Page 49 of Auctioned Surrender

“Hey, this is Dereck. I just met with Layla. It sounds like there’s a masquerade ball on Friday. They have an auction scheduled for virgins, and they’re planning to sell Bryanna. Layla told me she thinks the winner is prearranged, but she said she didn’t know who it was or where this thing is going down. She was followed to the park by someone, so our conversation got cut short. If you can get this information to Matt and Damian, I’m going to see what else I can learn on this end.”

“Consider it done. You need backup?”

“I don’t think so, Murph. I’ll take care of the situation,” I say, pulling up the picture of the fiery little beauty. I notice that across the lot, the silver sports car has disappeared.

“Roger that, Dereck. Let me know if you need anything,” Murph says.

“Will do; gotta run,” I say, disconnecting as Trent pulls up to the curb. I jump into the passenger side of the black sedan. “You get a line on the Camaro?”

“Roger that, but she sped by pretty quick. She’s probably heading back toward the highway.”

“Any sign of a silver sports car behind her?”

“Negative.”

The fiery little beauty is probably heading back to the club. Layla knew someone followed her. “Her boss is driving a silver Porsche. Let’s head to the club and check it out,” I tell Trent, and he makes his way from the secluded park setting onto the road that leads to the congested underbelly of Chicago. I scan the streets for either the silver car or her bright blue Camaro, but they’re nowhere in sight and probably much farther ahead.

“We’re nearing the bar. You want me to pull up in this ride, or you wanna walk in?”

“Pull up close enough to get a look at the parking lot. I don’t want to waste time if she isn’t here,” I tell Trent.

“Roger that,” he says, pulling into the side street that leads to the place Bryanna and Layla work at, a secluded and seedy little strip club. A neon sign marks the ramshackle old building. The parking lot is a quarter full, but there’s no sign of either car.

“Swing around back, and let’s take a look. If they make us, we’ll deal with it,” I say, because there’s a genuine possibility that Layla could be in danger, and the fact that our security team has put her in this position is not at all lost on me.

The lot in the back of the bar is empty. No sign of Layla’s car anywhere. Trent’s careful not to slow, making it look like we took a wrong turn and are flipping around.

“She shares an apartment with Bryanna. Let’s head there,” I say, glancing at my watch as we hit lunch-hour traffic that slows us to a crawl. I can feel the minutes ticking away. The sight of Layla swallowing with fear as she saw that car has not left my mind since we parted, and every second of delay only intensifies the need to reach her before her boss does.

As we finally near the turnoff that will lead us to Layla and Bryanna’s apartment, her boss’s sleek silver Porsche pulls onto the road. My jaw tightens.

“There he is!” Trent growls.

The Porsche passes us, going the opposite direction, heading toward the club.

Trent pulls up near Layla’s apartment building to have a good view of the parking lot. “What the fuck? Her car’s not here.”

I glance around, and he’s not wrong. There’s not one damn car in the lot. “Where the hell did she go?” I ask, sending a message to Murph to see if he can pull up the city cams and scout the area for a bright blue and white striped Camaro. The six-unit building in front of us has seen better days. “Stay here and keep the car ready. I’m gonna take a look around.”

I check my weapons and then slowly climb the stairs to her apartment. The steps look and feel as though they may collapse under my weight at any moment. I knock at the door, listening for a response, but everything's quiet, way too quiet. I turn the knob, and it’s not locked. I ease the door open slowly. “Layla, anyone home?” I say, pushing it open farther so that I can get a good look into the room.

“Son of a bitch!” I yell, hitting the contact for Trent.

Chapter 2

Layla

I get into my car and hit the gas, watching the rearview mirror intermittently in hopes that I can make it to the highway before R.J. spots me. The maniacal asshole who seems to have eyes in the back of his head must have followed me to the park after I left his place. He didn’t seem the slightest bit off this morning, not one fucking word that would make me think he didn’t trust me, and I was so careful. I brake hard for the stoplight and hit the steering wheel in frustration. Damn it!

There’s no way I can go back to my apartment now, at least not until his temper dies. I’ve only seen the rotten side of his anger once, and it’s something I’ll never forget, nor bring to any of the ladies at the club. They all know I have tonight off, so I just need to lay low for a bit, go back for the big show R.J. has set up at the club tomorrow, shake my ass for a couple of hours and bring in a ton of money. When the patrons open up their wallets and toss those dark green bills all over the bar's dirty floor, all will be forgiven.

The light turns green. I step on the gas, checking the rearview. Calm the fuck down and breathe. That’s what you need to do, Mami. This asshole knows nothing. All he has on you is a meeting with Dereck. He doesn’t know why or what you toldhim, and Dereck will stand by the story I gave him. I don’t know why, but I trust him. Maybe it’s his deep, steely gray eyes or the way he talks about respect, or merely the fact that he’s trying to help a girl in trouble, but I don’t think he’s going to toss me under the bus to these fuckers any time soon.

I make my way to the congested highway, trying to lose myself in traffic. I finally reach an exit that will allow me to double back and head toward the residential side streets and then to my bank. Traffic crawls at a snail’s pace, and every minute that passes causes me to grow more anxious as I make my way back to the side of the city I just left.

Once at the bank, I observe the surroundings, careful to ensure no one has followed me before heading inside and directly to one of the open teller windows. I take one of the withdrawal slips from the stack sitting in front of the clerk and fill it out before handing it to her. She reviews it, processes my transaction in the computer, and then counts out the cash. “I also need to check my safe deposit box.”

Velma smiles and gestures to the door across the bank. “Certainly, my dear. I’ll buzz you through, and someone will greet you just beyond the door and take you back,” she says, just like she always does.

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