“I stole nothing. Take care with your words, Melissa.”
“But that’s the gist of it, right? And did you know about her drug addiction when you lent her this money?”
I lean forward and she draws back. Good because I’m suddenly not as entertained.
“When someone comes to me for money, I don’t ask why he or she needs it or where he or she is going to spend it or how. I don’t give a damn. All I expect is that it’s paid back by the agreed upon date.”
“Let me guess, with a ridiculous interest rate.”
“That not asking questions comes at a price, Melissa.”
“Stop saying my name.”
“But I like saying it. Melissa. It just…rolls right off my tongue.” I lean back in my seat, swirl the ice in my drink.
She flushes, at a loss for a moment. “You’re a loan shark,” she finally says.
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m many things, first and foremost, the owner and CEO of Hawk Enterprises, an employer of several thousand people, a lawful, tax-paying business-man with many friends.”
From the look on her face, she understands what I’m saying.
“If you think that I can pay you that kind of money, you’re mistaken,” she says. “I don’t have anything close to that.”
“Most people don’t. Obviously, I didn’t expect Liza to pay me back in cash. We had a different sort of arrangement that suited both of our needs.”
Her forehead creases, and a moment later, a look of understanding passes over her face.
I grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I don’t fuck women like Liza Boyd. I never have. I never would. It’s not that sort of arrangement.”
“I don’t understand what you want from me then.”
The gong sounds as if on cue and Melissa turns to look over the quieting crowd of men.
I follow her gaze to where the curtains part to reveal the next beauty, this one a full-figured red-head.
I turn back to my guest, watch her in profile. I study her pretty little upturned nose, the high forehead, full lips that part slightly as she takes in the attraction on the stage.
“What is this?” she asks.
“An auction.”
She looks at me with an expression of shock and utter disbelief on her face.
“So these men, they’re bidding on…her?”
I nod.
She turns back to watch the girl who is ceremoniously disrobed, and I’m surprised to see she’s a natural red-head. So rare these days.
The auctioneer calls out the opening number.
When Melissa looks at me again, she’s flushed and picks up her empty glass of water. Realizing it’s empty, she puts it back down. I raise my hand for another but when it comes, she doesn’t touch it.
“Why am I here?” she finally asks me, voice higher again.
Her big eyes are filling up with tears and those tears seem to make them go a soft caramel and all I can think is I bet she’s pretty when she cries.
“Have you figured out what our arrangement was? What Liza agreed to sell to repay me?”
Her throat works as she swallows, and I think I hear it even over the crowd.
“I don’t…this is…” her voice breaks. “You shouldn’t have lent her that kind of money,” she says weakly.
“Liza’s poor choices are not my responsibility.”
“They’re not mine either.”
“Well, then we’re finished here. There is another way, after all. One I was trying to avoid, considering her situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s in such bad shape already. Beaten badly when they found her.”
The color drains from Melissa’s face.
“What do you expect from me?” she asks. “I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t even know how to get it.”
“I’m well aware of that. Watch,” I say, turning to the stage just as the girl extends her arms to the two women on either side of her. She’s turned and bent and displayed and when the man with the strap walks toward her, the room goes completely still in anticipation.
That sound, Christ, that sound of leather on supple flesh and the red-head’s sudden gasp as the delicate skin is tested, fuck, it never fails.
The red-head’s skin turns crimson, the thick stripe glorious against such pale skin. It sends a deep, satisfied murmur through the crowd.
When I look back at Melissa, she’s staring at me wide-eyed. I wonder if she realizes she’s hugging her arms to herself.
We remain like this, me watching her, her watching me, as numbers are called out, and the auctioneer asks for more, more, more and soon, the red-head is going once, going twice, sold to the dirty old fuck in the corner.
“Lucky man,” I say, swallowing my whiskey.
“I’m going to be sick,” she says.
I push my chair back and stand.
She watches me walk around the table toward her, craning her neck, shrinking away.
I hold out my hand.
She looks at it like it’s a hot poker I’m telling her to grab.
“I can’t do that,” she says, shaking her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.