize for it.

“Shit,” he whispers, looking back up at me from the phone. “It’s time.” Anxiety tenses his forehead. “You really think this will work?”

I lean in and mutter quietly, “You see howEyes Wide Shutwe made this shit? These guys are already nutting in their pants to be the one who takes the virgin home.”

Well, not home, but to the privacy of the private rooms, with careful monitoring.Carnal’s bouncer, Isaak, is bar none. I’ve seen that guy toss a biker two times his size out of the club for causing trouble.

And for the highest bidder, the bragging rights alone will make him a legend in their little circle for years to come. Obnoxious male bonding and one-up-man-ship rituals are what really get those pricks off.

I clap Caleb on the back. “It’s gonna be great.”

He nods hard, repetitively for several long moments, then stomps backstage with purpose.

Stubborn bastard. The club is in financial trouble and Caleb refused my offer of the money. Then he refused a no-interest loan.Friendship and money should never mix, the idiot kept repeating.

But the club needs the money, and I need the club forMoira. I even once tried to tacitly explain that I see him less as a friend and his club more as a supply line to what Moira needs, but he just laughed, clapped me on the back—another favorite form of male communication—and said he’d figure something out.

This was his solution. A virgin auction. Apparently, others at the club helped talk him into it. Moira was there and I’m sure she was anamazingvoice of reason.

Caleb comes through the velvet curtain and strides confidently up to the microphone. All the nerves from moments ago appear to have dissolved. I’m not that naïve. Maybe that’s why Caleb and I get along so well. He knows a thing or two about swapping masks.

“The auction is about to start,” he announces into the mic, “so have a seat, gentlemen. We have a gorgeous prize to present to you tonight.”

Everyone meanders towards their seat while Caleb introduces the evening and tries to get the crowd enthused. I take a chair in the back, watching on with bored curiosity. This is entertaining enough, I suppose, but it’s not like being in the club with a whip in my hand and a beautifully pink-assed sub whimpering beneath me.

I can’t even take out my phone because Caleb required leaving them at the door. It only seemed sporting to join along, even though I’m just hosting.

I cross a leg and lean back while Caleb settles into salesman mode.

But the other men seem restless too, at least until a woman steps through the curtain wearing a silk negligee with barely any actual material to it, sky high white heels on her feet. A fall of chestnut curls covers her face.

Caleb hurries back to her and they have a quick consultation about something off-mic. Then Caleb lifts the microphone up again, back in ringleader mode.

“Here,” Caleb says to the woman, holding out and arm to lead her towards the front of the stage, “come stand right up here.”

Her head is dropped, so I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, ashamed, or shy.

Finally, she lifts her head, and I’m glad I emptied my glass, because it falls right out of my hand, thudding onto the carpet below.

I can only stare at the ghost standing before me, looking even more beautiful now than she does in my memory.

Too bad the last time I ran across her, I swore I’d kill her for what she and her father did to me.

TWO

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