Arranged love

The black bag over her head represents the fact that looks don’t matter. Only her body does. It’s what she can offer a man. Shows how she can be used. And the fact that she can’t talk also speaks volumes. You can’t tell a man no when you have no voice.

And to further their point, the guy slaps her ass. The sound bounces off the walls in the room they’re in, making them laugh.

“Next,” the guy says, and the one who slapped her ass removes her from the hook on the wall and carries her out of the frame. The video stops.

I run a hand down my face and set his phone on my desk.

Getting up from my chair, I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Las Vegas. It’s three o’clock in the morning. I only ever open the thick black curtains at night to see the lights from the Strip illuminate the town. It’s the only time I care to see this city.

“How much?” I ask. For whatever reason, he’s decided he wants her.

“Ten million,” he answers, opening his eyes and staring out over Sin City. His jaw clenches.

“Why her?” I ask. He’s got a wife. Maybe Haven wants her. Maybe she’s realized just what goes on behind the scenes of the Mafia, and she saw the video and wants to save her. Women always get emotional.

He pushes off the window and turns to face me. “That woman you just saw is Mia Rosa Bianchi. My baby sister.”

BONES

I SIT AT the table tucked back in the corner of a ballroom in New York City. I come to the city often. Sometimes for business, but mostly for play. This trip is neither one of those. This is an elite auction. Only the wealthiest, most sadistic pricks attend. Tonight, I’m playing the role of one of those.

The large ballroom is dimly lit, and elevator music plays softly from the speakers above. Rows and rows of round tables are on either side of an aisle. A stage stands at the front of the room, and a black satin curtain hangs behind it from the ceiling to the floor. Women wearing tiny black shorts and matching lace bras walk around with trays, serving the guests. Men dressed in three-piece suits that cost more than most homes pass out numbered paddles to each attendee. No names are needed, I was told when I paid my fee to enter. Ten grand was what they charge for a “plate.”

“It’s for charity.” That’s what the man said. “To feed the starving children for two years.”

I snort, taking a drink of my bourbon. Really? Don’t they see the irony?

Not that I don’t want to feed the starving children in Africa. The Kings and I do our fair share of donating to charities all around the world. But there has to be a better way for them to collect money other than kidnapping and selling women.

My cell vibrates, and I pull it out of my suit pocket to see it’s from Luca.

Luca: Are you there?

Me: Yes. The auction is about to start.

Luca: Thanks again. I owe you.

I don’t even bother to respond. What are friends for?

“Here you go, sir.” A man places a small black book down on the table in front of me.All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

I reach for it, opening the soft leather and skimming it over. It’s a menu of the women being auctioned off. I run a hand down my face while I scan the pages. No photos, just names and information about each girl. I should have brought Cross-another King-with me. He would have just set the place on fire, and then we could have rescued all these women. But no one knows I’m here except for Luca. The Kings think I’m in the city to “play.” When I told them I had to go to New York, they all laughed and nodded like they thought I was coming to get my dick wet for the weekend.

If only.

My eyes get to the last page, and I read her name-Mia Rosa Bianchi. They made her the main event. No price or starting bid. I’m not surprised. Her name alone is what will bring in the cash. Besides her name, it states the two most important things about her. She’s twenty and innocent.

A virgin? Fuck, for some reason, that makes the video of her I watched ten times worse.

The lights dim, bathing us almost in complete darkness, and I notice the numbers on my paddle glow. Now it makes sense. Easier for them to see who is holding up what. The spotlights that cover the stage turn on. The music fades until you can no longer hear it, and a woman who looks to be in her fifties walks onto the platform, microphone in hand. She gives the crowd a smile, dressed in a white satin dress that resembles a wedding gown. It’s tightly fitted with a V-neck, showing off her large fake tits and long train, but she has no wedding ring on her finger. Makes me think she’s using this opportunity to be the bride she dreamed of. “Good evening, gentlemen. I want to thank you for your generous donations tonight. The auction will begin in ten minutes.”

A LITTLE OVER an hour later, I’ve watched twelve women being sold. Well, the last one I’m pretty sure was a girl. Definitely under the age of eighteen. And all of them had a smile on their faces. And not the I’m scared to death smile, but a genuine I’m going to serve you. It’s my purpose in life smile. I’m not sure if they volunteered or what the fuck is going on. After all, I thought this was about sex trafficking.

“Next up, we have Mia,” the woman’s voice announces over the speakers. “Innocent and beautiful. We’ve saved the best for last, gentlemen.”

Men are already gripping their paddles, ready to bid, but no one walks onto the platform.

My hand fists the glass of bourbon before I throw it back. I can’t get that video of her out of my mind. I watched it five days ago. What has happened to her since then? How long did they have her before they recorded it?

I stare up at the stage, expecting her to be brought out on her hands and knees in chains with a bag over her head. But that is not what they had planned for her tonight.

A woman is shoved onto the stage. She trips, falling onto her hip. Her palms slap the black stage, and long, dark hair shields her face from the crowd. A black crown that looks dipped in glitter falls off her head and clanks to the floor next to her.

No one makes a sound. She’s dressed in a black evening gown. You can’t see the front because of how she’s hunched over on the stage, but you can see the back. It dips down, exposing sun-kissed skin, and stops at the top of her ass, where two little dimples show. We silently watch as she breathes heavily. Her body shakes, and her spine is prominent. She’s even been starved. No physical sign of abuse, though, like I saw on the video. Either they’ve healed or they have them covered up, which makes me wonder how long ago the video was filmed before it was sent to Luca.

A man storms onto the stage. It’s the same one from the video. The one she had kicked in the nuts. “Get up,” he orders, grabbing her upper arm.

She tries to shove him away, but he won’t release her.

“Richard.” Someone growls from beside the stage. “Leave her.”

With a mouth set in a hard line, he exits the stage just as angry as he stormed onto it.

Silence falls once again.

She sits there for a few more minutes before she begins to move. She gets to her knees first; long dark curls still cover her face. Then her heels. She sways a little bit but manages to stand and then turns to face the crowd. Silvery-blue eyes-as clear as the sky on a sunny day-glare at all of us from the stage lights that shine down on her. The dress dips low in the front as it does in the back, showcasing two perfectly round tits. They look untouched. The bralette they had her dressed in the video they sent Luca did nothing for them. Her heavy breathing fills the large room as she bends over and picks up the crown that fell off her head. The crowd gasps when she snaps it in half and drops the pieces to her feet.

“You are all bastards,” she growls, showcasing a set of perfectly straight white teeth.

Men throw up their paddles, and the bidding begins. Five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, the number rises by the second. Everyone wants her. But I am the one who will take her home.

I stand, buttoning my suit jacket. “Ten million,” I call out.