Page 42 of The Auction (The Black Ledger Billionaires #4)

I t’s somewhere around two in the morning when the muscle shoves me into the back of another car. He takes the front passenger seat beside the driver, shutting me in like I’m precious cargo—or a prisoner.

The door handle gives a metallic clunk when I try it. Locked.

Of course.

I lean into the window switch next, pressing it down hard. Nothing. The glass doesn’t so much as twitch.

In the rearview mirror, the muscle’s eyes meet mine. He’s grinning—like he knows exactly what I’m doing and finds it adorable. My skin crawls. I shift my stare to the blur of streetlights instead, counting the seconds in my head as we drive.

We leave the city behind in a slow bleed of darkened suburbs and winding country roads. When the car finally turns, it’s onto a long, tree-lined drive that swallows us whole.

The estate rises out of the black like something obscene—too big, too loud in its wealth to be hidden, and yet here it is, tucked away from the world.

The grounds sprawl so far in every direction I can’t make out the edges.

All I can see are the scattered glows of security lights strung along the perimeter fence and the harsh wash of flood lamps at the main gate.

Two armed guards stand on either side of the car, rifles slung over their shoulders. They scan us like they’re looking for an excuse to pull the trigger.

The gates swing open slowly, deliberately, the kind of delay that says We could kill you before you ever make it to the house.

The car glides forward, swallowed by the shadows beyond.

Perfect. Armed security.

Looks like hatching an escape plan won’t be easy… or quick.

The room they shove me into is big, old, and cold—like everything in this place was made to impress, not comfort. The muscle hangs my dress on a hook just inside the door, his beefy hand smoothing it like I’m going to thank him for the favor.

“Be ready to leave by eight,” he says flatly. “I’ll be stationed outside your door all night. Don’t try anything.”

The door shuts with a finality that makes my stomach turn.

I try everything. Every window—locked and sealed tight. I press my fingers along the edges, check for hidden latches, anything. Nothing gives. I even knock on the walls, praying for one of those secret passages old houses have in movies. No luck.

Sheer curtains sway in the occasional draft, and beyond them I catch flashes of lightning.

I stand in the center and look around the room trying to think. How am I supposed to sleep when I’ll apparently be a bride in a few hours?

There are footsteps outside. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear, but the sound is muffled.

I crack it open—only to jolt back. I expected the muscle, but it’s someone else. Just as big. Dressed head-to-toe in black. He doesn’t face me fully, just turns his head enough for me to catch the edge of his profile.

“Oh… um…” My voice comes out awkward, unsure.

Maybe I can trick him. Maybe he’s easier to get past.

“Did you need something?” His American accent catches me off guard.

“I’m… a little hungry,” I say, quieter than I mean to.

He nods once. “I’ll send for something.”

“Can I go myself?”

“No. It’s not safe in the halls. You need to stay in the room.”

Not safe in the halls? That does nothing to settle my nerves.

“My name’s Killian,” he adds, gesturing for me to step back. “If you need anything, ask for me.”

The door shuts, sealing me in again. I slide down the wall, hugging my stomach until my arms ache. And then I cry. Quiet at first, then harder, until my chest hurts.

Several minutes later, maybe more, a knock at the door pulls me back. “It’s Killian.”

I scrub at my face and open the door. He’s holding a tray—scrambled eggs, toast, and a bottle of water.

The sight of the eggs hits harder than I expect. I think of Jaxon in his kitchen that first morning, nearly burning down the penthouse trying to make breakfast for me. My throat tightens, and I start crying all over again.

I pick at the food but can’t eat more than a few bites. My stomach is knotted too tight. I drink most of the water, saving the rest for later. For when the clock strikes eight and they come to take me—to a chapel, to marry a beady-eyed devil whose name I don’t even want to say out loud.

I have three, maybe four hours to figure this out.

I have to find a way out of here… before it’s too late.

I barely sleep. When I finally do drift off, it feels like I’ve just closed my eyes before there’s a knock at the door.

“One hour.”

The voice is American—probably Killian from last night. At least it’s not the muscle. I hope I don’t have to see him again before… before whatever this day is supposed to be.

Every part of me aches—my shoulders from the fight with Jonathan, my back from hours in that cramped plane seat, my jaw from keeping it clenched the entire seven-hour flight. I feel like my body has been wound too tight for too long.

The shower is a small mercy. I stay under the hot spray longer than I should, letting it burn away the outside world for a few stolen minutes. Steam curls around me, and for a moment I can almost pretend I’m home.

When I finally step out, I find a bra and panties folded neatly in the drawer. My size. The thought makes my stomach twist. The gremlin had these brought here for me—prepared for me like I’m an object he’s purchased, not a person.

I blow-dry my hair, more for something to do with my hands than for vanity. The mirror shows the faint smudge of a bruise on my neck from his slimy grip yesterday. I don’t cover it. Let everyone see. Let it be a silent declaration: I’m here against my will.

Back in the bedroom, a new breakfast waits under a silver cloche. I lift it—biscuits and gravy. My throat closes. I slam the lid back down before I can start crying, but it’s too late. All I can think about is Jaxon in his bedroom, that lazy smirk on his face while he brought me a breakfast tray.

Everything makes me think of him—the way he smells, his smile, the way he drives me insane in ten different ways and still manages to make me feel safe.

Just one choice. That’s all it would have taken to stop all this. If I’d told him the truth from the start, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t be walking toward something I can’t escape.

Another knock. “Five minutes.”

My heart kicks into overdrive. I blink away the tears, forcing my hands to steady as I pull the dress over my head. Then the shoes. Then, the stupid, mile-long veil.

One look in the mirror and I hardly recognize myself. I look exactly how I feel—tired, worn down, trapped.

The door opens. Killian’s there, all black and broad shoulders, eyes unreadable.

“Time to go.”

The drive to the cathedral takes twenty minutes. I watch the clock in the front of the car like it’s counting down to my execution. Every minute ticks away another piece of hope.

A bouquet is on the seat next to me as we drive—lilies. My mother’s favorite. For a split second, I want to hug them to my chest, like if I hold them tightly enough she’ll appear and make this nightmare stop.

Killian opens my door, scanning the street like he’s part of the Secret Service. The place is deserted—no cars, no photographers, no crowd. My feet root to the ground. I don’t want to go inside. I don’t want to walk down an aisle in front of strangers to give my life away.

His hand is gentle but firm on my arm, urging me forward. Inside, the sunlight from behind us fades, replaced by the dim glow of chandeliers. My eyes adjust, focusing on the set of heavy double doors ahead. Closed, hiding what’s waiting for me behind them

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

Music starts.

I close my eyes, swallowing hard. But then… I hear it. Really hear it.

It’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do…

My chest tightens, breath hitching.

“No,” I whisper.

One step. Then another.

Hey baby…

I shove the double doors open, my heart in my throat.

I think I wanna marry you.

The church is empty. Not a single soul—except one.

At the end of the aisle stands the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

Jaxon. Dark jeans. Black T-shirt stretched tight across his chest.

For a split second, pain flickers across his face. Then relief takes over.

“Hey, Cricket.”