Tears burn my eyes as I gaze into his rage-filled face.
“Danny please,” I beg, a huge lump choking my throat as I reach my hands out to him imploringly. “Please calm down and just listen to me…”
“No,” Danny fumes. “I’m sick of listening to your pathetic whining.”
“But-”
Danny rushes forward, grabbing me by the neck, and slams me back up against the wall. A gasp escapes my lips as pain radiates up my back and I struggle to pry his powerful hands free of my throat.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he says nastily in my face, the smell of whiskey hitting me even harder now, his eyes blazing with a hatred that tears at my heart. “Your voice is so fucking annoying. I can’t believe I listened to that shit for nearly two years. It’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard.”
Tears start streaming down my face as I choke against his grasp. His words are so biting and cruel.
“I just want to remind you that even though you’re going up for auction, I still fucking own you,” he barks. “I don’t give a fuck whose collar you have around your neck. You’re fucking mine. You got it?”
I’m unable to respond, his grip on my neck so strong that I can barely breathe.
He pulls me forward and then slams me back against the wall with enough force that it jars my teeth.
“I said you got it?” he repeats with fury. “The money is mine, and so are you. This is a fucking lesson and nothing else. I own you!”
“Yes,” I croak, my eyes stinging and my lungs refusing to fill.
Danny holds me there for a moment, applying more and more pressure to my throat until I think I’m going to pass out. He lets me go at the last possible second, and I fall away from the wall, sinking to my knees onto the grungy ground, gasping, choking and crying.
“You’ll do well to remember that,” Danny tells me, uncaring that I’m bawling my eyes out at his feet, “because if you don’t, you’re going to wish I left you for dead.”
“You’re going up for auction, and then you’re coming back to me.”
I nod my head vigorously, needing him to know I’m obeying. I’m listening. “Yes, Sir.” I croak out the words through the pain.
“There, there.” His voice softens. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself. All you have to do is listen.” I hear his words, so gentle and comforting. Just listen. But everything in me is telling me to run. This isn’t right.
“I’m sorry I’m so hard on you. I just know you aren’t well.” He crouches beside me and I flinch as he grips my chin in his hand. “You need me, you need this.”
I nod my head as much as I can, staring into his eyes. But I see through him. In a split second, I see through it all. It’s about the money. It hits me so hard, so brutally, I can’t hide my expression.
His face morphs from the gentle attitude to one of cruelty. “You’re going up there, Arianna.” His voice is low. “I know where you live. I saved your life, it belongs to me now.”
A feeling of despair washes over me as I choke on my tears, my neck throbbing.
“Just do what I say and everything will be alright.”
Chapter 7
Zander
My hand has been forced in some ways. Well, not quite. I pick up the beer bottle and bring it to my lips as I sit at the table in the far right corner of the upper floor in Club X. The auction room.
I’ve never felt as if my hand’s been forced. There’s always a choice. However, it’s undeniable that I’m backed in a corner with the knowledge that Arianna Owens will be on the stage soon. Sold to the highest bidder and if it’s anyone else, that will be the money I’m paid.
“What are you going to do?” Charles asks. He’s seated next to me at the small circular table. There are dozens of tables in the room that seat only two to three men at most. A mask covers his face just like most of the men here, including me. They all know who I am, but with his face completely covered by the smooth flat black mask that hides every inch of his features with the exception of his mouth, they have no idea who I’m seated with. He’s lucky in that respect.
My fingers trail along my jaw, the hint of stubble rough beneath my fingertips. “I haven’t decided,” I answer him honestly.
He grunts a laugh and sits back in his seat, picking up the pamphlet to the auction and skimming the lines. I’ve done the same so many times when I didn’t give a fuck about sitting here. Just doing my part to fit in and keeping my friends company while I take notes about the perversions of the other men in the room. Always watching.
I’ve never shown my cards. I’ve never given them an ounce of useful information to use against me if they so choose.
“I can’t believe a place like this exists,” Charles mutters under his breath. I turn to him, ignoring Madam Lynn, the owner of Club X, as she starts the show. I’ve seen these auctions a million times. I’ve never given a fuck about them. It’s mostly a charade, no surprise at all who will end up with who.
My shoulders rise in a shrug. It’s a fantasy really. Decorated and maintained to provide a false sense of a world that’s temporary. Darkened rooms for men to spend their money and sate themselves, safety for women who want to give in to their dark desires. It’s all an illusion, nothing more than that.
But as the first woman is sold as the hammer is dropped, I find my heart beating faster. The auction has never felt more real than in this moment.
The men are talking quietly to themselves. Arianna is next, according to the pamphlet. None of their eyes are on me. Instead they’re focused on Brooks, who’s seated on the far side of the room, at the table farthest away from me. His foot is tapping nervously on the floor as he leans back in his seat with a cigar, putting on a casual air. As if his very life doesn’t depend on Arianna being sold to pay his debt.
I imagine most of the men here expect him to bid on her. Like it’s a game between them. It wouldn’t be the first time a Dominant or Master has sent his partner to the auction, some for play, others for punishment. But when he doesn’t bid on her, the mood in the room will change. Each second that passes, taking me closer and closer to that moment, heightens my anxiety.
I can already feel the tense air growing as the men each decide for themselves if they’re willing to take her.
She’s the epitome of what a Submissive should be. Or Slave, rather. Since that’s the preference she’s taken at the club. She’s only ever been with him, but he’s put on quite a show with her before.
“How many have you come to?” Charles asks me, his voice low. So low that the clinking of the ice in his short glass of bourbon nearly drowns out his words as he brings the glass to his lips.
Again I shrug, lifting my beer bottle to my lips and taking a sip. I answer him with a low voice, “Too many.”
“How many have you won?” he asks.
“None,” I answer him with clarity, setting my glass on the white tablecloth and looking straight ahead. The thick red curtains are pulled back and the lights focused on the stage, just how it always is.
Charles laughs a deep rough sound, and my eyes are pulled to his.