Page 1

Alice

I would kill for a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a book right now. Instead, I have on heels that are killing my feet and vague directions my father gave me for finding this place. Maybe I’ll get my wish after I finish my first ever waitressing shift at the same place my father works. I really hope these people tip better than they do at IHOP, I think as I almost laugh, finding it ironic that I actually miss working there. Smelling like bacon and getting hit on by drunks in the early morning hours isn’t my idea of fun, but at least working there was my choice. This, this is not my choice. I stop that train of that and study the large ornate door leading into the auction house.

Before I worry myself to death, I square my shoulders, ignore the unease this place gives me, and push the door open. The first thing I notice when I enter the auction house is the smell—a heady mix of cologne and alcohol.

The next thing is the way the men look at me as I step inside. While some barely spare me a glance, others analyze me like I’m one of the art pieces they’re here to buy. But not in a flattering way. In a way that makes my skin crawl.

I don’t think I should be here. At least not this part of the auction house. What have I walked into?

I remind myself why I’m here - guilt, duty, my future - pull myself together and walk up to a man in a crisp black suit. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Kirk. I’m supposed to be waiting tables tonight.”

He barely glances at me and just points down a narrow hallway. “Through there. Room at the end.”

“Thanks.”

My heart is thundering in my chest as I move down the hallway and find the last door. With a shaky hand, I turn the handle and open it, expecting to see a bustling kitchen or a staff room, but instead, I’m met with something entirely different.

Half-naked girls line the room, chattering away as they cake their faces with heavy makeup. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as most heads turn toward the door. This can’t be right.

“Are you the new girl?” Someone asks.

I shake my head vigorously. “No. I’m not. I…I think I’m in the wrong place,” I stammer, stepping back. “I’m here for a waitressing job, not—”

“Alice Fray?”

A man with a bored look steps out from among the girls, with a file in his hand that has my picture.

“I am. Bu-”

“Perfect!” He exclaims dryly. “Take your clothes off and join them. The show is about to start.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You owe Mr. Kirk some kind of debt, don't you? If you don't want to make this difficult, I suggest you do as you're told."

Technically, I don't owe Mr. Kirk, my father does. But as I’m here instead, I guess it's the same thing.

“I’m just here to wait tables,” I object, more timidly than I’d like.

“Which is what all the other girls are here for. You, however, are much more valuable than that, aren’t you, Alice?”

The familiar voice comes from behind me, and I suppress my disgust as I turn to see Mr. Kirk.

He’s a tall, imposing man, in a navy blue suit. He looks at me with a weird smile that sends chills down my spine. It’s the same look he gives me every time he stops by to see my father; it’s a look that lets me know I’ll be doing what he wants whether I like it or not.

“Your father owes me a lot of money. You’re here to pay it off by diligently serving any man who pays for your…art.”

I freeze, every word slicing through me like ice. “What? No… no, that can’t be right.”

He frowns and cocks his head, looking genuinely sympathetic. “Your father sent you here without telling you that?”

“He wouldn’t… he couldn’t…”

I think about how my father has been feeling unwell, so much so that I delayed attending my first semester of college. When he reminded me he was paying for it, adding that hasn’t he sacrificed enough by raising me on my own after my mother took off, I knew the decision to stay was already made.

But I never imagined this was what he meant. Yet, the more I think about it, the truth is staring me in the face, cruel and unyielding. My father’s voice echoes in my head, as does the desperate look on his face when I left home a few hours ago.

I need you to help me cover my shift for a while. Everything will be all right if you just do whatever Mr. Kirk tells you.

My skin turns to ice, my heart beats so loud it threatens to explode in my chest, and I’m weak in the knees.

This can’t be real.

My panic turns to desperation. I clasp my hands together in a prayer and plead with Mr. Kirk, “Please. There has to be another way. I can work—anything.”

Mr. Kirk’s smile doesn’t falter as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear; I can’t help but jerk away, causing his smile to thin and his eyes to turn to ice. My dinner threatens to resurface, and I swallow it back down. “You’ll work, all right, just not in the way you’d hoped.”

The bored-looking man steps closer. “We don’t have time to make her look…presentable, Mr. Kirk.”

He frowns and looks at me from top to bottom then sighs. “It’s fine. Just give her the most revealing outfit we have. Her father said she’s a virgin. If the bidding is low, use that card.”

I gasp and take a step back.

“You can either do this the easy way or the hard way. But trust me, you will do it either way.” With that, Mr. Kirk leaves.

In a daze, I’m forced into an outfit and placed in line with the other girls. It all happens so fast that my mind can’t keep up.

“I heard Demon Damon would be bidding tonight,” one of the girls beside me murmurs in a low voice.

“What! He’s never even been to an auction before. Why would he be here tonight and bidding?”

The girl who spoke shrugs. “I don’t know. Something about Kirk wanting to solidify their partnership. But the reason doesn’t matter. What I do know is I don’t want to be auctioned to him.”

“I don’t think I’d mind,” a girl who looks to be several years older than me speaks up. “Have you seen him? All that brutish attitude might give a fantastic fuck.” I flinch at her words, and she laughs, mockingly.

As she opens her mouth to say something else, another door opens, and I’m pushed forward.

I stumble, try to turn back, but there’s no escape. The last thing I see before they push me further onto the stage is the cold, unyielding smile on Kirk’s face. And then I’m out there, under the lights, with a room full of predators waiting to pounce.

The moment I step onto the stage, the blinding lights hit my face, and I freeze.

I can barely see anything beyond the brightness, but I can feel the eyes on me—hundreds of them. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic drumbeat that drowns out every logical thought.

Run. Run now.

I could bolt into the crowd, scream for help, tell the people in the audience that I’m doing this under coercion.

Run.

But I can’t. My feet won’t move even though the hands of the men who shoved me onto this stage are gone. I’ve heard enough stories about Mr. Kirk to know that running wouldn’t make this go away. It’ll only put my life in danger and my father's, too.

I’m paralyzed to the spot and tears gather in my eyes. I want to cry, scream, wail, do something. Anything. But I can’t. My body doesn’t move.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, my gaze locks on a man sitting near the front of the room. Where he’s seated is dimly lit but even from a distance, I can make out his sharp, chiseled jawline, hard as stone, like it’s never softened for a smile. His black hair, short and perfectly styled, glints under the dim lights, but it’s his eyes that lock me in place. Dark, intense, and piercing, they seem to see straight through me, as if stripping away every layer of my being. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away.

His lips, set in a firm, unreadable line, hint at a man who doesn’t tolerate defiance. Everything about him is cold, controlled, and yet somehow magnetic. I should look away. I should be afraid. But all I can do is stand there, rooted to the spot, trapped in his gaze.

The moment stretches on, tense and suffocating, until I can hardly breathe.

He doesn’t move. He just… watches me. And God help me, I don’t want to look away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer’s voice rings out, breaking the silence. “Our next offering is something quite special. A rare find, indeed.”

The sound of his voice snaps me back to reality, and I feel the blood drain from my face. Offering. Like I’m some kind of… product.

The audience murmurs with interest, and I hear someone call out, “She looks pretty basic to me.”

My breath hitches, and a wave of nausea hits me. I want to scream, to tell them all to shut up, but I’m paralyzed.

The auctioneer chuckles. “Ah, she may look that way but whoever takes her tonight would find that she’s quite… untouched.”

A ripple of excitement runs through the room, and I want to crawl out of my skin. My stomach twists; I press a hand against it, willing myself not to be sick.

The bidding starts.

“$10,000.”

“$20,000.”

“$50,000.”

“$100,000.”

I stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry, not to break. Every number they shout feels like a knife, each one cutting deeper, reminding me that I’m nothing more than a price tag now. My dignity, my freedom… all for sale. And my own father put me in this position.

“$150,000!” another voice calls, and the room falls silent. My head snaps up to see the man who placed the bid. He looks like he’s well over fifty. He has a smug look on his face, sure of himself, like he knows he’s going to win. The crowd seems to sense it, too.

For some reason, I look at Mr. Dark and Dangerous. I don’t know why, but I just look at him with pleading eyes. I don’t even know the man, but for some reason I need him to be my knight in shining armor.

His expression is different now as he leans forward. What used to be a plain, indifferent look is now replaced with something else. Irritation?

His gaze flickers toward the auctioneer, and I swear I see him clench his jaw.

Without warning, he stands up.

“$500,000.”

The room gasps, and my heart stops. The man’s voice is deep and commanding and carries a lethal edge that makes me want to cower and run into his arms at the same time. The finality in his tone leaves no room for argument. The competition is over.

The auctioneer stumbles over his words, clearly shocked. “S-sold. For $500,000.”

The hammer drops, and just like that, my fate is sealed.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

I feel like I’m in a dream as they usher me off the stage into a room with spare furniture: a couch, a chair, and in the corner… a bed. I hug myself, trying to calm my racing heart. I hope it’s not what I’m thinking.

“You should have come by sooner,” I hear Mr. Kirk’s laugh before the door creaks open. Kirk continues, blocking the doorway from another man, “You should inspect her…” Kirk looks over his shoulder at me, a leer on his face, “make sure she’s intact.”

The man I saw from the stage pushes past Kirk. He is even more intimidating up close, but I can’t help but feel relieved as he enters the room and slams the door, leaving just the two of us.

He’s taller than I imagined, easily over six feet, and his presence fills the small space. His black suit clings to him in all the right places, highlighting his broad chest, strong arms, and lean waist. There’s an elegance to the way he moves—smooth, controlled, almost predatory.

My heart starts racing again. But this time, it feels like for a different reason. For a second, neither of us speaks. Then he breaks the silence.

“Damon.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Damon.”

Then the name clicks. Damon. As in Demon Damon. The man the girls were talking about.

I think I’m going to pass out.