If she knows my ruse, why is she here? Shouldn’t she be responding to my attempt to sell her with the fury I instilled on her father when he tried to do the same? Or at the very least, be as mad as hell?
I take a staggering step back when the truth smacks me hard in the gut. She isn’t parading her virginity for me or her. She’s pimping herself out for a child she’s never met—my child. She’s doing it for Fien.
Before I can get over my shock that the lady responsible for my daughter’s captivity is doing everything in her power to free her, Roxanne stops to stand next to me. Although she seems put together, her nerves are noticeable. The furious shake of her hands is indicative enough, much less the rattle of her vocal cords when she asks Rocco if the drink he’s nursing has alcohol in it.
Rocco lifts his chin. “Vodka. Do you want—”
Roxanne cuts off his offer to fetch her a drink by stealing the one in his hand. She downs it as if getting smashed is something she does every weekend before requesting another.
When she throws down a second double nip like it’s water, I remove the glass from her hand before placing it on the mantlepiece behind us. I understand she needs some liquid courage, but her life will never be the same if she ends up with one of these men in a room while she’s drunk. They won’t spank her and walk away. They take everything she has on offer—even the stuff she isn’t willing to give.
The fact she’s putting her life on the line for my daughter ensures I’d never let that happen. I’d massacre every man in this room before I’d let her be hurt under my watch. When you are on my side, you’re on my side for life. Roxanne’s efforts tonight expose whose team she’s on.
“Point me in the right direction.” It dawns on me that Roxanne isn’t talking to me when her eyes float across the men gawking at her like she’s a movie star. It isn’t just the occasional nod she does that gives it away. It’s overhearing Smith advising her which guests he’s got hooks into that makes it obvious.
Once she has a rundown of the room, Roxanne locks her wide eyes with mine. “Anything identifiable, right?”
It takes everything I have to jerk up my chin, and even then, it’s a soft, weaselly lift. Throwing her to the wolves and standing back to watch the show feels fucking wrong, but when you’re desperate, you must take desperate measures.
“All right. Wish me luck.” Not waiting for further instructions, she glides across the room with slow, wary strides. Her chin isn’t held high like the women paid to keep the guests entertained. She tucks it into her chest while fiddling with the material of her dress.
Her shy act awards her even more attention than her beautiful face. Men are drawn to her like moths to a flame, their interest so notable, my father’s underhanded comment that she’d fetch a record-breaking price seems logical. Her ruse is the ultimate display of how easily men can be manipulated. They’re practically fighting to secure her attention, completely oblivious to the fact she’s hoping to take them all down. Not even I feel safe from slaughter.
“Follow them,” I say to Rocco when a man with slicked-back hair and a heavy set of wrinkles guides Roxanne toward the library at the side of the parlor for a one-on-one compatibility chat. From the whispers of the group tonight, he needs a new wife after his was strangled during a sex act. He thought she was holding back on how much she could take. He was proven wrong when his multiple attempts to resuscitate her were fruitless.
My pulse thuds in my chin when Rocco asks, “If he gets out of line?”
Deliberating the consequences of my actions usually takes longer than half a nanosecond. This time around, it doesn’t. “Take him out.”
I’ll be out on my ass if I kill any of my father’s wealthiest associates, but just the slimebag’s hand on the small of Roxanne’s back has me thirsty for a bloodbath. This isn’t an itch I can scratch without someone dying. If that someone ends up being me, at least my daughter will have a reason to be proud.
Up until now, I haven’t given her much to work with.
Although Rocco is still pissed I forced Roxanne’s involvement in this industry, his annoyance isn’t as noticeable when he enters the library on Roxanne’s heel. He had no clue my ruse would pan out the way it did. In all honesty, neither did I. I wouldn’t have hidden my plans from Roxanne if I had any inkling she’d go along with them.
I wait for Roxanne and Rocco to disappear from view before shifting on my feet to face a camera in the corner of the room. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. Smith’s squawks reveal he can feel my wrath. “She didn’t want to go in blind. I should have told you she came to me—”
“Yes, you should have.”
He continues talking as if I didn’t interrupt him. “But she asked me not to.”
“Who do you work for, Smith?” When a stretch of silence teems between, I ask my question again, with more fury this time around. “Who the fuck do you work for, Smith?”
He says the last name I expected to hear. “Fien. I’m here for Fien.” He wets his lips before adding, “And so is Rocco, Clover, and Roxanne, so how about you appreciate the help instead of seeking reasons for it. I know you were raised to believe different, Dimi, but not everyone is out to play you.” The heavy drone of him giving his keyboard a thrashing sounds down the line before he says, “Don’t mind me, I’ve got sicko pedophile identities to unearth.”
Stealing my chance to reply, not that I have anything to say, he disconnects our connection.
Even though I deserved Smith’s anger hours ago, it cut deeper than I care to admit. It’s been fucking with my psyche as much as seeing Roxanne work the crowd. She’s been in and out of rooms all night, her suiters so eager to get her alone, some offered cash incentives just for five minutes of her time, others offered to pay her college tuition in full on top of their prospective bids.
Although I am as edgy as fuck, her one-on-one meetings have given Smith crystal clear images of the men’s faces to run through the nationwide database. It’s been a long, drawn-out process, and I’m feeling every second of it. Most of the men have been respectful of the rules they agreed to abide by when they arrived, however a handful have been testing the boundaries.
Take the man Roxanne is talking to now. If it were anyone but me watching Roxanne’s every move, they wouldn’t notice his sneaky touches of her elbow or his gentle strokes down her inner arm. He doesn’t go for the obvious areas Rocco and Smith deem unacceptable. He’s touching her like he intimately knows her, caressing her as no one ever has. He’s being tender to the point of being a gentleman, and it’s pissing me off to no end.
Even a novice in this industry knows there are rules you can’t break. Touching something that doesn’t belong to you is at the top of the list. As much as this dweeb wishes it weren’t true, Roxanne isn’t his, and I’m more than happy to remind him of that.
“Shutdown surveillance before requesting Rocco to take Roxanne to my downstairs’ office.” Smith isn’t just shocked at my request, he’s pleased with it. The profiles of tonight’s guests would even make non-parents’ stomachs swirl. We have every combination you can think of. Millionaire tech giants, schoolteachers, politicians, doctors, and the absolute kicker, an OBGYN who was so eager to place a bid on Roxanne, he didn’t attempt to woo her with the coin he was willing to spend a night with her. He went straight to the hierarchies with an offer, the amount staggering.