New story! Sorry, I have three going right now, but when inspiration strikes, there's no stopping it! And at such rate, you have to share it with the world! ANYWAYYYYS...I hope you enjoy!
"This way, Mr. Wayland," a busty blonde purred, hungrily drinking him in with her unusually blue eyes. She smiled, her pink lips parting to reveal a perfect set of teeth, probably whitened and straightened brutally until the owner was satisfied. He merely nodded his head, accepting a glass of champagne offered to him. She reluctantly turned around, expertly weaving through the leather recliners and the mingling gentleman. Jace followed, taking in the soft classical music emanating from a piano, the ivories being caressed by a tan woman, wearing nothing more than a scrap of fabric to cover her most intimate areas. The lighting was low, as if to hide the primal, lustful looks the men were giving to the women, who each wore expensive lingerie. Jace grimaced on the inside. This practice disgusted him. He'd often times dreamed of going vigilante and blowing the damned place up, but there were innocent women there. And he had to look at the bigger picture. "Ah, here we are, Mr. Wayland," she gestured toward a leather chair, a perfect match to the other dozen in the room. On the armrest were two buttons, flowing so seamlessly with the leather that if one had not known of their existence, they could easily be missed. Jace settled into the seat, trying not to show his hatred of this part of his job, while the blonde fussed about, making sure he was completely comfortable and asking if she could get him anything else.
"Something stronger than this, please," he said, sounding bored as he handed her the crystal flute of champagne. She nodded and scurried away, walking surprisingly quickly despite the ridiculously tall stilettos strapped to her feet. Jace rested his head against the chair, trying to control his breathing. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. He was used to undressing women and using them to ravish himself. But never were they unwilling. Never had he kidnapped, drugged, and forced himself upon a woman. Never had he bid on and purchased a woman as if she were nothing more than an antique lamp. He chewed his lip and drummed his fingers to the song, trying to forget the hopeless and sullen look of the woman creating the music. He felt a cool glass slide into his fingers and tossed the contents back without asking what it was. Scotch, he deduced as it burned down his throat, awakening him enough to see the blonde still waiting for him to say something. "Uh…thank you…"
"Kaelie," she supplied with a wink. She sashayed away from him to the group of greasy old millionaires who couldn't wait to place bids on the first young thing to hit the catwalk. The lights dimmed even more as brighter ones illuminated the stage. A soothing voice requested that everyone take their seat because the program would begin shortly. Jace snorted quietly. Program. That's what they were attempting to pass this off as. Jace had a few other names for this, and program was not in the top ten thousand. Jace fiddled with the glass in his hand as the men around him scurried to their designated chairs, not risking the chance of missing out on their "dream girl." The piano music stopped and a more upbeat song began playing, the curtains parting as the first woman stumbled out. She was all legs, her bust spilling over tight, black lingerie. She nearly tripped over her heels as she walked to the front, on full display for these sadistic, repulsive men, who had been more than successful financially but had lacked in the romantic department. I can't imagine why. Jace smirked to himself, knowing that after all these years of incognito and solitary work, his brain was wired to think in the most sarcastic of ways. It kept people from getting too close to him. From seeing him for what he truly was. From discovering his identity.
"Miss Shantelle," the announcer named the faceless brunette, who had finally made it to the front of the catwalk. Clicks resonated through the room as men bid for her, for her purity, for her beauty, for her love. Bile rose from Jace's stomach as the clicking subsided and the final sale price was announced. "$99 million to Mr. Arrowhead." A pudgy man in a too tight sports coat rose to his feet, smiling and waving as if he'd just won the presidential election. Jace really wanted to give him a congratulatory kick to the family jewels. Jace gritted his teeth. Remember your place, Jace. He'd finally infiltrated one of the larger auctions. He couldn't blow cover now. Not as he was getting closer to his goal. The girl was helped back down the catwalk by a man, who hastily grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind the curtain. Several other weak, drugged women were presented and sold, each man looking more pleased with his purchase than the next. "And now," the voice announced. It was said the way a sports announcer would announce the teams' starting lineups, yet Jace new better. Now they would bring out the woman considered to be the spotlight. The best of the best. The most sought after and predictably highest grossing captive they had. "It is the Starlight Club's pleasure to present to you, the 2014 highlight female." Jace barely wanted to look. He'd nearly left in the middle of the entire exhibition, feeling guilt and anger take root in his bones, but he'd remained, knowing he may never receive this opportunity again. At the collective appreciative noises from the other man, Jace just had to peak toward the stage. He didn't see the woman at first, but rather the two guards that dragged her by her wrists. She was on her knees, trying to put up a fight even though the drugs prevented any such attempt. At the front, the guards reached beneath her armpits, hauling her so harshly to her feet that her head snapped up, making the girl whimper. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face sullen and spotted in what appeared to be blood, her arms were discolored with bruises from either the rough guards or the shackles that kept her in bed, but that's not what made Jace gasp. She was strikingly beautiful, with pale skin and hair that was probably red and curly, though it was now dirty and limp. Her body was slim, the lingerie nearly falling off her malnourished frame, but that's still not what shocked Jace the most. This woman was young, more correctly defined as a girl. She could be no older than fifteen, sixteen at the most. Jace's fingers inched toward the button as her green eyes lazily roamed the crowd. They finally met his, and underneath the haze of the drugs, he saw the spark in them, the will to live, mingling with a silent plea of help, brightened by the idea of hope. He set his jaw and did something he'd never wanted nor dreamed he'd do. His index finger slammed the button home, feverishly clicking along with the other men who'd dreamed of taking her home. Jace knew he had to win her though, that he didn't want her for sex or companionship. No, he wanted to win because that little look gave him hope.
The clicking slowly died down as the bidding reached $200 million, an amount that barely dented Jace's trust fund and savings. Finally the room was silent, and the voice in the speaker surrounded him. "Sold. $225 million to Mr. Wayland." Jace didn't stand up and wave, he didn't swell with pride that he'd just purchased the most beautiful woman. He felt grateful toward the girl, not lustful. He had something grander than faked love. He had hope.
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