Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

Saint felt a gentle tugging on his arm.

“Doc, they’ve already auctioned off three Chink gals. Wilkes ain’t to be seen, of course. It’s Danvers who’s doing the dealing.”

Saint adjusted his full beard and his black wig. Because of his height, he could, by standing on a crate, see through a side window. He nodded to Limpin’ Willie, eased up onto the crate, which wobbled a bit under his weight, and peered again into the room.

There were at least twenty men, all of them masked, seated in chairs facing a small stage. He’d heard about the anonymity, the major rule, and thus the black masks. It prevented blackmail and a certain amount of embarrassment, he supposed. The curtains behind the stage were black velvet, as were the draperies in the room itself. He felt his blood boil when another quite young Chinese girl was forced out from behind the curtain, her long silken black hair covering her small breasts. He heard muted conversation, heard that sharp-voiced bastard Danvers calling out bids. How many more poor unfortunate girls before Jules? he wondered, concerned that the crate would break beneath him.

Juliana was wrapped in a thick cloak, her hands tied behind her, a gag in her mouth. Jameson Wilkes was seated beside her, his face utterly emotionless. She’d seen around the curtain briefly, seen the masked men seated in the darkened room.

It was some sort of club, she thought, with men here for the express purpose of buying women. But she wouldn’t give up. Wilkes had to take off this gag sometime; then she would scream. I’ll fight, I’ll yell and . . .

Wilkes removed her gag suddenly. “Drink this now, Juliana.”

She stared at the glass of wine for a long moment. “Why?”

“It will make everything . . . easier for you.”

“You had me drink wine before.”

“Yes, and you will again, now.”

She looked wildly about her. Two of Jameson Wilkes’s men stood behind her. “No,” she said, thrusting up her chin.

She felt the rim of the glass pressing against her teeth. She felt the wine seep into her mouth. She collected it, then jerked her head away and spat the wine full into Jameson Wilkes’s face.

She saw the look of utter fury contort his features and said very softly, “Why don’t you strike me, you bastard? But you won’t, will you? You can’t. You don’t want to bruise your precious merchandise.”

Jameson got a hold on himself. “You know, my dear, I’m tempted to feel a bit sorry for the man who buys you. But by then you will no longer be my problem.” He looked at the two men. “Hold her head and keep her mouth open.”

Jules struggled, but it was no use. She was forced to swallow the wine. She felt Jameson’s handkerchief wipe off the drops that fell down her chin.

He stood back and stroked his chin. “Very nice. Keep breathing heavily. Your lovely breasts become all the more alluring.”

“I hate you,” she whispered. “You drugged the wine, didn’t you? With more this time.”

“Of course, but you knew that. You will be the most biddable creature imaginable by the time you’re on that stage. Now, just sit quietly. I suspect that you’ll be as plaint as I wish in another ten minutes.” He chuckled a bit. “Do you know, I think I’ll give your buyer a bit of the opium. Who knows, perhaps after you’ve been plowed, you won’t need to be . . . convinced anymore.” He saw the utter horror in her green eyes, and felt a nagging moment of indecision. No, he thought, he had to sell her. He needed the money, he needed what the money would buy for him. He no longer denied to himself that he wanted her, wanted her more than any woman he’d ever known. But it wasn’t to be.

Saint could feel the change in the group of men. There was a surge of anticipation, and the men were speaking to each other in excited whispers, sitting forward in their chairs. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Juliana DuPres was gently led onto the stage. Her beautiful thick hair was loose down her back, a riotous mass of curls. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her. God, she’d changed, she’d become a woman. She raised her head at the instruction from Danvers, and he saw the vague, nearly disinterested look in her eyes. He felt rage flow through him, realizing that she was drugged. He heard excited voices call out:

“Lord, would you look at those breasts—white as the snow in the Sierras!”

“Turn her around and raise the hair off her back!”

“No missionary girl ever looked like that! Wilkes wouldn’t lie to us, would he? Lord, she’s made to be on her back!”

Saint forced himself to wait just a bit longer, until all the men were completely distracted by Juliana, their attention focused forward to the stage.

He felt sweat break out on his forehead. She looked like a puppet, lifeless and uncaring. Her eyes, glazed and vague, looked remarkably sensual, as if inviting a man to come to her.

He heard Danvers, the auctioneer, call out, “Well, gentlemen, we’ve a real prize here, a virgin prize. The bidding will start at three thousand dollars!”

The bidding had reached nearly five thousand when one of the men called out, “How do we know that you haven’t pushed up those breasts of hers? Let’s see them!”

“Yes! Strip her down!”

“Let’s see those long legs!”

That was it, Saint thought as he watched the auctioneer reach out to pull down the awful gown from her breasts.