Page 48 of Auctioned Surrender

Dereck

I slide out the back door and steal along the hedge-lined street, crossing the intersection before doubling back to a secluded spot behind a clump of bushes adjacent to the parking lot. I scan the area for anything suspicious, and satisfied with the inactivity, wait for Layla, the exotic dancer I’m to meet, secure in the knowledge that backup is minutes away if needed. It’s almost noon when the ’80s-model white-striped, blue Camaro my partner Damian described roars into the park’s far entrance, flying into the lot, music blaring from the open window as it shoots into the corner parking space closest to me.

A beautiful woman with long, dark, wavy hair, wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans, red high heels, and a matching lacy tank top gets out of her car. This must be Layla Contreras. She has to be the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen. I watch as she scans her surroundings, searching for the man she’s supposed to meet.

Holy mother of sin, she’s hot.

She turns, examining the expanse of the park. I use that moment to walk out from the bushes and approach her from behind. Her body stiffens, sensing me, before spinning slowly and purposefully to appraise me. Her deep brown eyes take mein from head to toe, as I do the same. She purses her red outlined lips. “You’re not Damian. Who are you, and what do you want?” Damian warned me the woman has sass, and that she does.

“I’m Dereck. I work closely with Damian. He’s trying to protect Bryanna, the girl you know as Lacey. He thought you might have information that would help us. Her family believes she’s missing, but we found her dancing at the club with you, and she doesn’t want to go home.”

Her eyes widen and then narrow into sexy little slits at me. “Wait, let me make sure I’ve got this right. No one would dance at a club like that because they wanted to, right?”

I level my eyes at the little spitfire. “I didn’t say that, nor mean to infer it.”

“You didn’t need to, papi. But don’t worry. See, I’m a big girl, and men like you don’t intimidate me. I can handle any shade you throw.”

My eyes lock with her gold-flecked orbs, catching just the slightest tremble in her lower lip. “I’m looking for the truth about Bryanna, not a runaround, and if you were mine, you’d show respect to someone trying to help your friend.”

She laughs out loud, a beautiful feminine sound. “I don’t belong to anyone, papi!”

“Clearly, but maybe you should.”

“Tell me, big man, what would you do if I were yours?” The beauty slides her wide-brimmed sunglasses onto the top of her head with the red tip of a well-manicured finger.

Layla’s biding her time, stretching this out, unsure of who I am and what to divulge about her friend, flirting as a way to delay a response. And that’s intriguing to me.

I rub the short dark hairs on my chin, contemplating what’s been on my mind since the fiery beauty first opened her sassy little mouth. “I’d have you wiggle out of those painted-on jeans, slip off your panties, and lay you across my knee to teach youthe meaning of respect.” I leave out that when finished, she’d probably find herself on the end of my raging cock because I’ve hardly thought of anything else since her picture showed up in my email with instructions for this particular assignment.

Her sensual lips part wide in shock, accentuating the lovely, outlined mouth that I’d love to do unmentionable things to, but it’s Layla’s eyes that hold my attention. They’ve just gone hazy, and the bright gold flecks in the deep brown setting are dancing right in front of me. I observe them with interest for a few seconds before turning my attention to the rhythm on the side of her lovely neck, watching it pulse with the emotion she tries to hide.

Layla stays quiet, looking up at me with a perfect set of bedroom eyes, chewing her bright red lip, no doubt contemplating another sassy retort. I give her a minute, watching with growing interest. “We need information, Layla. Damian thought you might want to help your friend.”

She assesses me for a moment, and her lower lip trembles, just slightly, but I don’t miss it. “I do, but you and your friend are putting me in a pretty crappy situation.”

“Because you’re sleeping with the boss?”

Layla’s brightly colored lips now purse with annoyance. Her expressive deep brown eyes narrow, glaring at me from under those soft-looking all-natural lashes. “That’s exactly why, and I’m afraid there’s no way around that, papi. Anyway, I don’t have time to play twenty questions. What is it that you think I can help with?”

I rub the hairs of my chin, taking her in, looking down at this beauty who’s scowling up at me in her four-inch heels. “Then we won’t play games. If you’re sleeping with the boss, you may be privy to the information we need. If you give it to us, you have our word, no one will be the wiser, and our team will fully protect your identity.”

Layla shrugs as if conceding to my request, but a look of sadness passes over her lovely features. “I tried to shelter her the best I could. I can’t tell you anything about the boss or why she’s at the club, but I can give you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“There’s a masquerade ball on Friday. They have an auction scheduled for virgins, and they plan to auction Lacey—I mean, Bryanna—off to the highest bidder. My guess is the winners are all prearranged. I don’t know a lot about the operation, but I do know everything they do is dirty.”

My jaw locks tight. Traffickers. Time and time again, we run into these lowlifes who prey on young women, and they intend to sell this woman’s friend, Bryanna, to the highest bidder. “Where is the auction being held?”

“Question of the day. They keep that information locked up tight,” Layla says, looking away from me and out over the park. Her body turns rigid, and she turns to assess me for a brief minute. An emotion I can’t quite put my finger on passes over her features. “The universe has eyes everywhere, even in this deserted old park, it seems. If anyone asks you about me, tell them your partner saw me dancing at the club last night, took an interest, followed me back to my apartment, and asked me to perform at a private party for him and his friends. I said no, so you followed me to the park and offered me five K. I told you that it was an offer of a lifetime but that I couldn’t help you out. That’s it, and stick to the story.”

“Sure, we’ll play it your way,” I say, watching as her fingers repeatedly rub over the metal of her key chain. I follow the line of her gaze, surveying a silver sports car turning to face us in the distance. Layla’s delicate throat muscles tighten as she watches it, confirming what I suspected. “If you need help, tell me,” I say, knowing that with one text, my partner will make this a party of three instead of two.

Layla turns her attention to me, and her flaming red lips purse in consternation. “No time,” she says, spinning on a heel and lowering her delectable little body into the souped-up Camaro. She doesn’t glance up at me; instead, she puts her foot to the floor, spoked rims spinning, tires squealing as she peels out of the parking lot.

I text Trent to pull around and get intel on the line, because that fiery little beauty and I are not even close to being done.

Our intel division is open twenty-four hours a day. They answer on the first ring. “This is Murph,” one of our best field agents says.

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