Page 23

The Final Party

“L adies and gentlemen,” my father’s voice carries across the now-hushed room. “Welcome to our most exclusive gathering of the year.”

Glasses clink as servers circulate with champagne that costs more than most people’s monthly rent. The crowd murmurs appreciatively—judges, politicians, CEOs all united by their wealth, power, and the sick appetites that bring them to events like this.

“Tonight,” my father continues, “we celebrate new alliances and… unique opportunities.”

The way he emphasizes “unique” makes my skin crawl. His hand slides from my arm to the small of my back, propelling me forward until I’m standing before the assembled elite. Erik is similarly positioned opposite me, flanked by Griffiths and another of my father’s security men.

“My daughter, Luna, has reached an important milestone in her development within our organization,” my father announces, his voice warm with false pride. “And while in the past, she was only available to the select few, I’m pleased to inform you that for tonight and tonight only, you can all bid for the pleasure of her company.”

My father’s specialty cocktail is beginning to take effect. While I’m still somewhat aware of everything that’s happening, I find myself unable to form coherent thoughts or gather the strength to resist.

“As is tradition,” my father continues, “Luna will demonstrate her commitment to our values by participating in tonight’s entertainment. You might be asking yourself what else makes this night special. Well, let me tell you. While we usually allow two or maximum three people per night to enjoy Luna’s company, we decided to make an exception. As I said, tonight and tonight only, everyone who bids on my daughter will get their turn. The amount of your bid will decide your spot in the queue.”

The crowd cheers and claps. My stomach turns, knowing full well what my father means. His intention is to pimp me out to everyone to destroy what little self-worth I’m still clinging to. The worst part is that he’s doing it all in front of Erik.

“If you allow me to give you one bit of advice,” my father continues, his lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Aim for the top spots. She’s at her best when she’s still fresh.”

The crowd chuckles—every one of them as sick and perverted as my parents.

“Mr. Gallagher,” my father says, and Richard Gallagher steps forward from the crowd, resplendent in an expensive tuxedo that does nothing to hide the predatory gleam in his eyes. Belle’s father. He’s the reason Belle helped them, why she gathered information about Erik and me. She was doing her father’s bidding, just as I’ve always done mine.

“You’ve expressed particular interest in this evening’s proceedings, and you’ve been of great help keeping my daughter in line,” my father finishes.

Richard Gallagher’s gaze rakes over me, proprietary and hungry. “I’ve waited quite some time for this opportunity, Sebastian,” he says to my father, though his eyes never leave me. “Belle speaks very highly of your daughter’s… talents.”

Bile rises in my throat. His daughter reported on me, watched as I was manipulated and used, all to prepare for this moment. Like father, like daughter—predators breeding predators.

My eyes drift back to Erik, who’s straining against Griffiths’ grip, fury etched across his features. Beside him stands a tray of pills—different colors, probably designed for him specifically, targeting his past addiction. They want him weakened, too, and want to use his vulnerability against both of us.

I’ve seen myself in the mirror enough times to know how I look—my eyes glazed and limbs loose, signaling compliance. My shoulders slump slightly, my focus slowly drifting. When Richard Gallagher approaches, I don’t have the energy to flinch away from his touch on my bare shoulder.

“She looks ready,” he comments to my father, as if I’m not standing right here. “And the boy?”

My father glances toward Erik, who’s still refusing the pills being offered to him. “Give him the injectable version,” he orders Griffiths. “We don’t have time for his resistance.”

“No,” I whimper, but they ignore me.

Erik screams when Griffiths sticks an injection in him, squeezing out the addictive substances.

“Excellent,” my father says, gesturing to the platform. “Shall we begin?”

The crowd shifts, forming a circle around the raised area. Plush sofas and chaises have been arranged to provide optimal viewing of whatever’s about to happen. My stomach lurches as I realize—they’re not just going to watch; they’re going to participate.

Richard Gallagher takes my arm, leading me to the center of the platform. “You look just like your mother did at your age,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “She was my first, you know. Before your father claimed her.”

Fear surges through me, momentarily cutting through the drug’s fog. My father’s cocktail works in waves—moments of horrifying clarity punctuated by periods when my limbs feel disconnected from my mind. This is one of those clear moments, giving me just enough strength to pull my arm free. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Before he can respond, my father’s hand settles heavily on my shoulder. “Luna. Save your energy for the guests.” His smile doesn’t reach his cruel blue eyes. “As pretty as you are when you fight back, tonight is about cooperation. Be a good girl, or I’ll make sure you’re sedated through the rest of the evening.”

“Don’t worry about her, Sebastian,” Richard says with a predatory smile, his hand sliding to my waist. “I like them feisty.”

Behind him, Erik is guided to a chair placed directly across from us. Unlike the comfortable seating for the guests, his is rigid and wooden, with attachments that Griffiths uses to secure his wrists and ankles. He’s being forced to watch whatever happens next.

My father joins us on the platform, addressing the crowd once more. “Tonight’s entertainment features a special demonstration of loyalty. My daughter will show her commitment to our organization by pleasing our esteemed colleague, Richard Gallagher.” He turns to Erik. “And Mr. Stone will observe, learning what’s expected of those who join our circle.”

Polite applause ripples through the crowd, followed by the clinking of glasses being refilled. To them, this is just another evening’s diversion—the sexual exploitation of a drugged college student is nothing more than a sophisticated form of entertainment.

Richard Gallagher’s hand slides up my bare back, finding the zipper of my dress. “Shall we give them a show, my dear?”

My dress pools at my feet, leaving me in only the filmy lace of my lingerie.

“Remove the rest,” my father instructs, his voice cold. “Entirely.”

Slowly, under the hunger of the crowd, I follow his command. First, the underwear, then the bra, until I stand bare except for the jewelry my mother selected. Champagne is poured, and the men relax in anticipation of watching something sickening. I’m rooted in place, every impulse screaming for me to run, even though escape is impossible.

Beside me, Richard shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it aside. He leans close, his voice low against my ear. “You better make this worth their money, Luna. Daddy has a lot riding on this event.”

With that, he unfastens his pants, exposing himself as he eases onto the chaise. The scent of whiskey and sweat fills my nostrils, mixing with the other odors of the room—expensive perfume, tobacco, coffee. The world swims before my eyes, and the cocktail I’ve consumed makes everything seem unreal.

“This could be a pleasure, or this could be a nightmare. The choice is yours,” Richard taunts, leaning in so close that only I can hear his next words. “Choose wisely, because you’re out of options.” His eyes flick meaningfully toward Erik, the threat unmistakable.

I think of Erik. Of the look of terror and disgust on his face at the terrible prospect ahead. I’m fighting for him, too. I promised to get him out, and we’ve come too far to give up now.

I drop to my knees, unable to meet his eyes.

Gasps of shock and excitement rise from the crowd as I take him in my mouth, still soft and unpleasant, a little flabby. But at least this way it’ll be fast, and this time I’m not forced to swallow. This time, I can bide my time and use the drug’s ability to make a person loose and compliant to my advantage.

While I’m on my knees, I pick up speed and suction until I can feel Gallagher stir, his dick coming alive in my mouth. Soon, his disgusting groans join the muffled conversation and laughter of the crowd, some people turning to watch, their pants uncomfortably tight.

I’m barely conscious, a doll caught between three dimensions, held prisoner. When Gallagher has me do the basics again, it isn’t nearly as awful as when I have him stuff himself into me.

But the horror isn’t over, not by far. I’m back to suck him off when another voice reaches me, suddenly louder, an exclamation which has my gaze flipping up toward a smirking Gallagher.

“That was beautiful, darling. Now it’s time to finish what you started. Richard! Do it!”

My head turns sharply to my side, toward where the voice came from, only to find my father staring me down. His nostrils flare, eyes wild.

Time seems to slow, to stop. Around me, the sounds fade, the greedy faces dissolving in a haze.

Through half-lidded eyes, I see Erik struggling against his restraints, the veins in his neck standing out with the effort. Around us, the audience watches with varying expressions of interest and arousal. Some have begun their own diversions with hired companions or willing participants from within our circle.

Richard guides me toward a chaise positioned directly in Erik’s line of sight. He arranges me exactly as he wants, ensuring Erik can see everything.

“Beautiful,” Richard murmurs, his hands moving with increasing urgency.

I shut down parts of myself, disassociating as I’ve learned to do during these events. My body may be present, but I send my mind elsewhere—to the cliff with Erik, to the stormy night in my room, to any memory that might preserve my sanity through what comes next.

Richard positions himself above me, his expression triumphant as he looks toward Erik. “Pay attention, boy. This is what power looks like.”

Just as Richard leans down, a sound cuts through the room—a sharp crack that takes a moment to register as glass breaking. Then another. And another.

Confusion ripples through the crowd. My father turns toward the main doors, his expression shifting from irritation to alarm. Griffiths is already moving, his hand reaching inside his jacket for what I know is a concealed weapon.

“Sebastian!” A security guard bursts into the room, face pale with panic. “We’ve been compromised. Police—dozens of them—breaching the perimeter!”

Time seems to slow as chaos erupts. Guests scatter, abandoning drinks and companions in their rush to escape. Richard freezes above me, his head turning toward the commotion.

My father’s face drains of color, fear warring with rage. “Stevens!” He barks, his gaze scanning the room, searching for any member of the staff.

Our stately butler steps forward immediately. “Here, sir.”

“Take her upstairs. Now.”

Richard scrambles off me, fastening his pants as he rises to his feet. Behind him, I see Griffiths signal to his men, who begin destroying evidence, smashing tablets and phones. Across the room, guests flee through hidden passages I never knew existed. Behind them, on the chair, one of Griffiths’ goons is untying Erik. His face is a mix of relief and concern, his unfocused eyes never leaving mine.

“Go!” My father’s sharp command returns my attention to him. “Stevens, put them both in the panic room. Don’t allow them to leave under any circumstances, understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Queen.” The butler gives a quick bow and hurries over to me, not bothering to offer me even a piece of clothing as he yanks my arm.

“Move!” Stevens barks. “No time for games.”

Erik, who is finally free from the chair, staggers, catching himself against the furniture.

“Go with the old man. Take the boy with them!” Griffiths instructs his goon.

I’m rushed out of the salon and directly toward the stairs. Erik follows us up, and somehow, his heavy tread is comforting. We’re still together. He’s going to make it. It’ll be fine.

Behind us, the chaos of police sirens and panicked guests continues. Something slams, but Stevens doesn’t react. We pass the floor with my parents’ suite, a floor filled with entertainment rooms that were decorated during the Cold War, and continue down the hallway. Past the bathroom and three bedrooms. And a door that hasn’t been opened in years, except for the monthly maintenance check.

Stevens’s key card opens the door easily, and he rushes us inside a barren suite. To the left is another door—more solid and stronger than even the one I chose to withstand against my parents.

“Get in there,” Stevens orders, pushing us toward a makeshift cell that has no business being in a panic room.

The butler locks the door of the cell, grinning at us through the bars. Though he’s enjoying this, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes, which makes me realize that the arrival of the police wasn’t on their agenda. There’s a possibility that whoever crashed the party is here for them and not for the sick auction.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ve come to save us.