Tessa.
The handle turned. The door swung inward with a soft click.
Two men filled the doorway. They were huge, built like refrigerators in tailored suits. They were not the same men from the alley. These were bigger, more intimidating.
Tessa didn’t hesitate. She screamed, a raw, furious sound, and swung the heavy lamp with all her might.
It was a pathetic attempt. The first man barely moved. He simply raised a hand, catching the base of the lamp with a dull thud. His fingers wrapped around it, and he wrenched it from her grasp with contemptuous ease. The lamp crashed to the floor.
“Feisty,” the man grunted. His eyes, small and dark, raked over her. “I like that.”
“Get away from me,” Tessa spat, backing away until she hit the wall.
Sofia let out a terrified whimper from the corner.
“Quiet,” the second man snapped at Sofia, not even bothering to look at her. His attention was fixed on Tessa. “You. Time to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Tessa said, her voice shaking but her jaw set.
“That isn’t a request.” He stepped into the room. “You can walk, or we can carry you. It makes no difference to us. But walking will be less painful.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He sighed, a theatrical sound of boredom. “Always the hard way.”
He lunged. Tessa tried to dodge, but he was too fast. His hand clamped around her upper arm, his grip like a vise. She struggled, twisting in his hold, but it was useless.
“Take the other one,” he said over his shoulder.
The first man moved towards Sofia. She shrieked, scrambling back in her chair. “No! Please, no! Don’t touch me!”
“Shut up,” the man ordered, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Sofia sobbed, her body going limp with terror.
“Let her go,” Tessa yelled, trying to pull away from her own captor. “She’s just a kid.”
The man holding Tessa laughed. “Doesn’t matter how old they are. Just what they look like. Now, you’ve got a choice to make. You’re wearing the wrong clothes.”
He nodded towards the bed. Lying on top of the silk sheets were two garments. They were little more than slips of fabric, one a pale blue, the other a blood red. They looked like they would barely cover anything.
“You will put one of those on,” he said. “Or I will put it on you.”
“Go to hell,” Tessa snarled.
His grip on her arm tightened until she cried out in pain. “The red one, I think. It’ll match the fire in your eyes.”
He shoved her toward the bed. “Change. Now.”
Behind her, the other guard was forcing a sobbing Sofia to strip out of her jeans and sweater. The humiliation was a physical blow.
Tessa looked at the red slip. It was a flimsy piece of silk that would leave her exposed, vulnerable. An object.
“I’m not doing it.”
“Fine.” The guard started to reach for her shirt.
“Wait,” Tessa said, her voice tight. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just turn around.”
He smirked. “I don’t think so. I need to make sure you don’t have any other stupid ideas.”
With trembling fingers and burning cheeks, Tessa pulled off her waitress uniform, the worn fabric that felt like a suit of armor compared to what awaited her. She stood for a moment in her simple bra and underwear, feeling a thousand unseen eyes on her.
She snatched the red slip and pulled it over her head. The silk was cold against her skin. It clung to every curve, the neckline plunging low, the hem barely reaching her mid thigh.
“Much better,” the guard said, his eyes lingering on her legs. “A real work of art.”
Sofia was now dressed in the pale blue slip, her thin shoulders shaking. She looked broken.
Tessa met the girl’s eyes across the room. “Sofia,” she said, her voice hard. “Look at me.”
Sofia’s tear filled eyes flickered up.
“Do not let them see you cry,” Tessa ordered. “Don’t you give them that.”
Sofia stared, then seemed to draw a small bit of strength from Tessa’s fury. She took a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes, lifting her chin slightly.
“Time’s up,” the guard said, grabbing Tessa’s arm again. “Let’s go. You’re lot number seven.”
He dragged her from the room. The other man followed with Sofia. The hallway was long and carpeted in crimson. They passed other closed doors, and Tessa wondered how many other girls were waiting behind them.
At the end of the hall was a heavy velvet curtain. The low murmur of a crowd could be heard from the other side. The clinking of glasses, the scent of cigar smoke.
“What’s next?” the man holding Sofia asked.
“She’s number eight. You wait here,” Tessa’s captor replied.
He pulled back the curtain and shoved Tessa through.
The world exploded in light and sound. She was on a raised platform, a stage. Blindingly bright spotlights were aimed directly at her, making it impossible to see anything beyond the edge of the stage. She could only see the vague shapes of hundreds of people sitting at round tables. All men.
A man in a tuxedo stood at a podium next to her. He was older, with slicked back silver hair and a practiced, oily smile. He looked at her and gave a small, approving nod.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” his voice boomed through a microphone, smooth and confident. “Lot number seven. A truly exquisite piece for the discerning collector.”
Tessa stood frozen, her body rigid with a mixture of terror and defiance. She wanted to run, to scream, but her feet were rooted to the spot.
“As you can see, she is in perfect condition,” the auctioneer continued, gesturing to her as if she were a car. “Stands at approximately five feet, six inches. A natural brunette, with fire in her eyes and a spirit that has not been broken. A rare find indeed.”
He walked around her, his voice a low, seductive purr. “No marks, no scars. Skin like porcelain. And I’m told she is completely untouched. A blank canvas, gentlemen, waiting for the right master.”
Nausea rose in Tessa’s throat. She felt like a piece of meat on display. A thing.
“We will start the bidding for this lovely creature at one hundred thousand dollars,” the auctioneer said, his smile widening.
“One hundred thousand!” a voice shouted from the darkness.
“I have one hundred! Do I hear one fifty?”
“One hundred and fifty!” another voice called.
“Two hundred!”
“Three hundred thousand!”
The numbers came fast, a dizzying volley of voices from the faceless crowd. It was unreal. Men were shouting numbers, bartering for her life, for her body, for her soul.
“Five hundred thousand!”
“Six hundred!”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars!”
The auctioneer was in his element, his head swiveling, his hand pointing into the crowd. “I have eight hundred thousand! Do I hear nine?”
“One million!” a new voice boomed, sharp and arrogant. The crowd murmured. Tessa felt her blood run cold. One million dollars.
“One million dollars from Mr. Vitti!” the auctioneer announced with glee. “A bold move! Do I have one point five?”
The room was quieter now. The smaller players had been scared off.
“One point two,” another voice said, more calmly.
“One point five!” Vitti’s voice shot back immediately.
“Two million,” the calm voice replied without hesitation.
Tessa could feel Vitti’s frustration from the darkness. “Two point five million!”
“A spirited battle, gentlemen!” the auctioneer crowed. “Two point five million dollars! Will I get three?”
Silence stretched for a moment. Tessa’s heart hammered against her ribs. Was it over? Was she sold to this man, Vitti?
“Going once,” the auctioneer said, raising his gavel. “Going twice.”
Then, from the very back of the room, a new voice cut through the tension. It was not a shout. It was a deep, resonant command, filled with an absolute authority that silenced every other sound in the vast chamber.
“Five million.”
The words hung in the air, cold and final. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Even the auctioneer looked stunned for a second.
“Five… five million dollars,” he stammered, his professional composure cracking for just a moment. He scanned the room, his eyes wide. “Going once. Going twice.”
No other voice dared to speak.
“Sold!” The gavel cracked down, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “To the gentleman in the back.”
