Page 6 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Robin

T he stage lights burn against my skin like heat lamps, but I can’t stop shaking.

The dress they shoved me into barely covers anything—it’s obviously meant for a woman much less curvy than I am, and cut so low I’m terrified to breathe too deeply.

My legs wobble in heels I’ve never worn, stilettos that make me feel like I’m walking on literal knives.

The other women backstage whispered instructions through painted lips: Stand straight. Smile. Don’t look terrified .

I’m failing all of them spectacularly.

I’ve been blocking out the auctioneer’s voice, but I tune in when he mentions Lot Seven, because that’s me. “And lastly we will have a true prize—untouched, unspoiled, and ready for the right bidder to claim.”

Untouched. The word makes my stomach lurch.

It’s not really true, but they told me—the man I called told me—that I’d get more money if the buyer thought I was a virgin.

I nearly backed out right then, but the kids had been so excited, and the money so tempting—and anyway, my sexual experiences have been few and far between, so…

I feel sick.

The room stretches out in darkness before me like a pit of hell, and I’m thankful the lights are blinding me. There seems to be some disruption at the back of the room, but a minute later, the auction actually starts.

I’m not first, thank God. But they get to me soon enough. Every other woman has been sold off for well under the hundred thousand that was dangled to me as a carrot, so my expectations have dwindled. But even forty grand would help. Anything would help.

“Starting bid, gentlemen? Do I hear five thousand?”

A paddle shoots up. Then another. The numbers climb so fast I can barely breathe—twenty-five, thirty, forty thousand. My vision blurs at the edges. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

Think of the money, I tell myself. The money.

A man near the front—gray-haired with dead shark eyes—laughs at something his companion whispers. His paddle rises to indicate fifty thousand, and he’s looking at me like I’m a specimen he’ll enjoy dissecting.

This was insane. I have no reason at all to think whoever takes me home isn’t a damn serial killer. Logan was right, I should never have done this, my naivety is going to get me killed…

I turn, take a step toward the wings. The old woman who pushed me onstage is still standing there, her face like stone as she reads my mind. I could shove past her, though. I know I could…

And then I’d never even have a chance to get the money.

Maisie. I force myself to think of my sister’s face, about Adrian trying to juggle two jobs just like I am, and taking care of everyone. Alicia and Dane, who have started talking about taking on part-time work to contribute…

This is for them. I can survive thirty days of anything for them.

The bids have crept up to sixty grand.

“Seventy-five thousand!” the shark-eyed man calls out, not even using his paddle anymore. His friends cheer him on, and I want to disappear into the floor.

“Do I hear one hundred thousand?” the auctioneer calls.

The room falls quiet. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. Maybe this is it, and I’ll go with the shark and somehow survive it.

A voice cuts through the silence from the back of the room.

“One million dollars.”

The accent is Eastern European, the words crisp and commanding. Every head in the room turns toward the sound, and I strain to see past the blinding stage lights.

A massive figure steps forward from the back of the room. He’s easily six-foot-five, built like a tank, with graying hair and the kind of face that’s seen violence up close. The expensive suit can’t hide the bulk of muscle underneath.

The room has gone dead silent. Even the auctioneer seems stunned.

“One million dollars,” the giant repeats, his voice carrying easily through the space. “In Bitcoin or cash, at your discretion.”

The shark-eyed man’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. His friends are suddenly very interested in their drinks.

“Sold!” The auctioneer’s gavel bangs down so hard it makes me jump.

I try to process what just happened as hands guide me off the stage.

My legs are shaking so badly I can barely walk, and these heels feel like torture devices.

The giant waits for me at the bottom of the stage steps, his expression blank.

He’s already tapped a few times on his phone, and the auctioneer has nodded at him, confirming the transfer.

It’s going to be held in trust for me, they said. They’ll take a commission, of course. And then I’ll get the rest at the end of the thirty days.

Then they hand over my phone to him, the one I left backstage.

And I need my phone. I promised to call Adrian and tell him when I was leaving for the “pilot shoot.” I stare up at the man who just bought me, terrified.

If I thought the shark-eyed guy was bad, this one is far, far worse.

He dwarfs me, even in these stupid heels.

“Come,” he says, and starts walking toward the exit.

I stumble after him, my ankles wobbling dangerously. The heels catch on the carpet and I nearly fall, but somehow manage to keep upright. The giant doesn’t slow down or look back.

“Wait,” I gasp, trying to keep up. “Please! I can’t—these shoes?—”

He stops abruptly and turns. For a moment I think he might help me like a gentleman, offer his arm, but instead he bends down and simply scoops me up, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

“Hey!” I protest, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me down!”

He ignores me completely, carrying me through the casino and out into the Vegas night. The neon lights blur past as he strides down the sidewalk, and I’m getting dizzy hanging upside down, the blood rushing to my head.

“Please,” I try again, but he just adjusts his grip and keeps walking. We turn into a dark alley between two buildings, and panic floods my system. This is it. This is where he kills me and dumps my body. I start struggling harder, trying to kick free, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“Let me go! Help! ” I scream, but the alley is empty and the casino noise drowns out my voice.

But then we emerge from the other side of the alley into another busy street, and I stop screaming in surprise.

The giant stops beside a long black limousine with tinted windows.

The door opens from the inside, and he deposits me onto soft leather seats before I can even process what’s happening, then sets my phone down on the seat next to me.

I grab it and scramble backward, ready to bolt for the door, when a familiar voice stops me cold.

“Hello. Shirley, wasn’t it?”

My mouth falls open. Sitting across from me in an elegant black suit, legs crossed and perfectly composed, is the woman from the bar. The one who flirted with me last night. The one who made my heart race and my cheeks burn.

“ You ?” I squeak.

She smiles, and it’s the same cat-that-got-the-cream expression that fascinated me before.

“Surprise.”

The giant slides into the front seat next to the driver and the partition goes up, giving us privacy. The woman pours out two vodkas from little bottles in the fridge set into the door as the limousine glides away from the curb and into traffic.

“You look as though you could use this,” she says, offering me a glass.

I take the tumbler with trembling hands, not sure if I should drink it or throw it at her and try to make my escape. “I don’t understand. You bought me?”

“I did.” She sips her drink slowly, savoring it like we’re at a cocktail party instead of in the aftermath of a human auction. “One million dollars. Quite the investment.”

“But…why?” The question comes out as barely a whisper.

She studies me over the rim of her glass, those amber eyes unreadable. “Perhaps I have a fondness for beautiful things. Or perhaps I simply didn’t like the alternatives you faced in that room.”

I think of the shark-eyed man and shudder. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I think.”

The woman laughs, a sound like dark silk. “Don’t thank me yet.”

My stomach drops.

“Thirty days,” she goes on, settling back against the leather seat. “That was the arrangement the Gattos made, wasn’t it? Thirty days of…companionship. What do you think that might entail?”

The way she says the word makes heat flood my cheeks. “I thought—I mean, the Gattos said it was just—you know…partying.”

“Partying?” Her smile broadens. “Oh, Shirley. Please tell me you’re not that naive.”

I am, though. I absolutely am that naive.

“I guess I didn’t really think it through,” I say slowly.

That’s true enough. I was thinking about the money and trying not to think about what I’d have to do to get it.

“And my name’s not Shirley. That’s just what Logan—the bartender—he calls me that.

My real name is Robin. With an ‘i,’” I add, and then wish I hadn’t.

I don’t think this woman cares much how I spell my name.

“Then why on earth did he call you Shirley?” she asks.

I sigh. “Because he says I’m as innocent as Shirley Temple. And I guess maybe he was right.”

She tips back her head and lets out a laugh. “Robin. A lovely name. It suits you, little bird. Do you have a passport?” she asks, changing the subject so abruptly it gives me whiplash.

“I—what? No. Why would I need?—”

“No matter.” She waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll just have to land in a private airfield. Much more convenient anyway.”

“Fly where?” Panic creeps into my voice. “I can’t leave the country. My family?—”

“Will be taken care of,” she says smoothly. “Just tell me what they need, and I’ll arrange it. But you’ll need to hand over your phone. I don’t want you distracted during our time together.”

I stare at her. The casual way she talks about moving money, about flying to private airfields, about buying people—it’s like she exists in a completely different world from mine.

“I need to call my brother,” I say. “I need to let him know I’m okay.”

She checks her watch—a delicate thing as lovely and expensive as she is. “You can have a few minutes, I suppose.”

I find Adrian’s number with shaking fingers and he answers on the second ring. “Robin? How did the...thing go?”

“My audition went well,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. “Really well. I got picked for the show. But Adrian, I need to tell you something. I’m going to be out of the country for the next month. I can’t say where. I signed a non-disclosure agreement.”

“Out of the country? Wow, this is like, a big production, huh?” I can hear the confusion in his voice. He didn’t believe me before now. He knew it was a cover story, he just didn’t know for what. But now…

Now he wants to believe.

“Yeah. Really big production,” I parrot. I glance at the woman, who’s watching me with those unreadable amber eyes. “And I won’t have my phone, either.”

“But Robin?—”

“The prize money is a million dollars.” The silence on the other end stretches so long I think the call dropped. “Adrian?”

“A million?” His voice cracks. “Robin, are you serious?”

“Dead serious. It’s going to be the next big reality TV show, they tell me.”

“Robin, this is—you’re going to change everything for us.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I love you guys so much. Please take care of yourself, and them.”

“We love you too. Go win that thing, okay? We’ll be fine here.”

I end the call before I start crying. The woman reaches for my phone, and I reluctantly hand it over.

“Reality show?” she asks, amusement coloring her voice.

“They wouldn’t have let me go if they knew the truth.”

Something flickers in her expression, too quick to read. “My name is Eva, by the way. Eva Novak.”

“My last name is Rivers. Robin Rivers.”

She smiles again, but this time there’s something almost gentle in it. “Do you know, I wondered if you might be a plant from the Gattos. A honeytrap. But you’re not, are you?”

I feel my eyes widen. “No. I’m not, I promise.”

“No,” she agrees. “You’re not. You’re just a very desperate and innocent young woman who was clever enough to use the assets she was born with.”

I look down at my outfit with a grimace. “If that’s what you could call this. Yeah. I guess.” I look up in a panic. “Hey—shouldn’t I pack a bag if we’re going away, or?—”

“No need. Everything you require will be provided. Anything and everything.” The limousine is heading toward whatever private airfield she mentioned, I assume.

Through the tinted windows, I watch Vegas blur past—the city where I grew up, where my family can sleep without worry in their beds because of what I just did.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Eva swirls her drink, the crystal catching the light from passing neon signs. “Home.”

“Your home?”

“ Our home,” she corrects, her voice low, possessive, final. “For the next thirty days.”

The way she says it sends a shiver down my spine. I’m trapped in a car with a woman who just bought me at auction, heading to some unknown destination with no passport and no way home except through her.

I think…I think I might be screwed.

But the worst part?

Some dark, treacherous part of me is curious to see what happens next.