Page 55 of Searching for Hope

She keeps her gaze to the ground as she descends. The train of her dress slides down behind her. It’s the same color as her eyes. Grays and blues, shadows and storms. Her hair is swept back from her face and tied loosely at the nape of her neck. The straps of her dress aren’t enough to hide her scar and tendrils of it escape under the black.

It is reminding others of who she is.

Whose daughter she is.

She’s close to me by the time she lifts her eyes, and it cuts deeply when I see her force them vacant. She tosses her head a little and straightens her shoulders.

“Ready to go?”

I hold out my arm. She looks at it for a moment before looping her own through it and walking with me out the door. She’s quiet on the trip to the secluded estate where the auction is being held. I don’t push her. She just sits with her head to the window, staring blankly outside. Everything inside me wants to force her to listen, wants to force her to understand what it was like for me, wants to explain the torment that was going on inside my head. It’s a situation I’d never considered. Something I had no plan for.

The prick that is Michael Gorman greets us at the door. He ushers us in past the security, flashing the man a smile and a wink. He grabs Berkley’s hand and then slides his arm around her, guiding her by the small of her back.

Her eyes flick to mine hesitantly before she allows him to lead her inside, plastering on a smile that I know is forced.

The room is crowded, people gathering around displays like the opening of an art exhibition. They touch and they prod while the clay holds still. They dissect and discuss the pieces thoughtfully, commenting on the techniques used, the scars from previous artists.

Only this isn’t an art gallery.

And they aren’t objects on display.

They’re women.

Berkley twirls around, hurrying away from Michael. There’s a mixture of terror and disgust in her expression. She huddles close, her gaze darting.

“I can’t do this.” She keeps her voice low.

Her eyes are glued to mine. I want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her away like I did at the party. I want to promise her she’ll never have to face anything like this again. I want to shield her. Protect her from evil. But if I do any of that, I’m leaving Hope to the wolves.

Grabbing her hand, I stride after Michael. She tugs against me. “This is too real,” she hisses. “I can’t stand here and be part of this.”

I stop and jerk her toward me. Her chest rams into mine. I fight the urge to cup her face, to stroke her cheek.

Instead, I growl. “We’ve got no choice. Do you think they’d be fine with us just leaving now?” I pull her to the side, hiding behind a group of people so Michael can’t see us. “We can’t stop now, Berkley. It’s only because of you that we’re getting this close.”

Her voice trembles as she speaks. “You can see the fear in those girls’ eyes. You can sense it. I can’t swan about in there as though this is normal. I just can’t do it.”

“Then what do you want to do? Do you want to turn around and walk out of here like you never saw it? Do you want to call the police?”

She nods. “Yes, call the police. We should do that. This is wrong. This is so very, very wrong.” Tears prick and she attempts to blink them away.

“Berkley,” I take her hands. “The police were there when Hope was sold. She was right there when they stormed the place, but she still somehow slipped away. They took her. Again. I’m not letting that happen. Once I find her, once I’ve got her back, then you can call the police. Then you can try to rescue everyone else. But don’t feel bad when you can’t save everyone.”

She blinks under my sharp rebuke, but I see the defiance in her stance return. “She means that much to you? You’d sacrifice all these women just for her?”

“No.” I take a deep breath, hoping she can hear the honesty in my voice. “She means that much to Ette.”

I glance sideways and see Michael cutting through the crowd toward us. As I drop Berkley’s hands, she takes a deep breath to compose herself before turning to Michael with a smile. He looks between us. There’s suspicion in his eyes.

“Where’s your list?”

“What list?” Berkley asks innocently.

Michael steps forward, skipping down the steps that join one level of the house to the other. “My father wants to make sure you—” he cocks his brow at me, “are a genuine buyer. You said you had a clientele looking for a specific product. Give me the list of specifications so I can see if there is any product that matches it.”

Berkley laughs. “You think we’re stupid enough to bring a shopping list?” She walks over to Michael and taps his cheek affectionately. “Who do you think I am?”

“I wasn’t asking you, Everly. I was asking your friend here.”

---