Page 77 of Carnal Games

But… but I was supposed to be last. There are still four women left, who glance at each other in confusion too.

I gingerly step around them and walk ahead.

They regard me like I’m a competition.

I want to shout out that this isn’t a pageant.

Sweat dots my forehead and my hands go numb the closer I get to the short flight of stairs. Being under a spotlight scares the bejesus out of me. This is a hundred times more crippling.

Why the heck did I think this was a good idea?

I curse myself to hell.

My name is announced again. I walk faster, wanting to get it over with. By now, Zain must’ve told Kian I’m here. He’s bound to come looking for me.

When I stand on the stage, I can’t be looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Sexpot.

That’s who I need to channel.

The minute I step onto the landing, the curtains part in slow motion. The bright spotlight shines down at me, revealing me to the salivating crowd. I hear soft murmurs and groans ring around. Their salacious gazes roaming down my body, over my bare skin visible through the cuts and the neckline of my gown.

Where are you, Kian?

“Iris, everyone,” the host proudly introduces. “Isn’t she a beauty? Don’t let the angelic face fool you, because I have her list of fantasies and, let me say,” she pauses, dragging the suspense. “She’s up for anything. A dream girl for the highest bidder.”

I am?

Crap! I didn’t think she’d read the list out loud.

I suppress the urge to fidget, wishing for her to shut up and move on to the next part. No—not the next part.

Why did I let stupid Zain get into my head? It’s partly his fault for nudging me into messing with Kian.

It’s too late to back out now.

“Let’s start the bidding, shall we?” says the hostess.

Suddenly, the lights dim until I can make out every face in the crowd, sitting around circular tables, smoking on cigars anddrinking. All of them staring right at me. And none at my face. It’s on different parts of my body, like I’m a sex doll on display.

Nothing about it excites me, not like all those girls before me.

I try to look anywhere else when my nervous gaze lands on the corner table in the front row. My confidence fizzles out, bone-shivering fear encompassing me from head to toe as I recognize the four suited men sitting in a circle.

Only a fool won’t recognize them.

The underworld Kings of the North.

On the surface, they’re wealthy businessmen. But only a few know that their roots are painted in the blood of innocents they destroyed in their quest to the top. And they’re all here, in the same room. There’s no mistaking how they stand out from the crowd.

Except for one, who has his head buried in his phone like whatever’s happening on the stage is uninteresting to him, the rest have their attention on me.

Keith Ray, the leader and the son of a corrupt politician, sits in the middle with one hand casually wrapped around a glass. Then there’s Darian Grover, heir to the rumored company of contract killers owned by his father.

All of them being together in the same room is nerve-racking. It never leads to a good outcome. Why are they here? This isn’t their territory. They’re probably here to make some seedy deal. It’s the perfect place.

The hostess opens her mouth, saying, “Gentlemen, name your—”