Sold To The Hitman (Men of Ruthless Corp)
Through the drapery, I enter a broad hallway and continue moving until I come to a door which reveals another passageway. This is a damn maze. Finally, I reach the end when I open a steel door. The place opens into a nightclub with flashing lights, techno beats, and a bar off in the distance. In the room’s front is a rectangular stage, and I see a few women lined up along the back.
“Find a seat, everyone,” a voice booms into the vast space. “The auction is about to start.”
I follow the herd of men and turn my attention to the high rollers.
You can always tell who they are at any club. They’re the ones with girls hanging around like accessories, sitting at a secluded table, protected by a swarm of security. They’re usually drinking a bottle of expensive booze, and being boisterous about how much fun they’re having. Right away, I spot a group doing just that. I keep them in my crosshairs as I head to the bar to grab a beer and blend in with the crowd. If I want to find Steele, then the fellow behind the bar is my best bet, because the person with the most information is always the bartender.
“Take a Heineken,” I say to the bearded guy polishing glassware.
He nods, turning to the cooler behind him to get my beer.
“Thanks,” I say as he hands me the green bottle. “Busy tonight. What’s going on up there?”
He stares at me for a moment, taking in my black henley and jeans, and I can see the cogs spinning in his mind, most likely wondering if I’m a cop or not. Once he’s convinced I’m not a threat of the legal aspect, he says, “They’re selling off the new batch.”
“Batch of what?” I ask. “Cookies?”
“Women. Each month they have a new batch come through here.”
I take a pull from my beer, thinking what to say next, because what the fuck? “Steele here?”
He nods toward the men I noticed earlier. “Man in all black. With the neck tat.”
I study Steele for a quick second, sizing him up while he motions to a server near the table. He’s tall, around the same height as me, but I’ve got about a million more muscles. He may not be a physical threat, but he’s packing enough firepower on the security team standing in the shadows behind him to do some major damage to my sweet ass.
“Thanks, man.”
I leave the bar, heading toward the stage as a man with a microphone tries to get everyone’s attention.
These fuckers are actually going to bid on women. I never in my life thought I’d be at a place like this, but the women for sale aren’t what I’m here for. I’m here to gather intel on Steele and his people, not get a conscience.
I move near the stage and pull out my phone, pretending I’m looking at a message as I snap a few photos of the group of men focused on the announcer.
“The first woman up for bid is from Romania. She can cook and clean, among other things,” the announcer says, like he’s selling a car and not a person.
A spotlight lands on a blonde in a tight, black dress, and the crowd cheers like they’ve never seen a pretty face or been laid in this century.
The bidding starts, and it’s lightning fast. The woman goes for five grand and I’m so disgusted I nearly spit out my beer.
The next woman ambles closer to the announcer, and big blue eyes stare out into the throng like she’s searching for someone. They settle on me for a moment, and a zap of charged energy ricochets between us.
She’s exquisite, long legs, full curves, and brown hair that spills in waves past her shoulders.
The bidding starts, and within seconds, Steele bids on her. Fucker thinks she’s only worth a grand? White-hot heat warms my veins that he thinks she’s only worth a thousand dollars. The woman on stage has caught my attention and a protective force overtakes me. I don’t know what possesses me, but…
I need more time with this beauty.
I need these assholes not to have her.
I need to make certain this woman is safe.
I place a bid.
Two
Blue
* * *
Journalism 101: Always pay attention to the five W’s.
Who—a towering, strapping, gorgeous guy with spectacular hair.
What—driving my price up and spoiling everything.
When—now.
Where—sex-trafficking auction.
Why—I don’t know. Because life sucks?
This is bad. Numbers fly around me, five, ten, fifteen thousand, and I watch my entire plan go up in flames, the match lit by Mr. Sexy. Steele goes higher with his bid, merely to be prevented again from winning me when the guy with piercing dark eyes offers twenty thousand. Wow.
Steele goes to raise his hand to bid more, but one of his henchmen whispers in his ear and he turns toward the exit door. In a rush they leave, and I’m screwed. With long strides, Mr. Mysterious marches to the stage to claim his bounty while I gawk at him in disbelief.