Page 44 of Taunting Tarran
It’s true – every eye in the room probably gleams with hunger. They all want her, to claim her as their own. But what they don’t know is that she’s already taken.
‘A prize that has evaded capture for twenty years,’ the auctioneer continues.
The crowd craves a challenge. And Tarran? She’s the ultimate prize. Her moniker isn’t just a name; it’s a warning. By now, everyone knows how she earned it, and every killer here sees her not just as a target, but as a trophy.
‘One hundred and fifty thousand. Do I hear one-sixty?’
Sal assures me I have the current bid, but despite her already being mine, it won’t stop some clients – those that get off beating women, breaking the rules and wanting her for themselves.
‘SOLD!’
‘Congratulations, boss.’
‘The fight isn’t over yet,’ I answer curling my lips.
Sal confirms the transfer, and with a click, our booth door unlocks. As the corridor fills with movement, my gaze locks onto the men emerging alongside us, their faces impassive yet tinged with the same hunger I saw earlier. I study their faces, faces that fixed their eyes on my girl’s body.
We merge into the flow, a steady stream of men moving down the hallway. We ascend the narrow stairs towards the exit at the far end. At the top, a security guard waits, his cold eyes scanning us as he verifies our winning bid. He nods once, granting us passage.
The winter chill bites the moment we step outside, the contrast of the stale heat of the auction and the crisp night air is jarring. Parked in the darkness ahead are black SUV’s, their windows tinted so heavily they reflect nothing. The engines hum softly, ready to ferry us to claim what we’ve bought.
‘I’ll see you back at themasia, Sal. This one, I’ll be doing alone.’
Having Tarran back here would have been my worst nightmare. If I hadn’t got here when I did, she would have beensold off, trafficked to some arsehole who would have fucked her until she bled, or worse. But she isn’t out of the woods yet – no pun intended, because from listening to all the chatter from the other bidders, where we’re headed, is far worse than any sex trafficking auction.
My god, father, what kind of fucked up shit have you set up?
I’m not sure what possessed me to claim this girl, but she’s been my obsession for twenty years.
From the moment I saw her, I knew I wanted her. But back then, I was powerless – too weak to protect her from the world that sought to devour her. I could feel her desperation, the fear radiating off her like a silent scream, clawing at me, begging me to save her. And tonight, I saw it again – that same haunting look in her eyes, a ghost of the past that refuses to let go. The memories crash over me, relentless, unforgiving. The weight of my failure to keep her safe pressing down on me like a vice, crushing and suffocating. For years, the fear of upsetting my father and uncle kept me shackled, and I was a coward in the face of what I knew was mine to claim.
But, no more.
This time, nothing will stop me. No force on earth, no man, no god. I will claim her, protect her, even if I have to burn the world to ashes, and watch it crumble in my wake.
CHAPTER 22
THE BUTCHERBIRD
Fingernails sink into my bicep, dragging me from the vehicle with a force that leaves no room for resistance. Muffled sobs of the others, their fear feeding the beasts that hold us captive. My legs betray me, folding beneath me, and I collapse onto the gravel, the sharp sting of stones biting into my skin.
‘Get her up,’ one of the men growls. Their eyes meet briefly, an exchange of power and purpose, before they herd us together like lambs to the slaughter.
Jessica’s scream pierces the air as a boot connects with her back. She crumples, her face meeting the unforgiving ground.
‘The clients won’t be here yet, let’s have some fun.’
My blood boils as I watch him pass hisgun to the other guard, his hands already moving to the buckle of his belt. My heart pounds, but I don’t hesitate.
‘Get off her!’ I yell, like a threat of its own.
His head snaps towards me, his eyes darkening with a sneer. ‘Shut your mouth, whore,’ he hisses, before he lifts his hand, pulling it back with the intent to strike.
Whack.
Blood splatters across the gravel as his hand cracks against the side of my face, the sting radiating through my skull.
‘Juan! No!’ one of the others yells, the voice distant and frantic.
