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Story: Sold to the Beret
Chapter One
Damien
Somedays my job sucks.
I’m back in the goddamn auction house again, the crowd buzzing as the main event is about to begin. This time, I’m here as a buyer. It’s an identity that serves my purpose for the moment. Attempting to channel the arrogance and power of the men surrounding me, I relax into my velvet chair and swirl my glass of whiskey before I take another sip.
My search was fruitless the last time I was here for reconnaissance. I paid some guard to let me search the rooms for Rose Beaumont. I saw what felt like a hundred girls and not one looked like her.
Well, something good came out of it.
I smirk as I remember Grayson and his woman. Who would have thought that big lump of a man would turn into a teddy for a woman?
A hushed chatter pulls me out of my thoughts. A quick scan around, and I see the reason for the quiet murmur. Another prominent buyer has arrived and is being pampered like the president.
My lips curl in distaste. Although my moral meter is low in comparison to an average person, I draw the line at hurting women and kids. It’s how I’m wired, and why I find the people in this place repulsive.
Motherfuckers.
It’s sick enough that these vile men purchase young girls for their sick pleasure, but it’s even more despicable that they’re being catered to like royalty. Many of them are old, with receding hairlines and bulging stomachs. I shudder to think about the fate of the girls they purchase.
What about Grayson?my subconscious whispers.
Grayson is different. He didn’t come to the auction house for the purpose of acquiring a woman, and I’m sure he would let Sophia go if she wanted. He’s a man of honor. It’s one of the things that brought us together.
I was taught that honor is something to be celebrated in a man. It’s honor that lets you know where to draw the line and helps you hold on to a semblance of morality. Otherwise I would be just as bad as the men in this room with me.
I lean back in my seat, giving off an air of indifference. It makes me look less threatening, which is exactly what I want—for everyone to let their guard down around me. My time as a special forces soldier taught me to blend into the background and show people what they want to see. And now, as a private investigator, those lessons serve me well on the job. My primary assignment tonight is to find the missing daughter of one of my clients.
I feel a pang of guilt at the thought of the girl—Rose Beaumont. I recently found out that her mother, who was my client, has died. Since I heard the news, the urgency to find her has increased. I owe it to her mother to fulfill my vow to look for her.
And, I never leave a job unfinished. It doesn’t bode well for my reputation and future clientele.
I’ve thought of several places where Rose could be, but my mind keeps coming back to this chapel. Apart from the fact thatmy investigation points here to these underground auctions, my instincts have also been fixated on this old building in the middle of nowhere.
I never go against my gut feeling. The last time I did, I almost died. Besides, the last time I searched for Rose here, I had a feeling I hadn’t searched everywhere. And since I didn’t know the lay of the land, the length of my search was limited.
This time, I’m sure as hell not leaving without her. And if she’s not here, I have to find a clue that will lead me to her. I’m not leaving without an answer, that’s for sure.
In my space in the far corner of the room, I’ve blended with the background, which gives me a good view of the occupants of the room. No one can notice me unless I want to be seen and I prefer it that way.
The more I watch them, the angrier I grow. Their laughter and hushed conversations piss me off. My ears have been trained to detect the quietest of sounds, so I hear it all—business deals going down, and the excitement of purchasing a new plaything. I’m furious. Especially when I hear them talking about the girls.
I palm my Swiss Army knife in my right hand, deftly flicking it open with the ease of a man used to killing. I don’t even know how I have it in my hand. I must have fished it out in my haze of anger. I continue to stare at the group of men, thinking about the different ways to end their lives. I want to gut them, or better yet slice their throats, but I’m here for a mission. It’s better not to stir up trouble.
I sweep my gaze over the large room again, humming in satisfaction as my eyes land on a man in the thick of the crowd on the other side of the room.
One job done.
I make a mental note to call my regular client, Theo Kane, after getting out of here. He’d tasked me with finding out whether this man is a buyer at the auction house, and I’ve gotten my answer. Now I can fully focus on finding Rose Beaumont.
“Gentlemen,” the auctioneer calls out, his booming voice dragging me out of my reverie. “The bidding starts in five minutes. In the meantime, make sure your purses are padded. The commodities available tonight are epitomes of innocence and purity. Delectable. Just the way you like them,” he says with a wink.
A growl reverberates low in my throat. I want to punch the greedy look off his face. Instead, I tune the idiot out and lean further back in my seat, almost in a sprawl, letting my mind travel back to when Beatrice Beaumont contacted me for this job. I wanted to decline at first. I had just completed a really dangerous job and needed a break. But, there was a sort of desperation in her voice that I couldn’t ignore.
And when I saw the image of Rose Beaumont, I understood her mother’s pain and need to find her daughter.
My hand unconsciously slips into the pocket of my jeans and I rub my fingers softly over the picture. For some odd reason, my protective instincts had hummed to life the moment I laid my eyes on the woman. Barely twenty years old, Rose Beaumont has a youthful light in her eyes, and an innocent, carefree smile. In the photo, there was a slight twinkle in her bright blue eyes that instantly drew me in.
Damien
Somedays my job sucks.
I’m back in the goddamn auction house again, the crowd buzzing as the main event is about to begin. This time, I’m here as a buyer. It’s an identity that serves my purpose for the moment. Attempting to channel the arrogance and power of the men surrounding me, I relax into my velvet chair and swirl my glass of whiskey before I take another sip.
My search was fruitless the last time I was here for reconnaissance. I paid some guard to let me search the rooms for Rose Beaumont. I saw what felt like a hundred girls and not one looked like her.
Well, something good came out of it.
I smirk as I remember Grayson and his woman. Who would have thought that big lump of a man would turn into a teddy for a woman?
A hushed chatter pulls me out of my thoughts. A quick scan around, and I see the reason for the quiet murmur. Another prominent buyer has arrived and is being pampered like the president.
My lips curl in distaste. Although my moral meter is low in comparison to an average person, I draw the line at hurting women and kids. It’s how I’m wired, and why I find the people in this place repulsive.
Motherfuckers.
It’s sick enough that these vile men purchase young girls for their sick pleasure, but it’s even more despicable that they’re being catered to like royalty. Many of them are old, with receding hairlines and bulging stomachs. I shudder to think about the fate of the girls they purchase.
What about Grayson?my subconscious whispers.
Grayson is different. He didn’t come to the auction house for the purpose of acquiring a woman, and I’m sure he would let Sophia go if she wanted. He’s a man of honor. It’s one of the things that brought us together.
I was taught that honor is something to be celebrated in a man. It’s honor that lets you know where to draw the line and helps you hold on to a semblance of morality. Otherwise I would be just as bad as the men in this room with me.
I lean back in my seat, giving off an air of indifference. It makes me look less threatening, which is exactly what I want—for everyone to let their guard down around me. My time as a special forces soldier taught me to blend into the background and show people what they want to see. And now, as a private investigator, those lessons serve me well on the job. My primary assignment tonight is to find the missing daughter of one of my clients.
I feel a pang of guilt at the thought of the girl—Rose Beaumont. I recently found out that her mother, who was my client, has died. Since I heard the news, the urgency to find her has increased. I owe it to her mother to fulfill my vow to look for her.
And, I never leave a job unfinished. It doesn’t bode well for my reputation and future clientele.
I’ve thought of several places where Rose could be, but my mind keeps coming back to this chapel. Apart from the fact thatmy investigation points here to these underground auctions, my instincts have also been fixated on this old building in the middle of nowhere.
I never go against my gut feeling. The last time I did, I almost died. Besides, the last time I searched for Rose here, I had a feeling I hadn’t searched everywhere. And since I didn’t know the lay of the land, the length of my search was limited.
This time, I’m sure as hell not leaving without her. And if she’s not here, I have to find a clue that will lead me to her. I’m not leaving without an answer, that’s for sure.
In my space in the far corner of the room, I’ve blended with the background, which gives me a good view of the occupants of the room. No one can notice me unless I want to be seen and I prefer it that way.
The more I watch them, the angrier I grow. Their laughter and hushed conversations piss me off. My ears have been trained to detect the quietest of sounds, so I hear it all—business deals going down, and the excitement of purchasing a new plaything. I’m furious. Especially when I hear them talking about the girls.
I palm my Swiss Army knife in my right hand, deftly flicking it open with the ease of a man used to killing. I don’t even know how I have it in my hand. I must have fished it out in my haze of anger. I continue to stare at the group of men, thinking about the different ways to end their lives. I want to gut them, or better yet slice their throats, but I’m here for a mission. It’s better not to stir up trouble.
I sweep my gaze over the large room again, humming in satisfaction as my eyes land on a man in the thick of the crowd on the other side of the room.
One job done.
I make a mental note to call my regular client, Theo Kane, after getting out of here. He’d tasked me with finding out whether this man is a buyer at the auction house, and I’ve gotten my answer. Now I can fully focus on finding Rose Beaumont.
“Gentlemen,” the auctioneer calls out, his booming voice dragging me out of my reverie. “The bidding starts in five minutes. In the meantime, make sure your purses are padded. The commodities available tonight are epitomes of innocence and purity. Delectable. Just the way you like them,” he says with a wink.
A growl reverberates low in my throat. I want to punch the greedy look off his face. Instead, I tune the idiot out and lean further back in my seat, almost in a sprawl, letting my mind travel back to when Beatrice Beaumont contacted me for this job. I wanted to decline at first. I had just completed a really dangerous job and needed a break. But, there was a sort of desperation in her voice that I couldn’t ignore.
And when I saw the image of Rose Beaumont, I understood her mother’s pain and need to find her daughter.
My hand unconsciously slips into the pocket of my jeans and I rub my fingers softly over the picture. For some odd reason, my protective instincts had hummed to life the moment I laid my eyes on the woman. Barely twenty years old, Rose Beaumont has a youthful light in her eyes, and an innocent, carefree smile. In the photo, there was a slight twinkle in her bright blue eyes that instantly drew me in.