Page 2 of Auctioned Surrender

I then text Matt, who protects Jenny much of the time, to tell him we have a lead on her niece. He responds, offering his help since he and Marenah are still in the city and staying at his hotel, but I’m good for now, and let him know that I’ll call if help is needed and to go have fun with his fiancée.

Roger that!

I smile, happy my friend has found someone he cares about.

I’m skimming intel messages when a dark blue Honda drives up and brakes hard in front of us. The right rear bumper is caved in, but the lights work great, and it’s exactly the kind of vehiclethat will blend in wherever we need to go on this side of town. “Stay here and keep the lines open. I’ll let you know if I need backup, or anything else,” I say to Evers, who just grunts as I hop out of the stretch.

The young friend of Keith’s walks up to me and hands me a set of keys. “I’m Garrett. Keith said you’d be in a hurry. I can stay here until you get back,” he says.

I open the limo door for Garrett to jump in. “Hang out with Evers until I return. I’m sure the two of you will have fun,” I say, winning me a glare from one of the grumpiest drivers I’ve ever had the personal experience to know.

I head to Keith’s car and veer toward my destination. When I’m near the little dive bar, I turn off my headlights and inch my way forward, guided only by distant illumination cast over an otherwise pitch-black lot. I park in the back, facing the entrance so I can watch who comes and goes. It’s almost three hours later, after the majority of patrons have left, that a few of the lights go off in the back of the bar.

A couple women come out with men who escort them to different vehicles. A few I recognize from the bar, and they’re surrounded by shady looking fuckers who put them into the back seat of an old beat-up Cadillac, but none of them are who I’m looking for.

Layla, the dark-haired beauty who was more than willing to take my money, doesn’t come out until all the lights go off, and when she does, it’s with the arm of a tall bald guy wrapped around her. He walks her to a vehicle and roughly draws her in for a kiss while grabbing a handful of ass.

I picture her turning around and slugging the slime bag, but she doesn’t do anything of the kind, just accepts his handling of her until he walks away and gets into the silver Porsche parked in the farthest corner of the lot.

By the looks of that car, I might have just found the ringleader and his main squeeze. Maybe I can convince Layla to tell me where Bryanna is and sell this guy’s no-good ass down the river at the same time.

I text Evers with the description of Layla’s blue souped-up Camaro and tell him to follow her once she hits the main road. I wait a decent amount of time before heading out of the parking lot and onto one of the side streets. It takes all of five minutes before he texts me with their coordinates. He turns off to avoid getting noticed, and I take his place.

I pull up near Layla’s apartment building and slide into a parking lot across the way, observing as she climbs the steps of a building with six units, three on each floor, and enters the one on the end. I’ve seen a lot of dumps in my day, but this complex looks like it may just collapse at any moment. I check my Glock and make my way to her apartment, listening closely at the door before trying the knob. It’s not locked. I open the door as quietly as I can, taking in the little box television from the nineties sitting on top of an overturned cardboard box, and a faded plaid couch across the room.

It takes less than six steps to make my way across the minimal living space and to the door that must be the bathroom. I knock, intending to wait for her to come out, but instead she tells me to come in.

I turn the knob slowly and walk through the door, fully expecting to surprise Layla; instead, the wispy-haired brunette with deep green eyes that I’ve been searching for is leaning against the back of the tub, concealed by white bubbles except for the very pink tips of her breasts, which are floating seductively along the surface.

Bryanna lowers herself in the water. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“My name’s Damian. I’m here to take you home. Your mother, your aunt, and your entire family are worried that something terrible has happened to you.”

She gazes up at me with those round doll-like green eyes, and then sticks her pink colored toenails out of the bubbles, placing them on the ledge, while taking me in from head to foot. “I don’t have a family; unless, of course, you wanna be my daddy,” she says, licking the bottom of her lip.

Chapter 2

Bryanna

When the tall dark-haired man in a black suit and crisp white shirt walks into the bathroom unannounced, I know he has to be the same one that Layla told me was fishing for information about me at the club.Play it cool, just play it cool,I chant silently, lowering myself in the water, suddenly extremely aware the tops of my breasts are floating on the bubbles that surround me. When I tell him I have no family, unless he wants to be my daddy, he raises his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t leave as I expected he would. Instead, he places his hand on the door frame, making his six-foot-two-inch stature even larger and more intimidating.

“Interesting, I have a picture that looks exactly like you, from your aunt taken less than a few weeks ago,” he says, casting those deep blue eyes at me, seemingly in no hurry for me to acknowledge his comment.

I shrug, twirling my toe around the faucet, and his eyes track my movement. “I haven’t the foggiest, but I do know that you need to leave before my boyfriend comes home. He’s incredibly large and extremely jealous,” I say, gesturing to the doorway he’s blocking with his tall, muscular frame.

His squared jaw locks and eyes narrow. “What would you like me to tell your aunt? Perhaps that you’ve decided to ditch your family, leave college and a nice home to live in this shithole and grind on old men for a measly couple of bucks?”

I’ve become accustomed to hearing such callousness in the last few weeks, but his words cut deep. Hell if I’ll let him know that, though. I gesture toward the door with a nod of my head. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Get out.”

He doesn’t move, instead starts to say something, but Layla sidles up right behind him, and I hear the unmistakable click of her switchblade. “She told you to leave, papi. My boyfriend’s going to be home in a few minutes, and if he finds you here, you’re not going to live to tell about your little visit,” she says.

I smile because as much shit as I’ve been through the last few weeks, Layla has become my best friend, my most staunch supporter, and always seems to have my back. She is a ball of fire when someone pisses her off, and she knows how to handle herself in a world that forces her to do just that. She is passionate about what she cares about and has been a godsend to me, even letting me stay with her, although the big boss who treats her like his own wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

“I’m not going to ask you again, papi.”

“The name’s Damian, and I’m leaving,” the man says without so much as another word to me.

He turns, and Layla steps aside to let him head into the living room, hot on his trail to make sure he does exactly that. I hear them talking, and then after a short while, the door slams and the dead bolt slides into place.

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