Page 43 of No Mistakes (No Mercy #2)

“Are you out of your mind?” Flynn hisses in my ear. I hear Eva’s voice faintly in the background, her voice raised as she tells the brothers to leave me alone. “You blow our cover, you’re dead before we even get a chance to save her.”

I lift my paddle, locking my eyes on the girl.

“Eighty,” the man across from me calls, his voice confident.

The girl on stage flinches. Her eyes keep darting to me, like she somehow knows I’m her only chance. My throat closes, but I raise my paddle again.

“Ninety,” I say firmly, shocked by how steady my voice sounds. Whispers ripple through the room. The host beams like Christmas has come early.

I clench my jaw, my heart slamming so hard it hurts. If I stop, she’s gone. If I keep going, I’m fucked. But I can’t look away from her, not when her knuckles are white from how tight she’s gripping her own hands, not when every inch of her screams for help.

“One hundred thousand.” My rival shouts, leaning back in his chair, a smug look on his face as if he’s daring me to challenge him.

I don’t hesitate, locking eyes with him while raising my own, the brothers swearing through the earpiece.

“One hundred and thirty,” I say calmly.

“Oh, this is beautiful.” The masked man says. “One thirty, thank you. Do I hear one forty?”

The man across from me tilts his head, lips curling into a smirk. He raises his paddle, then pauses. He’s testing me, enjoying the power he has over the girl trembling on stage.

The silence around the room stretches, every person on the edge of their seat waiting to see what he will do.

He lowers his paddle slowly, shaking his head.

The host’s smile widens. “One thirty, going once…going twice…” His gavel slams against the podium, the sound cracking through the ballroom like a gunshot. “Sold! To bidder ninety-one!”

Applause breaks out across the room, polite, almost mocking. A few people glance my way, curious, assessing, but none linger long. I let my paddle drop into my lap, my hand trembling so violently that I have to grip the edge of my seat to steady myself.

“Christ, Mandy,” Flynn mutters in my ear. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“She saved her,” Axel snaps back. “Focus. We adapt.”

On stage, the girl is ushered away, her eyes flicking back to me one last time before she disappears behind the curtain. She was seconds away from being lost, and now she isn’t. Because of me.

“Stay sharp,” Axel warns, his tone firm. “Winning her means nothing if we can’t get her out of here alive.”

The host steps down, leaving his podium for the first time since the auction started, his polished shoes whispering over the carpet until he’s in front of me.

He leans down, his mask reflecting my own wide-eyed stare back at me.

“Interesting choice.” His gloved fingers, tracing along the numbers on my paddle. “Tell me, sweetheart, who sent you?”

My chest seizes, air locking in my lungs. I force my face back, chin high, exactly as Axel drilled into me, but my pulse hammers too fast, betraying me.

Flynn’s voice rips through the earpiece. “Mandy? What the fuck is going on? Talk to us.”

I can’t. Not with the host’s eyes boring into me through his mask.

Axel’s voice cuts in, “Don’t respond. We’re coming.”

The host tilts his head, studying me like a cat does a cornered mouse.

“You see, you look a lot different from the Clara Weston we know. Did she send you?” His gloved fingers trail down my arm as the crowd leans forward, hungry for a show.

He moves closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“Do you know what happens to liars in this room?”

Nausea claws its way up my throat, and I grip the chair arms until my nails bite into the wood. He straightens suddenly, turning toward the crowd.

“It seems that we have a tra-”

The ballroom doors slam open, causing the chandeliers to rattle overhead. Gasps ripple through the crowd as five figures stalk into the room.

Each one wears a mask that gleams under the golden lights, unnerving grins frozen into hard plastic. Red. Blue. Purple. Green. Yellow.

Each colour burns like a warning.

I watch as the Ashford Brothers move as one, broad shoulders squared, guns raised, every step a promise of violence. The host falters mid-word, his confidence shattering as his gaze locks onto them.

Ant takes the lead, his purple mask capturing everyone’s attention. Carter passes him something, and a crack echoes around the room.

A gunshot tears through the silence. The host jerks, blood spilling across his chest, before he crumples to the floor next to me like a marionette with its strings cut.

For a second, no one moves.

And then chaos erupts. Screams rip through the air, chairs topple as people stumble over one another in a desperate rush to the doors. Crystal glasses shatter, the chandelier trembles overhead, and still, the brothers don’t flinch.

They advance. Each step measured, deliberate, cutting through the frenzy with an aura that demands the room bend around them. They spread out, blocking off every exit, predators corralling prey.

My heart slams against my ribs as my gaze flicks from red to blue to green-until it lands on purple.

The purple mask is already fixed on me. Unshakable. Watching me through the mayhem like I’m the only person in the room. Relief crashes into me so hard my knees almost buckle.

My saviour. My ruin. My Ant.