Page 3 of Auctioned to her Stepbrothers

"You were," I reply, keeping my voice at a level free of emotion.

"So, three bidders, huh? I didn't see that one coming."

"Me neither.”

"Well, I'm calling to let you know they've signed the contract. One month, three men. And for that, you get double the highest bid."

"One month?" I gasp.

"Yep. Per the auction terms, bids are taken for one day or one month. You agreed to the extension."

The thudding in my chest is at the volume of a bison stampede. Had I read that in the terms and conditions? I don't remember, but so much of this feels like something that is happening to someone else.

"The contract is there for you to sign," he said. "As per the arrangement, you should make yourself available at the time and place listed."

I take a step toward the computer and click on the waiting file, skimming down to find the details of the first meeting.

Eight o'clock tonight. Club Scarlet. It lists the address, but I don't need it. Club Scarlet is the adult-only club on the same block as this hotel. Although the auction has nothing to do with the Club, the auctioneer told me he directs bidders there because it's neutral and discreet.

The details of the bidders and my own will be redacted. This arrangement is strictly anonymous to prevent stalking—or worse—after the transaction is over. I use the digital signing software to seal the deal before I experience hesitation or regret.

Sometimes in life, we're forced to walk forward. Our past lurks behind us, wielding a gun, pressing it harshly into the bony ridge of our spine, allowing no deviation.

This is one of those times.

* * *

For an hour, I listen to an audiobook, centering myself by lying on the huge, luxurious bed with my eyes closed. I rest easy in a fictional world where men fight to protect the female character from all the harshness of life.

And when the alarm on my phone sounds, I try to keep a feeling of calmness and security wrapped around me like a protective blanket.

Showering is a strange experience, as though I'm preparing an animal for slaughter. When I wash between my legs, I shudder to think what I'll feel like there when all of this is over with.Will it feel good? Will it hurt? Will I bleed?

When I'm dressed and made up, I push my feet into my white kitten heels, take a quick glance at myself in the mirror and smooth my hands over the white dress, finding the material warm and silky. I'll fasten the mask over my eyes when I get to Club Scarlet. I might be showing these men my body tonight, but my face will remain covered, as will theirs.

My hand fumbles as I pick up my purse and retrieve the keycard from the table by the door. In the elevator, I press my back against the cool mirrored side, conscious of the space between my legs that has never felt as warm and tight as it does now. My awareness of my whole body is static and unfamiliar, and once again, I watch numbers decreasing like a countdown of time. Floors ten, nine, eight, and seven. My stomach drops. Floors six, five, four, and three. I grab the railing, needing an anchor point.

Two.

One.

There's a jolt as the elevator comes to a stop, followed by an echoing pause of womb-like silence. Then the doors open, and I step forward into a new life.

It’s just a short walk, but it seems to take forever to get to the entrance to Club Scarlet.

Room twenty-eight is on the fourth floor.

I take a deep breath.

One month.

And then I'll be free.

2

LYLE

LITTLE SPARROW

---