Page 58 of Auctioned

“Twenty-one.” Griffith’s confidence has grown over the last few seconds. I wonder if he has any idea who he’s gone to a bidding war against.

“Twenty-three.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Ear-piercing.

It’s then that I allow myself to find her gaze. Briefly. Then my son’s.

He’s gloating. Hardly holding on to her arm anymore. She probably ceased to matter the moment her highest bid surpassed Camden’s final bid.

A movement in my periphery. Alessandro finally twists in his chair. His narrowed glare shoots daggers at Griffith, who remains firm in his place.

The air crackles, tension filling the air.

They all wonder who’ll win this round.

Me. I fucking will.

“Twenty-five,” he says.

My lackey doesn’t blink. “Thirty million.”

Alessandro’s lips pinch. His hand goes to his waist, where he’d have his gun.

The one we keep in one of the safes at the door.

Ten of our guards, who line the walls, draw their weapons at Alessandro’s menacing gesture. He notices them. Raises his hands briefly and curses under his breath.

“Okay. Okay.” The vein in his temple throbs. He stands up. Walks over to Griffith, his hand outstretched in front of him. “Bravo.”

Griffith, finally down from the high, wisely hesitates. “I—Thanks?”

“Yes. Thanks is the correct response.” At a complete one-eighty, Alessandro smiles. An honest-to-God smile. He slaps Griffith’s shoulder once. “Thanks is the answer, my friend. I might not have gotten what I came here for. Theputtana…”

Slut.

Self-preservation wins over the blood-thirst boiling within me.

“But it was enjoyable.” Alessandro laughs first. Griffith, visibly relieved, joins him, but his laugh is more of a cough. “Thank you, friend, for the entertainment.”

They laugh some more. The rest of the crowd joins them.

Nothing about this scenario amuses me. Nothing about the need for revenge on her behalf makes sense to me, either.

It doesn’t matter.

She matters.

Or more like, satisfying the beast inside me matters.

Topher pulls Ophelia’s hands to her front and cuffs her. She growls at him, the wild animal I saw in her yesterday coming out. One of our staff stands in front of her, raising the black bag and pulling it down over her head.

Not a sound of protest comes out of her. Not the barest hint of revolt once the bag is in place.

I’d be intrigued if I hadn’t known her on a base level.

She’s planning to fight. When the time is right.

I’ll take immense pleasure in watching her do just that.

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