Panicked breaths rushed through my nose, my mouth blocked by duct tape that had been slapped sometime in between my pathetically weak attempt to fight my captor and waking up from the right-hook he'd decked me. I could almost swear I still heard ringing in my ears.

My eyes darted around wildly, landing on this face and that, drawn mostly to the few female outliers of the crowd. While the crowd varied in age, most of them were men, doing nothing to ease my fear.

God knew men set me on edge, with good reason.

The women, I had been informed through quiet easedropping on my fellow captives, came mostly seeking presents for their sons or simple help. I could only assume the intentions of the men and I couldn't assume any less than the abuse I had come to expect from them.

My feet were chained securely to the stage below, preventing me from darting from the stage or attacking my kidnappers—something I had attempted more than once.

My fear didn't immobilize me, if there was anything I could be proud of. At least they didn't know I was scared of them.

I was scared though. Terrified. The feeling buzzing in my veins as I forced a brave face. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing that fear, though; if I was going to die—or suffer whatever fate these human-shaped beasts saw fit—I was going to go through it as I always had.

And that meant digging divets into the insides of my cheeks to keep tears at bay and standing tall.

My hands were tied with rope, rubbing my wrists raw—I wouldn't be surprised if they were bloody when the rope was removed. Of course, my vicious tugging had done nothing to help the skin, as the pain had done nothing to convince me to stop. It'd taken exhaustion for that.

As my eyes scanned the crowd, still hoping for some semblance of hope for escape, prices far greater than that of my parents' yearly incomes put together—let alone the pathetic wage I received from stocking shelves in a local shop—were called out for the woman to my right and the prices only continued to rise as the seconds ticked by. Just how wealthy were these people?

I cringed as I heard the word billion thrown into the air.

The woman acted as though this were just another day for her, her face blank—a stark contrast to the pure fury my eyes conveyed to the crowd. Her mouth was uncovered, unlike my own, clearly, I was the only new arrival to this party.

It was impossible not to notice that I was the outlier among these women. While they were treated with only chained feet, I was restrained as if I was a danger—let alone the differences in our body types. All the women were tall, taller than me at least, but that wasn't a difficult feat; it was the obvious that stood out.

They might as well have been models, their faces lined with only a light layer of makeup and their bodies scantily covered—not that I envied the clothing, not with the prying eyes of men drilling into us—but it was obvious they had done their best to cover my features that weren't on par with those of the women standing aside me.

Some of the women had the gall to smile and wave at the crowd, though even they carried a look of absolute disgust in their eyes.

What have I gotten myself into?

The auctioneer was a tall, dark skinned man with a deep voice and a grin that almost certainly would have fooled anyone into a sense of security—save those of my disposition, who refused to trust others on a good day. He was the first I had been introduced to, playing the part of a gentleman, until he saw that I wasn't falling for his act.

He made no attempt to keep peace among the ravenous crowd, letting chaos reign until he heard a price that pleased him and sent other buyers into silence

"Sold, number 187!"

"Now, for our final item!" A deep growl rumbled free of my throat at the word item, though it went unheard through the chatter and my blocked lips, it satisfied my need for protest. "Nineteen years old, turning twenty within the month. Unlike our more petite slaves, she will not be as easily broken." I huffed indignantly, once again unnoticed, at his reference to my less-than-slim form, "While she is untrained," This information sent most of the crowd mumbling and muttering among themselves, "this can be an advantage for anyone who wants a fighter. Not to mention, she's a Category H. We had to sedate her to keep her this calm, she's not one to take kindly to orders

That's right. They had sedated me. The panic had blocked the thought of the drugs from my mind, but at the mention, I couldn't help but let out yet another indignant huff. I could still feel the sedative running through my veins, attempting to give me a false sense of relaxation, but they hadn't dared to give me enough to knock me out and had, in turn, neglected to give me enough to do more than give me a very slight drowsy feeling.

A nap sounded good anyway, but with the sedative? It almost sounded like heaven.

"Who wants to start off the bidding?" At his words, I held my breath, trapped somewhere in between praying for a woman to bid and wanting them to all stay silent, to let me die.

It wasn't the first time I had wanted to die, after all.

Silence overtook the crowd and, despite my previous thoughts, a shiver went down my spine. Was it that no one wanted a challenge or was it simply my age? All the other women were well over the age of twenty, yet, here I was, nothing more than a child compared to most of the people in the crowd and on the stage.

No, I realized. I had seen plenty of children before being brought out on this stage; a different grouping, but still present.

I could feel the pity-filled stares of the other women on the stage. My kidnappers and most of the women had made it painstakingly clear that if I wasn't bought, I would be killed, like any unwanted and untrained slaves.

A look of realization crossed the auctioneer's face, followed by a devious grin. I knew, whatever he was about to say, I wasn't going to like it. "I forgot the best detail! This girl is a virgin."

I felt like a train had slammed straight into my chest. I couldn't catch my breath.

The first bet went up, followed by another, then another. Before long there was an all-out brawl going and I had never felt such a simultaneous mixture of fear and anger in my life.

This couldn't be happening. I needed to sit down. I needed to get my bearings. A bitter taste rose in my throat and fear and disgust ran like ice through my veins.

Of course, it wasn't much of a surprise, after all, there were a very limited number of things I could have been kidnapped for, but having my fears confirmed set aflame the burning hatred I had subdued from the moment I had awoken in this situation to keep myself alive. I almost fell forward as I lunged at the auctioneer, pulling ever harder on the rope binding my wrists.

The pain was excruciating, but anger completely enveloped any ounce of care I held. Fear was forgotten under the guise of my rage, flowing off of me in waves.

My body ached with the desire to end the man, but I couldn't break free.

I couldn't even rip into him to release my anger and, as such, the anger fermented in my chest, burning more than even the mangled skin of my wrists.

I'm doomed.

As my anger melted into hopelessness, I fell to my knees, staring blankly at the crowd as they argued over me.

For once in my life, I was wanted, and I hated it.

Guess this is what they mean when they tell you to be careful what you wish for.

I would have given anything to go back to high school in the moment, even middle school. I would go back to the times in my life that made me want to die and, if I retained the knowledge of how much worse life could get, I could suck up the pain of emotional abuse and bullying. Whatever mistakes I had made that had lead me here couldn't stem from that far back.

Maybe if I hadn't spent years hating myself, I wouldn't have ran off that night and I wouldn't have ended up here.

I just need a do-over.

As I stared into the crowd, fighting the panic attack building with each breath I took, I noticed a hooded man making his way to the stage.

I couldn't see any trace of his face under the hood and its shadow, leaving me unable to read anything about him. As he made his way through the chaos of the crowd, it was as if no one noticed him. He seemed to be the only one in the crowd not fighting tooth and nail to purchase me so I kept my eyes trained on him, using his movements to anchor myself and remind myself to count.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty.

When he finally made it to the stage he motioned for the auctioneer to lean down. The dark-skinned man did so and the hooded man spoke into his ear. Had his mouth not been hidden from me, I could have, at least, read his lips, but their positions made it impossible.

When the auctioneer stood, there was a large smile on his face, stretching from ear to ear. "Sold to number 7!"

My head swung to the women beside me, fast enough to hurt, as my eyes desperately searched their faces for a sign that somehow I was lucky. That, out of all the people, I hadn't been purchased by someone pure evil. Each of them shook their heads, only slightly, their eyes bleeding pity.

My heart dropped.