Thin Lies (Donati Bloodlines #1) (18 page)

Once
the other two men had donned their masks, the woman pushed open the door behind
her.

Calisto
didn’t know what he expected to see. Cement floors, maybe. Dingy walls. Cages
for the victims caught up in all of this. Well-dressed men with their faces
covered to hide their identities as women were paraded in front of them for
surveying like cattle.

The
only thing Calisto had right was the well-dressed men.

The
room opened up to what could only be described as professionally decorated
gallery with earth-toned walls, stylish furniture, and artwork on the walls.
Men and women, impeccably dressed, milled around with their faces hidden by
similar masks to the one Calisto had put on his own face.

Some
of the walls had been draped with red curtains, but none of them had windows to
look outside. Doors opened at the other end of the very large room, and people
traveled in and out without question. Servers walked between the people,
refilling glasses of whatever liquor was being imbibed. Laughter flowed freely.

What
in the fuck was this?

It
was like a goddamn cocktail party.

Calisto
swallowed back the heaviness pooling in his gut. “Shall we?”

The
man who had been mostly quiet nodded at his friend. “My boss will direct you
through the process, as I don’t have the cash to participate fully tonight.”

Great
…  

“Come,”
Kostya demanded. “We will get account set up for you, comrade.”

“Then
what?” Calisto asked.

“Then
we look at stock behind the curtains before auction.”

Stock
.

Like
cattle.

Calisto
felt cold all over.

He
let his mask hide it.

Somehow.

Emma

Something
shoved Emma from behind, nearly causing her to stumble in the heels she had
been forced to put on earlier. White heels, she remembered. Just like the white-lace
pantie and bra set—brand new with tags still attached—and the white chemise
that a pretty, older woman had yanked over her head.

Emma
had still been drowsy then. She remembered arms putting her in the back of a
car, someone removing her clothes and cleaning the vomit from her hair, and
then readying her like she was a little doll about to be displayed.

Her
skin had been shaven. Lotion was applied. Her face was washed, her hair
brushed, and her nails clipped.

The
drug that Mika had given her knocked Emma out in a big way. She had barely been
able to move for hours. Her words wouldn’t come out right, and her mind
wouldn’t slow enough for her to think, fight back, or do much of anything.

She
was useless.

“Keep
your head up,” a voice said from behind Emma. “Stand still, be quiet, and
everything will be just fine, pretty girl.”

Emma
blinked under the weight of the white sash that covered her eyes. She recognized
the voice making demands behind her as the woman who had cared for her earlier
when she was brought in blindfolded and unmoving.

Once
the woman had been satisfied with Emma’s appearance, she had tied a clean,
white sash around her head and sat her in a chair.

How
long had she waited until someone came?

Long
enough.

Emma’s
faculties slowly returned, along with her awareness. She had known all along
that something was terribly wrong, but it was only when she could think clearly
once more that she understood just how much trouble she was really in.

“You’re
young, fit, and clean,” the woman said, her hand pushing against Emma’s back to
move her along. “You will fetch a good buyer, and a damn good price tonight, if
you just do what you’re told. Believe me when I say that you want someone from
tonight to purchase you instead of being overlooked. Those who don’t make the
auction are discarded. We can’t afford the trouble of keeping you, after all.”

Emma
shivered.

She
refused to speak.

“The
lights will feel hot,” the woman said. “Do not remove the blindfold or you’ll
find your hands bloody and red after being beaten with a whip.”

Lights?

What?

“Ready,
here we go.”

Emma
felt her body be propelled forward with one hard shove. Her heels clattered on
the floor—a sound that reminded her of heels clicking down on hardwood. She
didn’t have a damned clue what the woman was talking about, because a cold
chill raced over Emma’s skin the moment she stopped moving. Goosebumps bloomed
across her arms and legs. She could feel the urge to tremble start in her
shoulders.

And
then she heard the click.

Beneath
the thick sash covering her eyes, Emma could tell the lights had been turned
on. Several lights, probably. Her body heated instantly.

The
clapping and muffled murmurs followed right after.

She
almost spun on her heel.

Almost
.

Emma
stopped herself from moving, remembering the woman’s words. She didn’t want to
find out what being discarded meant. She also didn’t want to be sold off to the
highest bidder in whatever this awful charade was.

Her
fingers itched with the desire to rip the blindfold off. She wanted to see who
was talking, who was clapping, and who was watching. Was it a few people? A
lot?

Embarrassment
and fear swirled in Emma’s midsection. She could feel that the chemise she wore
only fell to her pubic bone. The panties that the woman had put on Emma earlier
had been nothing more than frilly, flimsy fabric.

Somehow
… somehow she just knew.

Her
body was being
appraised
.

Looked
at. Admired. Judged.

Priced
.

She
clenched her fists hard at her sides, letting the bite of her fingernails keep
her from crying. The tears still welled in her eyes, but she clenched her lids
shut beneath the sash and refused to let the wetness escape. She allowed one,
soft and shaky breath to release from her chest.

Control
, her mind
chanted.
Keep control
.

How
was she going to get out of this?

What
had she done?

The
panic bubbled up faster than Emma expected it to. Every muscle in her body
seemed to protest at the same goddamn time, right along with her suddenly
screaming nerves. She was two seconds away from a breakdown.

She
couldn’t do this.

She
didn’t want this.

What
was
this
?

A
voice, clearer than the murmurs, echoed from up above.

Emma
froze solid.

“Number
three-two-seven-four. Caucasian. Twenty years old. Clean body, clean blood.”

A
sickness rolled in Emma’s stomach.

This
was what she was reduced to? A number, specifications, and the best price she
could fetch?

“Not
pure, based on information provided,” the voice continued. “Extra examination
wasn’t necessary to confirm.”

What?

How
did that person know she wasn’t a virgin?

Emma
quickly remembered Poppy, and how her friend had sold her out to the lowest of
the low. The betrayal still stung harshly on the back of Emma’s tongue, but she
ignored it for the moment. She had more important things to worry about.

Like
getting away.

Somehow
…  

“Special
circumstances for three-two-seven-four includes a demand from the seller that it
be removed from the state as soon as possible,” the voice said from up above
somewhere. “The file information will be shared with those who show interest in
bidding on the piece, including the full details. I can assure you that the
piece’s paperwork and heritage is impeccable. It is best placed in a permanent
place or a collection.”

A
…
collection
?

Oh,
God.

Emma
couldn’t breathe.

She
thought about all the stupid shit she had done to get herself in this position,
and the man she had fooled to do it.

No
one would help her.

No
one would save her.

Emma
was grabbed by her arm and pulled backwards without a word. She heard the click
again before the lights flashed off and the wave of heat was gone.

“Well
done,” the older woman whispered in Emma’s ear.

Somewhere
behind her, the clapping started again.

Emma
blinked rapidly when the blindfold was suddenly pulled from her eyes without
warning. The brightness of the space around her made it hard to focus when she
had been staring into darkness for longer than she cared to think about.

A
man moved in front of her quickly, and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her
down. He wore a black mask, keeping most of his face hidden.

“Hey—”

“I’m
sure Dory told you to keep quiet,” the man said. “So do so and sit down.”

Emma
did as she was told, not liking the way the man’s eyes flashed with the promise
of violence. She had a feeling that physically fighting back against these
people would do her no good. They trafficked humans, obviously. What else were
they capable of?

Killing
her wouldn’t make waves to them.

It
would be nothing.

“Five
parties have shown interest in you tonight. All are considerably wealthy, and
have the means to make you disappear, Emma.”

“You
know my name?”

“Of
course, I do. The seller who brought you in had quite an extensive bit of
information to go through about just who you are and where you came from.
Unbelievable that you managed to wind up in our hands. Usually, we wouldn’t
work with someone like you—as you’re too high-risk—but we didn’t have much of a
choice tonight. Better this than killing you, hmm?”

Emma
choked on air. “Is that what you think?”

“Somehow,
my dear, you found your way here. We’re simply going to use it to our benefit.”

Emma
briefly wondered how much damage she would be able to do to this man’s face
with her fingernails before someone would come into the stark white room and
stop her. The thought didn’t last long.

“Cross
your legs, head high, and smile if it pleases you,” the man said.

“Fuck
you,” Emma uttered under her breath.

He
laughed in response.

“Oh,
you silly girl. Some of these clients love defiance. Keep showing that off for
them, they’re watching, after all.”

Emma
glanced around quickly, taking in the space. For the most part, Emma was forced
to keep her blindfold on at all times. This was one of the very few times where
it had been taken off since she arrived.

The
room was circular in nature. A single door was off to her right, while the high
vaulted ceiling had specialty lighting directed down on the chair she sat in.
The floor was a brushed, black marble. Shiny enough to showcase her terrified,
confused reflection staring back at her. White walls with what looked like
indented panels of mirrors surrounded her from every direction.

Watching
her …  

She
stared into one of the mirrors. Wetness filled her gaze, but she blinked it
away. 

“Yes,
exactly,” the man said, nodding at one of the mirrors. “One-sided glass. As I
said, keep the defiance up. I know personally that a few of the clients
interested in you love the challenge of breaking a new slave’s will. Believe it
or not, but that actually makes the bids fly.”

There
it was.

The
first time the word had been said.

Slave
.

Emma
was frozen to the chair as more lights turned on. With a single pat on her
head, the man made a beeline for the only door that would lead out of the room.
Not a second later, the voice from earlier was back, echoing up above.

“Cost
per bid is five thousand. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand. Increments of
ten thousand per bid. Transactions are instant. Begin.”

Immediately,
red lights flashed above the mirrors. One after another … after another.

Emma
tried to keep up; she tried to count them. There were too many. She found
herself clenching her fists tight again, just to keep calm, and biting the
inside of her cheek to stay quiet.

Fuck
these people.

Fuck
their money.

She
still wouldn’t cry.