Page 34 of Vicious Savage

To cement my presence and throw off any suspicion, I grab a drink from a passing waiter and press the glass to my lips, taking a sip. Then promptly find an out of the way plant and tip the contents into the pot. I don’t need to be drunk this evening.

I move through the faceless crowd seamlessly. Everyone wears a mask, making it hard to recognize anyone. Which is both a good thing and a bad. I identify Castillo across the room by body shape and the gait he has when he struts across the floor. He is flanked by men on either side. They all wear masks, but one of the men is looking directly at me. I turn my eyes away and merge with the partygoers until I appear on the other side of the room. I don’t need or want any unwanted attention tonight. That could shoot our whole plan to hell.

“Hors-d’oeuvre?”

I turn at the sound of a male voice. My eyebrows rise then just as quickly drop when I recognize Cesar ‘The Jekyll’ Cavalho standing in front of me. He’s seething at the uniform he’s been forced to wear tonight; black dress pants and a waistcoat without a shirt underneath, tonight’s uniform for the waiters. His head is covered by a short black wig, hisface hidden behind a mask, but I’d know that scowl anywhere. His arms bulge with muscle as they hold a tray aloft.

I reach for a delicacy and he moves away, serving the party attendees. It’s been agreed that he should spend as much time as the night allows on the floor mingling amongst the guests. Observing every move, every action, paying attention to what’s going on in various corners of the room. We need to be ready if Castillo decides to make a move.

I cast my eyes across the room; I haven’t seen any sign of Luna yet. I’m starting to think someone must have gotten the details wrong when Castillo announces dinner and waiters lead the crowd through a hallway until we reach a huge room set up with about fifteen round tables, each large enough to seat ten or so people.

I find the table with my place card on it and take my seat, my eyes finding Dante sitting a few tables away. There is a makeshift stage at one end of the room, no less than a meter high, accessible by a set of stairs located off to one side. The waiters bring out our food as Castillo takes the stage, stands behind a microphone and informs us that dinner is served.

“And as a special surprise for you all tonight, our entertainment for the night will be brought to you by my very own daughter, Luna Castillo. The one and only listing on tonight’s auction agenda.”

Castillo calls out for the auctioneer as knives and forks tap delicately at dinner plates. I’m probably one of the only men in the room repulsed by what is about to happen. The auctioneer takes the stage, and there are low murmurs as Castillo exits the stage behind a curtain, then comes back dragging along a heavily made, shackled Luna.

35

LUNA

Istumble onto the stage in sky-high sequined stilettos.

He’s made me up like a whore. “Just like the whore you are,” he said, before he grabbed my shackled hands and dragged me through the house. I almost fell and broke my neck with how quickly he made me walk. I’m not used to heels. And I’m definitely not used to dresses this short. It’s a short purple flapper style dress that barely covers my ass, it’s embarrassing. I’ve never been so ashamed or humiliated in my life as I am now, standing in a room full of nameless strangers, my father putting me on display like a trophy. He pushes me forward, whirls me around viciously until I am facing the crowd, then tips my chin up so I am standing almost regally. I don’t know who this man is.

My father pushes his face mask up until it rests against his head. His eyes are hard and unforgiving, limitless in their hatred toward me. He’s looking at me, but it seems like he’s looking through me for all the desperate hatred in his eyes. I think possibly I will die not knowing what I ever did to make him loathe me so much.

“Coyin, you bastard!”

Someone in the crowd roars with anger. I follow my father’s eyes until they land on a tall man standing in the back of the room. Nestor Gamboa. My one time fiancé. The man I ran away from. All heads swivel in Nestor’s direction. No doubt everyone already knows who he is and the history between him and my father.

“Youpromisedher to me, and now you’resellingher? To the highest bidder? We had a deal!”

My father lifts his right arm and swipes it through the air, as though summoning some unseen power to converge on the ballroom floor. And it does. Sort of. A mini army of my father’s men swarm towards Nestor. A man on either side lifting him from his underarms, flanked by half a dozen other men as they drag him through the room. I catch the horrified look on the faces of some of the attendees; they must be politicos that don’t want to contend with fallout over this scandal.

“You traitor!” He yells, as he’s dragged away. “You snake! I will gut you Castillo, you hear me? I…”

His voice becomes a distant garble as he’s led out of the room. Murmurs have started to spread amongst the attendees. Some have risen from their tables and, without a word to my father, make their way out of the room.

My father watches on in fury. All he’s ever wanted was to belong in this world that doesn’t want him. But the respect he’s found so hard to attain is not something he’s earnt. You can’t simply live by your own code and expect everyone to bow to your ways willingly. Even I, at my tender age, understand that.

The auctioneer breaks the moment by stepping up to the podium and clearing his voice before he addresses the crowd. It takes a while, but the murmurs finally stop and all heads turn toward the stage. I can’t see any faces; they’re hidden behind fancy masks, and I think I’m the only one in the room whose face is uncovered. But my eyes. My eyes scan the crowd; zooming in a lens focus, as though I’m looking through a telescope. I try my hardest to spot my brothers amongst the guests, but their presence evades me. I don’t see a single face I know amongst the diners.

When the auctioneer finally speaks, he thanks everyone for their attendance and apologizes for the intrusion earlier. He tries to make a joke about how some men won’t take no for an answer, but no one laughs and he moves on. It’s not a laughing matter when they’re all here for the same reason; to take me against my will, effectively also not taking no for an answer.

My father steps up to the auctioneer and whispers something in his ear before he steps back to me. I watch as the auctioneer’s face turns beet red then as he clears his throat and starts again. My father is such a bastard.

I think of all the things I could do to avoid going home with some random stranger tonight. All I can think of is to run from the stage and take a leap, but the stage is so low I’d only end up breaking a few bones at most, and I don’t relish the pain of that.

“Mr Castillo would like to reiterate that it was Nestor Gamboa, nothe, that reneged on their deal. Just to make things clear. And now, without further ado.” He stops and claps his hands together, as though about to reveal the much anticipated winner of an award. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

He rattles off my ‘specifications’. My name, age, height and weight. My attributes. My talents, of which there are not many. He fluffs on and on and on, and he bores me because most of what he’s saying is untrue. Never was I an upstanding pillar of the community. I never wanted to be a ballerina. And I definitely can’t sing to save my soul. But my favorite, and of course there has to be one, I was never pursued relentlessly by a Sheikh who fell in love with me the moment he saw me. If that were true, why then would I be here? Being auctioned off? I hate the man. Hate that he’s made me so boring, so pedestrian, in the hopes that I’d be more interesting to those in the market to buy a new toy.

All heads are turned in my direction, and I can feel the sizzle of eyes as they bore deep into me. Everyone is watching me seriously, no doubt wondering how much of the auctioneer’s description is accurate. I wonder if they all know that I’m my father’s daughter. I doubt it. Who in their right mind would support a father giving away his own daughter?

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the bidding begin. And may the best man — or woman — win.”

36

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