Page 17 of Auctioned Surrender

“We’re heading south. I’ll give you directions as we go,” says the man next to me as a sharp pain stabs my shoulder from the opposite side of the car.

I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel like they’re weighted, and my mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. I blink them open, little by little, and try to focus on my surroundings. I’m not surehow long I’ve been asleep, but I’m all alone in the back seat, and two of the men who grabbed me are up front.

“Better get a move on, or we’re going to get stuck in Friday night traffic down by the Quarter. We would have been here hours ago if your asshole partner didn’t want to stop at the dive joint instead of just grabbing fast food. Now we’re barely going to make it on time,” one of the men says.

“We wouldn’t have hit the rush hour traffic if we had gotten through the city earlier, but we’ll still make it in time. The ladies will just need to get her ready faster than normal. Glad I didn’t order the same thing Jimmy did. He just texted and said the shits just started to subside. He’s going to stay holed up at the hotel until tomorrow. He’ll rent a car and drive down.”

I watch with blurred vision as the car weaves in and out of the city traffic, and then, after another hour or so, veers off the main drag and takes a few turns before coming to a screeching halt. “Get her into the parlor. She’s been out for almost twelve hours. They need to have her sobered up and ready for the party fast. The buyers have already landed,” one of the men says.

The sound of the car door makes me jump. I try to take in my surroundings, but all I can see are streetlights in the distance as he almost drags me from the car to the entrance of the building. The large bouncer-looking man lets us in, and they haul my half-inebriated body through the door and down a long-lit hall until we reach another door that is closed. The man in front of us opens it, and I’m pushed into a room that looks like a salon, with elegant mirrors and chairs lining both sides of the walls.

“Sit,” the large guy says, pushing me into one of the chairs facing the mirror with lights that circle it. My butt comes into contact with the seat, and I try to get back up, but a heavy hand lays down on my shoulder. “Easy, before you start trying to get away, you might recall what brought you here in the first place,” he says, looking down at me with deep, pitiless black eyes.

I put my hand up to my eyes, shielding them from the strength of the lights, and my stomach rolls as I regain perspective, and his words sink in. The only thing that matters to me, and they know it. I’ve already agreed to their terms, so there’s no going back at this point. I sink into my chair, and have almost fallen into a drug-induced sleep when a rough shake to my shoulder rouses me.

“Time to wake up. Slevia will get you ready for the show. Make sure you keep your end of the bargain and that you’re on your best behavior. Do not embarrass me, or you know what happens, understand?” the man looming over me says.

I nod, swallowing down the nausea that threatens. It is now time to pay the price for keeping my family safe. The reality is finally starting to settle in, and it helps to lift the heavy fog in my brain that is weighing me down.

A pair of long, bony fingers snap in front of my face. “Why the hell does she look drugged out? I need to have her ready for that auction in less than two hours. The rules were clear—no drugs or alcohol in her system. What is it that you neanderthals don’t understand about that?” The skinny intense blonde woman who’s walked into the room tsks as she hovers around me, lifting my eyelids and tapping my cheeks with the palm of her hand, while asking if I can hear or answer her.

I nod, unsure how it’s already Friday night, but lives depend on me doing whatever they tell me, and so I will.

“Take her into the spa area. Let’s get her under the shower and see if we can get rid of the drugs in her system. Damn it! The orders were clear. We have three foreign buyers who all want the same thing, virgin and completely consensual, and one of them has already hand-picked this little angel. They’re going to want her to tell them it’s consensual for records’ sake, and under the influence will definitely disqualify her for the buy.”

“We didn’t want to chance that she’d try to escape like the last one,” someone says, but he is quickly shut down by the surly blonde.

“Enough, you better hope whatever you’ve done hasn’t excluded her from the running. The bosses are anticipating this little angel to bring in a great price, and if she doesn’t meet all the criteria, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

“She’ll be fine after a cold shower and some coffee. Make sure she’s ready on time,” one of my male captors says before heading out the door and slamming it behind him.

Another woman joins the blonde, and they assist me from the chair, out of my clothes, and into the shower, giving me instructions about what to wash and how to shave, then speak animatedly to each other in a language that I don’t recognize. The water is not ice cold as I half expected, but warm and refreshing. They give me time, talking amongst themselves outside the shower door. I begin to wash my hair, and as my fingers come together to rub the shampoo into my scalp, I feel a ring on my finger, something I’ve never worn. I rinse the shampoo off my hand to get a good look at the silver and gold band, wondering if every woman picked up by this group is branded with the very same thing. I finish rinsing my hair and then quickly shave everything the way they’ve instructed.

The minute I step out of the shower, I’m quickly thrust into a fluffy white robe. A short dark-haired lady with long, pink-striped nails is waiting for me, introduces herself as Greta, and gestures for me to sit in the chair that’s in front of the mirror.

She runs her fingers through my wet, tangled hair. “Don’t you know what conditioner is?” she says, frowning as her digits ensnare in my locks.

“I didn’t see any in the shower,” I say.

She scowls and reaches for a product on the counter, places some in the palm of her hand and begins easing it into my hair.She is so surprisingly gentle, working the product through my hair, combing it out and then drying it smooth, that I almost drift back to sleep.

“There, let’s get your makeup done, and then we can get you changed and ready for the evening,” the woman says. She paints my face with soft strokes and brushes that glide over my eyelids, under my brow, my cheekbones and then all over my face before she is done with her work. “I think we’re about finished here. Open your eyes and look in the mirror.”

The young lady staring back at me has been transformed into a much prettier version of myself, with full lips, eyelids covered with soft, muted colors, long lashes enhanced by mascara, and outlining that emphases the shape and green of my eyes.

“The masquerade has already started, and they’ll be ready for the auction soon. Let’s get you dressed, and I’ll go over your instructions,” Greta says, urging me to get up and disrobe before pulling a smooth-as-silk white dress over my head. The short little number with spaghetti straps is surely made for someone half my height, because it barely covers my naked ass.

I glance in the mirror, and without a bra my nipples have hardened from the coolness in the room, and the white silky material just emphasizes their peaks. I try to pull the hem down, but it doesn’t move. If I bend over, even slightly, anyone watching will get a full glimpse of my lady bits. There’s no time to ponder, though, as she instructs me to step into the five-inch-high silver heels that in another life I might have drooled over. In this life, they are just the last thing to put on before I head to my fate.

I nervously grab my purse, not wanting to lose the flip phone they make me keep or my connection to Layla and the girls. Greta takes it from me and places the long, thin, dainty-looking purse over my shoulder, adjusting the straps to fall between my breasts, causing the drag to accentuate them further. When she’sdone, she tucks a lipstick, a small travel-size pack of bathroom wipes, a tampon, and a small pad into the purse. “In case he isn’t able to wait until he gets you home,” Greta says, as I swallow down my nausea.

“When you go on stage, you will not speak, you will stand upright with great posture and smile. If someone asks, you are here because you are looking for the man of your dreams. When the winner of your sale is announced, they will have the honor of unveiling your mask, and until then, you will wear it,” the woman says, tying a white masquerade mask over my eyes.

“You’re one of the fortunate ones. The man who will purchase you this evening has a woman for any one of his many desires, but he’s hand-?selected you from thousands to be his virgin, so he will treat you like a princess. That is not the case for many of the girls who walk through those doors,” Greta says, leading me out into a long hallway and walking with me to the end, where a small curtain hangs.

“Remember what I’ve told you, and when asked, this is your choice. When the MC calls your name, walk out and stand in the circle that will be shining in the middle of the stage for you.”

Chapter 13

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