Page 91 of Hell to Pay

I was glad he beat a hasty exit. Rafe’s jaw was tense, Nolan’s shoulders coiled tight. I knew they were fighting the same urge I had to tear the man limb from limb for daring to touch Lilah.

The urge to get the fuck out of this place — to get Lilah out of this place — was so strong I wanted to crawl out of my fucking skin.

From the looks of things, the first floor was one giant playroom. I was guessing the computer and security rooms were upstairs. Same for an office — if there was one — where we might find paper evidence.

The grand staircase at the front of the house was too exposed for any of us to make our way to the second floor without being noticed, but I knew houses, and old ones like this usually had more than one staircase.

I looked casually around, trying to get a feel for the layout and where the kitchen might be, knowing secondary staircases often led to and from the kitchen in old houses, all the better for the servants to go unseen because god for-fucking-bid the help should be seen.

I needed to break away, get to the kitchen without being noticed.

I’d no sooner had the thought when a bell rang through the house. The murmur of conversation paused, and the crowd started moving toward the back of the house.

What the fuck?

Rafe met my eyes and took Lilah’s wrist to lead her in the same direction. It was something he never would have done in another situation, but here we had to treat Lilah like property or risk standing out.

Her eyes flashed, but she let him lead her to the back of the house with the rest of the party attendees.

I kept my eyes peeled for a chance to slip away but never found it. The movement of the crowd was almost hypnotic now, an undercurrent of tension and sex permeating the air.

Over the heads of the crowd, I saw that we were approaching a massive set of carved black double doors. Our movement slowed as we approached the bottleneck, and a few minutes later we were inside another room.

And this was no parlor.

It was a ballroom, but not just any ballroom. It was more like a theater, with a balcony section surrounding the main floor, wide open except for a red velvet platform in the center. Thick gold chains were bolted to the corner of the platform, a gold cuff at the end of each chain.

Candles flickered from ornate Gothic candelabras along the walls, the only light in the room.

We were carried toward the platform at the center of the ballroom like a sea of ants, moved along with the crowd like we were hypnotized. I shook myself inwardly, told myself to wake up, stay focused.

Above us in the balcony section, some of the crowd was filing in, their masks dark and forbidding in the candlelight as they congregated near the edge to get the best views of the ballroom floor.

A man wearing a gold mask and a hooded cloak peeled off from the crowd. He was obviously old, his back stooped under the cloak and jacket of his tuxedo, his footsteps slow.

A hush descended over the expansive room as he stepped onto the platform.

“My dear friends, welcome to another Mascarade de Minuit.” His English was accented with French. “Please follow the guidelines presented in your encrypted email.”

Fuck. There had been no encrypted email for us.

“As always, the Showcase is designed to give you a sample of the inventory. In this way, you may measure a suitable match for your purposes. As always, the high bid at climax wins, and the original owner always has the opportunity to outbid on their own inventory after the Showcase.”

He stepped off the platform and the men in the crowd clapped politely, like they were at a fucking golf match.

Another man stepped forward, this one the doorman who had checked our credentials and tagged Lilah. “The first product up for bid is product SB59130BR.”

I held my breath and watched as a man in a black mask emerged from the crowd, leading a willowy brown-haired woman in a red lace thong, a matching bustier, and black garters and stockings. The top half of her face was covered with a sequined feathered mask in red, black, and gold.

He stepped onto the platform, then tugged on the chain when she stared defiantly up at him.

She stumbled over the edge, then righted herself and stepped onto the platform.

I practically held my breath as he started kissing her, his hands slipping inside the bustier to fondle her nipples. She stood stoic and stiff as he thrust his tongue in her mouth and he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together and shoving his tongue deep inside.

Someone in the crowd lifted their paddle. The doorman took note and typed on his tablet.

The man turned the woman around and pulled her back against him, then bit her shoulder hard.

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