Page 9 of Keeping My Captive

But our partnership goes both ways. Thiago wouldn’t have the drugs to sell without me; and thus, wouldn’t have the extremely lucrative income that he does. So, for those reasons, I trust him…to an extent. I know he wouldn’t double cross me, because he knows he would be a dead man before my corpse even got cold.

“Have a seat,” Thiago suggests. “The show is about to begin.”

Grumbling, I go to a chair situated in the corner of the small room as he takes a seat in front of a computer with a keyboard. The monitor flickers on, and a bunch of information runs across the screen. Warnings and disclaimers, I think. He signs in, and then all the fine print blinks away to a black screen with a countdown of five minutes in big, red numbers.

I want to ask him what happens in five minutes, but I know the bastard won’t tell me. He’s being ambiguous, for some reason, and it’s driving me insane. I’m already thinking about who will replace him after I put a bullet in his head. It wouldn’t be difficult. Everyone is replaceable, to an extent. Even me.

Pulling my lucky coin out of an inside jacket pocket, I begin to roll it over the knuckles of my right hand. I do the maneuver repeatedly, and it begins to calm my nerves, like usual. Call it a nervous tik or whatever you want, but it helps me to think, helps me to concentrate.

I stare through the dark glass, assuming I’m going to see something soon since the counter is down to three and a half minutes now. Sure enough, bright fluorescent lights begin to flicker on, illuminating a circular room and what appears to be a round stage with a runway leading up to it in the middle. The room is huge, and I can see numerous large, square windows facing the stage. I’m assuming beyond the windows are other rooms, just like the one I’m currently sitting in. But Thiago was right about the one-way glass since I can’t see into any of them to confirm.

Glaring at the runway in the distance, I scoff, “You brought me all the way here for a fucking fashion show?”

“Oh, it’s not a fashion show, although you will see many beautiful girls here tonight. I can promise you that,” he mutters under his breath.

I’m just about to demand he tells me what’s going on when a robotic-sounding female voice comes over the intercom speaker above us, interrupting me.

“The first auction will begin in three minutes,”the voice announces.

“Auction?” I question. “What are you bidding on?”

“I’m not going to spoil it. You’ll just have to wait. The first time is always the most exciting,” he states, smiling cruelly.

I steel my features. This is a new side of Thiago that I haven’t witnessed before. Hell, we’re all seedy motherfuckers in the cartel, but he’s bringing on a whole other level of sordidness. After tonight, I’ll decide if I want to keep doing business with him…or kill him. The more time that goes on in this room with the two of us, I’m beginning to lean more towards the latter option.

He’s quiet for a while, his knee jumping and anxiousness marring his features. He’s excited for this, like a gambler before a big horse race.

I watch the countdown on the screen, and when it gets to zero, I can’t help but hold my breath for what is about to happen. The stage lights blink a few times, and then a blonde woman is walking down the runway with what looks like an armed guard behind her. He’s wearing tactical gear and a black mask. I narrow my eyes as I turn my attention to the woman.

She looks young, late teens, early twenties maybe, with short, blonde hair and long legs under a white dress that is so sheer I can see the color of her nipples. She glances around the room when she reaches the end of the stage, looking lost and confused.

“Dios mío, she’s pretty,” Thiago remarks, and I look on the computer monitor, realizing there is a camera pointed at her face and broadcasting it on the screen. Zoomed in, I can see the fear in her deep blue eyes. She looks absolutely terrified.

The robotic voice announces over a speaker in the ceiling,“Age nineteen. Place of origin, Russia. We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand dollars.”

Almost instantaneously, several red lights above the darkened windows around the stage begin to flash, lighting up the numbers. The windows are all numbered, and the highest one I see is twelve. There are twelve rooms. Twelve men bidding on women.

“Three hundred thousand dollars,”the robot says after filing through multiple bids.“Three hundred thousand going once…going twice…sold to number eleven.”

The girl is forced off the stage by gunpoint, and I turn to Thiago, who is grinning ear to ear, enjoying his time here like we’re at a normal sporting event and not at an auction for human beings. “What the fuck are we doing here?” I demand. I’m tired of him pussyfooting around.

“When you told me you’ve never been to an auction before, I knew I had to invite you.” He pauses. “I haven’t bid on any girls yet, but it is quite entertaining.” He shifts in his seat then and not so subtly adjusts himself through his pants.Fuck, is he getting aroused by this?

I vaguely remember him discussing his sick fascination with paying for whores, but I had no idea he thought I would ever remotely be into this. The very thought of it makes me feel sick andstabby, and I’d love to stick the blade of a knife right through his carotid right now. Even though we’ve been cohorts for years, he went too fucking far this time.

I may live in a sick, fucked-up world where there are no rules except kill or be killed, but I draw the line at hurting innocent women. Thiago doesn’t know about my past or what I went through as a young boy. Hell, only one other person knows, and that’s my uncle. Thiago couldn’t have possibly known that this would trigger me, but that doesn’t make any of this better or okay.

Several more women are presented on stage, and the bids go higher and higher each time. I pace the floor of the small room, two seconds away from losing my shit. My eyes squeeze shut as a barrage of memories assault my mind. I swear I can still hear them screaming…

“The premier female is being presented now,”the robot voice says, thankfully interrupting my thoughts, but not fully pulling me out of them.

My breathing is labored as I watch the next woman forced on stage. Her long, brunette hair has my hands clenching into fists on top of my knees. She struggles with the guard and is rewarded with a hard slap to the cheek. She crumbles in her high heels, falling to the stage, her dark hair hiding her face.

And, suddenly, it feels like my head is under water. I’m drowning between the past and the present, and then I’m right back where I was all those years ago when I was just a little boy…

Her dark hair covering her face as the men force themselves upon her. Her screams fill my ears until that’s the only sound I can hear. Her begging for them to stop, but they don’t stop. They don’t stop until she’s quiet and not moving. Why is she so quiet?

“She’s a lively one,” Thiago comments with a dark chuckle. “Whoever takes her home is gonna have fun with her.”

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