Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I said, trying to free myself of the man’s grip. “I have a fixed price.”
“Women don’t determine their price. The auctioneer does.”
He released me at the end of the queue.
“This is a misunderstanding. I’m not here to auction myself off. I should go.”
The man barred my way. “You are here. Now, you’ll be auctioned off. The only way to get out is after your buyer’s done with you … or if nobody buys you.”
I tried to argue with him, but he led me up the line until we arrived at the stage. He pushed me, and I stumbled on the stairs. My heart throbbed furiously. As my gaze traveled over the gathered guests, my courage evaporated. The men leering at me looked like criminals, as if they’d been transported here straight out of Sing Sing, or whatever the name of the worst prison in the States was. Most of them were tattooed and scarred with cold, prying eyes. They wanted to devour me, consume me, and hurt or kill me from the looks on some of their faces. As a waitress in a touristy part of Dublin, I’d,—on occasion,—felt like a fresh piece of meat and I’d been on the receiving end of an ass slap or two, but it didn’t compare to the deep fear of being prey.
My pulse skyrocketed. I fumbled inside my purse for my phone but realized it was gone. Mustache guy must have taken it when he frisked my purse. Cold sweat broke out all over my body.
I turned on my heel, suddenly overcome with terror. I couldn’t do this. I’d have to figure out another way to find Imogen. Maybe Gulliver would find it in his heart to help me.
A massive guy smiled broadly but prevented me from leaving the stage. “No chance, puppet. You signed the contract. No escaping.”
What contract?
I froze, my breathing ragged. “But—”
“No but. Back on the stage or I’ll carry you there. We even have chains if that’s not enough.”
I stumbled backward, away from him and into the spotlight. Swallowing hard and trying to hide my panic, I faced the crowd of hungry men.
“Up for bidding: a shy redhead straight out of Dublin.”
Another light came on, blinding me momentarily.
“Starting bid: twenty dollars until sunrise.”
Until sunrise? Twenty dollars? My throat became dry and my panic grew wings and began to flutter madly in my belly. I prayed that no one would want me. What could I do to repel them? My mind was whirring with too many thoughts. Maybe puke? I wasn’t far from it anyway.
“Here,” a man with a hard accent, definitely east European, called. My heart sank. I desperately searched the crowd for the source of the voice but the spotlights made it hard to see. I could only make out indistinct shapes, especially in the back of the building.
“Twenty-five,” called an American.
Finally, the lights were dimmed slightly and my eyes could focus on the crowd again. Though, this provided little consolation as I was again faced with the leering of dozens of men.
“Thirty!”
“Fifty!”
The bids rose higher, reaching low three digits when an Irish accent caught my attention. “Two-hundred,” a deep, commanding voice said.
I recognized the voice at once. I doubted I’d ever forget it. He didn’t need to raise his voice to catch the attention of the auctioneer or mine. My gaze found him as if tugged by a string. Lorcan Devaney stood behind the last row of chairs and watched me. A group of men sat around a table by him; only one chair was vacant, probably his.
Knowing Devaney’s reputation, I didn’t want to be bought by him. But I didn’t want to not be bought by him either. The other men weren’t better options and if I had read Gulliver’s cryptic words right, Lorcan was the man who knew more about Imogen.
Most of all, I wanted to run, but guards were everywhere, making sure the women didn’t leave without being auctioned off.
I was trapped, and my only hope was possibly Lorcan Devaney. I had to pray that his connection to my uncle would make him take pity on me. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem like a man who felt pity often. His expression was cold and calculating as he placed his bid on me.
The bidding took forever, and I wished for a miracle: for Gulliver to show up and save me. Many of the thugs wore crosses around their necks or had them inked onto their skin. They were God-fearing. That had to count for something. Right?
As the bids rose higher and higher, I seemed to become smaller and smaller. Finally, the auctioneer slammed the gavel, which was a figurine of a naked, bent-over woman, down on the table. “One night with our Irish maiden goes to Mr. Lorcan Devaney.”
I was dragged from my thoughts, my breath releasing in a rush. Lorcan Devaney had purchased a night with me for several thousand dollars.