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“Anyone?” Pavel looks around, then back at the board, which remains unchanged.

The green light next to number eleven is the only one lit up.

“Going once,” Pavel says, lifting his hammer. He pauses again, giving the room time to adjust. “Going twice.”

The room is silent.

Pavel brings the hammer down.

“Sold,” he says. “To number eleven, for forty million, four hundred thousand dollars.”

The room erupts into applause.

I can barely breathe.

“I congratulate you, sir,” Pavel says, beaming. “And now,” he continues, as applause subsides, “you will find refreshments, not to mention gaming tables and some very desirable company, in the adjoining room. Our host’s people will show you the way.” He gestures to doors at the side of the room, which the guards are opening. “If the bearer of number eleven would stay behind, please?”

The attendees file out of the auction room, chattering among themselves.

I sit frozen in my seat. I’m not certain I’d be able to stand even if I wanted to.

Viktor puts his drink down and turns to cast Rodrigo a rueful glance. “It would seem neither of us win today, my friend,da? Shall we join the party and drown our sorrows together?”

Rodrigo shrugs with every affectation of carelessness. “I prefer to take my parties in private,” he says, smiling darkly and caressing Lucky’s shoulder.

Viktor nods politely. “Of course.” He looks toward the one remaining figure in the room, seated in the farthest corner, shielded entirely by shadow. “I think I should like to meet my competitor.” But as soon as he turns toward number eleven, two unsmiling guards step in front of him.

“This way, sir.” One of them nods toward the open doors.

Viktor gives a huff of laughter. “I wish only to give the man my congratulations.”

“This is not necessary.” The guard nods toward the door again. “Thank you for your attendance this evening.”

Viktor shrugs, casting the figure a curious glance, but he leaves willingly enough.

Pavel remains on the stage, his smile fixed and his eyes carefully avoiding mine.

The guards approach Rodrigo. “Allow us to escort you to your private suite, Señor Cardeñas.”

“No.” It’s just one word, coming from the darkness in the corner of the room, but I would know that flat, cold voice anywhere. “Señor Cardeñas and his friends will remain as my private guests.”

Fuck.

“Sir.” Pavel smiles, but even I can tell how forced it is. “Perhaps we might complete payment in private—”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Azad.” The cold voice cuts Pavel off before he can finish the sentence. “Guards—wait outside. Nobody comes in or out.”

The guards leave obediently, closing the doors behind them.

The room is suddenly very quiet.

The man in the corner reaches for a lamp beside his chair and clicks it on. “I think we can dispense with the darkness now,” he says.

36

Abby

Rodrigo stands as soon as the lamp goes on. “I don’t appreciate being locked inside—”