Page 21 of Auctioned Surrender

“Nine million,” the auctioneer announces. “Do we have any others? Paddles in the air, gentleman, raise them high, let me see them,” he coaxes.

“Nine point five million dollars from the man in the far left, ten million dollars at the back. We’ve got eleven million dollars from the man in the center of the room. Do I hear more?” the auctioneer asks.

“Fifteen million dollars,” says a voice amongst the crowded chatter.

“Fifteen million. Going once… going twice… and if there are no more bids… Sold to the gentlemen in the back,” the auctioneer says.

The glaring stage lights suddenly turn off, but it takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the change in lighting, and by the time they do, I see two men standing. I would know Damian anywhere, in any crowd, but both men are now in the center ofthe room, leaving me with absolutely no idea who just won the bid.

I watch as the men turn to each other, and my heart falls when Damian’s jaw locks in anger. They shake hands, at the very same time the room begins to spin, and my knees buckle beneath me, causing me to slump to the floor, completely at the mercy of whoever chooses to pick me up and take me home.

Chapter 15

Damian

The last leg of the trip is uneventful now that Bryanna’s captors have dropped one of their men off at a hotel, but I can’t get Evers’ words out of my head. It’s highly unlikely with the equipment we use that someone would pick up the tap planted on Bryanna, but Evers’ comment leaves a nagging doubt. If they do find it, I could have cost her everything. After a few hours of contemplating, the feeling won’t go away. I need confirmation that I haven’t put Bryanna in more danger and send a message to our tech crew, feeling only minimally relieved when they assure me the devices we use are the best in the business, and the one in my ring is almost impossible to detect.

We’re nearing the outskirts of New Orleans when Matt sends a text to let me know that everything is in place. He gives us the address of a custom clothing shop and Evers navigates through the bustling city streets until we arrive at a little brick-fronted store just off the main thoroughfare.

When I walk in, the shopkeeper looks up from behind the counter and assesses me from over the top of a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. “I’m Damian Moletti. Brian Carrington had an order sent in for clothes,” I say, glancing around at all themannequins strategically placed around the shop wearing black suits and custom tuxes.

“The order’s ready. Let’s have you try them on,” the shopkeeper says, gesturing me to follow him as he walks toward the back of the shop. “My instructions were to get you in and out as quickly as possible, and to be discreet. My other customers have been moved to later in the afternoon. You’ll find everything you need to try on laid out for you,” the shopkeeper says, leaving me at the door to the dressing room.

I try on the tux first, and damn if it doesn’t fit like a glove. I head back out to the little gray-haired man, who assesses me. “Perfecto! You’ll also find accessories laid out in the dressing room. They are intended for you, and that mask is a necessity to get into the event,” he says, still nodding as he continues to appraise his work.

I head back into the small cubicle, and in the corner are a pair of dress socks and shoes, along with cuff links and a shiny new watch that I hadn’t even noticed. Brian Carrington! I was part of the crew that protected the love of his life when the mafia came to get her, and I know how intense that fucker can be, but he was over-the-top generous to everyone during that whole ordeal, and his lavishness clearly extends to people who are helping her niece, as well, and for that I am grateful.

He’s provided everything necessary to get me into the auction, and I earn a greater respect for the man the more I get to know him. A hothead for sure when he’s concerned about his lady, but damn, does he take good care of the people who protect him and his family. I finish dressing and walk out to get eyed up by the older man again. “It is good. So good. No changes needed,” the shopkeeper says, nodding.

I smile at the enthusiastic man. “I couldn’t agree more. The clothes look great, and I appreciate your work on everything. I’ll just change if you want to wrap everything up,” I say.

“You’ll find a key and enough cash in the pocket of your tux to get you through anything which may arise, in addition to a new credit card. You have permission to spend as much as necessary on the card, and Brian stressed the word unlimited. No expense spared. You’ll also find cash and cards in the other two suits.”

I nod, taking it all in from this man, and feeling around for a wad of cash. “Thanks for your help with this,” I say, peeling off five hundred-?dollar bills and then extending my hand.

He shakes his head and refuses to take my offering. “I’ve been more than compensated. Godspeed.”

I head back to the car, slide into the back seat, and Evers gives me an update. “We’re heading to a hotel that’s been reserved in your name. Keith and Garrett just reported in. They’re still a couple hours out with the delay they had at the restaurant and the stop at the hotel. They’re just barely clearing rush hour,” Evers says, navigating us through the throng of midday traffic and then along the coast of the Mississippi River until he veers off to the sky-rise and pulls up into the front entrance of one of the swankiest hotels in New Orleans.

“I’ll let you out here and go park. The security teams are already in place and have secured your room. The private elevator in the lobby will take you to your penthouse. The key card for the elevator is in your pocket, along with the credit cards and invitation,” Evers says.

“Sounds good. I’m going to get ahold of intel and then take a nap before we head to the event tonight.”

“Roger that, the rest of the crew are already in town and settled in, and backup on the road for Keith and Garrett just checked in, and everything’s going fine. The teams are monitoring, get some rest. It’s bound to be a long night. I’ll be upstairs once I get parked,” Evers says, and I can’t help but grin, because Evers just said more in the last five minutes than I think he has at one time since I met him.

When I wake, the sun is just starting to set as I stare out at the impressive view of the bend in the Mississippi River on the horizon, and the French Quarter, watching as the sun begins to descend in the distance way beyond the Gulf of Mexico. When the sun is no longer visible, I glance at my watch and begin to get ready. It will soon be time to discover what really happens at these masquerade balls.

Once ready for the evening, I meet Evers downstairs. He navigates his way down Canal Street, heading toward the French Quarter, but then turns off and moves into a colorfully lit street of the downtown district. I watch out the window as couples saunter down the sidewalk, some holding hands, others in larger groups, making their way into the various little side shops and bars.

When we reach the end of the street, the prestigious Canal Manor comes into sight. The historic building was just recently refurbished, and while it still maintains the old-style Southern charm, the entire façade looks crisp, clean, new, and inviting with the stark white of its exterior contrasted with the deep burgundy letters of the establishment’s name scrolled along the top.

Evers turns into a side street and drives around to the rear of the establishment, a private entrance for those with an invitation, before stopping at the gate. One of the uniformed guards leans into the window and asks for his pass. Evers hands him the plastic card provided by Brian through whatever connections that he has. The guard eyes it, then both of us for a moment and then waves us forward as the gates begin to lift. Evers navigates around the parking lot to let me out of the car.

A very well-dressed man in a black suit and light blue shirt, who is larger than any other bouncer I’ve ever seen, opens the door and waves me through. Another man, sporting a silver goatee and wearing the same-colored suit combination walks up and gestures for me to follow him.

We reach the VIP area, and the lounge is filled with sultry music, reminding me exactly why jazz and other easy listening music has always been so appealing. The dimly lit bar area is filled with people watching a woman with long dark hair. It falls in soft curls all the way to her waist. She’s wearing an ankle-length bright red dress split down the side, exposing her shapely curves from hip to thigh as she sways in her five-inch strappy heels. The woman seductively croons to the crowd as the band backs her up, keeping perfect rhythm to the story she sings. I take in the affluent members of the club, some dancing with partners and some caught up in the performance, but everyone is intently focused on her, and all the males are wearing a mask.

The blue-shirted host leads me through the room and to a private elevator. Once we get on, he swipes a key card, which takes us to the upper level of the club. The doors open into a sprawling lounge with a long bar along one wall and a large horseshoe-shaped stage in the very front, with tables and chairs strategically placed around it and the entire room.

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