Page 42 of No Mistakes (No Mercy #2)

MANDY

After countless discussions, arguments and terrible jokes. I finally find myself standing down the hallway from the entrance of the ballroom, watching as people walk through the doors, laughing as if they’re about to watch a movie with a group of friends.

I wait until I’m alone, pressing the earpiece that Ant provided me. “Testing, testing,” I say quietly, making sure no one else hears me.

“Loud and clear,” Flynn replies in my ear, his voice steady as always.

A breath leaves me, not quite relief, but enough at the thought of me not being entirely alone. I smooth my dress down my hips and glance at the mirrored panel across from me.

“Stay calm. You got this,” Axel’s voice cuts in, his tone full of command.

I scoff at the fact that it’s easy for him to say that. He’s not the one walking into a ballroom full of predators. I reach into my clutch, my fingers brushing the fake invitation that Carter handed me earlier, which is now displayed with my new identity.

The closer I get to the entrance, the louder the noise becomes. Laughter, muffled voices, and the clinks of glasses all blend into one.

I open the door, and a host in a pressed black suit smiles like this is the most ordinary thing in the world. “Name?”

I hand him the invitation, sweat beading at the bottom of my neck at the thought of them seeing it’s a fake while I try to keep my expression cool.

He scans it, nodding, gesturing for one of the attendants to step forward.

A paddle is pressed into my hand, the smooth wood, branded with the number 91. The number that marks me as a buyer.

“Enjoy the evening,” the host says, as if this is a gala, not a nightmare.

I walk further into the room, my breath catching as the chandelier light explodes across the room.

Chairs line up in neat rows, men and women scattered in expensive suits and glittering gowns, paddles resting lazily in their laps.

On the stage at the front, a podium gleams, ready for the show to begin.

My heart is beating too fast, but I force my chin high and move deeper into the room.

“Eyes up, shoulders back,” Axel says in my ear. “They smell weakness.”

I lift my chin a little higher, trying to pretend that I belong while following the flow of people. Every detail in this room screams wealth as tables line the room, draped in white linen, glasses filled with top-shelf liquor sat on top.

I slide into an empty chair halfway back, close enough to see the stage but far enough that no one should be looking too closely at me. The paddle rests across my lap, heavier than it should, like it knows exactly what it represents.

“Check your corners,” Flynn’s voice comes through, low and grounding. “Who’s around you?”

I let my eyes flick left, then right. A man with slicked-back hair and a ring on every finger leans towards his companion, whispering something that makes them both laugh.

On my other side, a woman in a sequinned dress is already sipping her champagne, her eyes sharp even as she smiles at a waiter, gesturing for another glass.

“Mixed crowd,” I whisper into the mic, keeping my lips still so it looks like I’m only shifting my jaw. “Not just men.”

“Good,” Axel says. “Makes you less noticeable.”

If only that were true. Every nerve in my body is wired tight, like they can all see through me, like they know I don’t belong amongst them. I grip the paddle tighter, pressing the number into my palm until it hurts, reminding me why I am here.

The chatter grows as more seats fill, an orchestra of muffled greed and anticipation.

My throat goes dry, and I reach for a glass of champagne as a waiter walks by.

I think of the girls in the back somewhere, waiting to be paraded out in front of the pack of wolves, and how scared they must be feeling.

A bell chimes overhead, taking command of the room. The lights dim instantly, the chandeliers fading into shadows as a spotlight hits the podium.

A man steps into the light, his suit pressed to perfection, his stride confident. But it’s not his clothes that make the room fall silent, it’s his mask. Black, featureless, moulded to his face so not a single trace of his identity is revealed.

He takes his place at the podium, his gloved hands gripping either side with casual authority. When he speaks, the distortion from the microphone paired with the hollow mask makes his voice sound colder, mechanical, like it’s stripped of humanity.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his words roll through the ballroom, and everyone is entranced by him. “Welcome. Tonight, you have the privilege of participating in one of the most exclusive auctions in the world.”

A ripple of polite applause cuts through the air, people cheering at the fact that they’re welcomed into this space.

“You’ve all been vetted,” the masked man continues, tilting his head slightly as his head sweeps the crowd. “You’ve all earned your seats here. And tonight… You will have the chance to walk away with something-” he pauses, looking behind him towards the curtain. “-or someone -extraordinary.”

The sequinned woman beside me lets out a small laugh, tapping her paddle against her thigh like she’s itching for the show to start.

“The rules are simple,” the host says, his voice sharper. “Raise your paddle to bid. Payment is expected in full before departure. Any attempt to disrupt…will not be tolerated.” He holds his head high as he examines the room, letting the threat linger.

With a flick of his gloved hand, he snaps his fingers. Two guards move to the velvet curtains at the back of the stage, pulling them apart in one clean motion.

The spotlight moves, beaming towards the now open curtain where the first girl steps out.

“Let the show begin.” The masked man announces, his arms spreading wide as if he’s presenting treasure. “Our first lot of the evening,” he says smoothly, “a fine example of youth and beauty.”

The young girl is dragged forward. She can’t be older than nineteen. Her shoulders shake under the harsh light, her hands twisted together in front of her like they might shield her. Her dress, a pale piece of fabric, hangs over her frame like it doesn’t belong to her.

“Imported from overseas,” the host continues, his tone calm, professional, utterly detached. “She’s been trained in etiquette. Clean, untouched. A perfect addition for anyone seeking obedience without complication.”

A laugh rises from the crowd, followed by the subtle lift of paddles. My lungs lock. My nails digging into the smooth wood of my own paddle, every muscle in my body screaming to move, to drag her off that stage and out of this hell.

“Shall we start the bidding at twenty?” the masked man asks, urging the crowd on.

Paddles rise without hesitation.

“Twenty. Do I have twenty-five?”

Another paddle shoots up, and the girl swallows hard, her eyes darting across the crowd while the light beams into her face, blinding her, and her lips tremble.

My pulse thunders so hard I can barely hear the numbers climbing.

“Fifty. Do I have fifty-five?”

The crowd responded like wolves fighting over scraps, people fighting over the young woman. I force my hand to stay on my lap, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“This is what you’re here for,” Axel’s voice says through my earpiece, “Keep your cover, Mandy. Wait for the right moment.”

The auction grinds on, each lot presented like jewellery. Girls and boys paraded in front of the crowd under the cold bite of the spotlight. Some stare blankly at the floor, already hollowed out. Others flinch at every laugh, every clap, their fear rolling off them in waves.

Each time, the masked host delivers the details with a calm, steady voice.

Educated. Speaks three languages. Healthy, certified. Untouched. Trained for discretion.

The numbers climb higher with every paddle that rises, and with each sale, the weight in my chest grows heavier. I tell myself to breathe. To wait. To hold it together for them until it’s time for the brothers to strike.

But then the next girl walks out.

She’s younger than me, but not by much. Maybe Twenty-five.

Her hair falls in dark curls around her pale face, and her eyes…

her eyes make my stomach sink into the floor.

Wide, frantic, and filled with a fight she hasn’t let them take from her yet.

She looks like someone who still believes escape is possible.

The host’s words blur. All I can see is her fingers trembling as she clasps them together, the way her chest rises and falls against her dress. She doesn’t belong here any more than I do. None of them do.

“I’m doing it,” I whisper, just loud enough for the earpiece to pick it up. My hand moves before my head catches up. The paddle lifts, wood cold in my grip.

“Number ninety-one,” the host announces smoothly. “Fifty thousand. Do I hear fifty-five?”

Axel’s voice cuts into my ear, sharp as glass. “Mandy. What the fuck are you doing?”

I ignore him, my eyes never leaving the girl.

Another paddle rises across the room. The price climbs. The voice in my ear keeps barking, Flynn adding a curse. But I don’t listen to them. Not now, because that girl is staring straight at me, pleading silently, and I know- I know -if I let her slip through my fingers, I’ll never forgive myself.

Another paddle shoots into the air, and the masked man claps, pointing towards the bidder. “Fifty-five. Thank you. Sixty?”

I lift mine again before I can stop myself. My stomach twists as every eye in the room flickers my way.

“Sixty to the lady in red. Excellent.”

“Mandy,” Axel growls through the earpiece. “Stop. Right now.”

Another bidder smirks at me across the aisle, his paddle raised lazily as though this is a game he’s already won.

“Seventy,” he shouts, his eyes never leaving mine.

The masked man turns his head towards me, “Do I have a seventy-five?”