Bones (Dark Kingdom, #5) — Chapter no 2

CHAPTER TWO

BONES

I SIT AT the table tucked back in the corner of a ballroom in New York City. I come to the city often. Sometimes for business, but mostly for play.

This trip is neither one of those. This is an elite auction. Only the wealthiest, most sadistic pricks attend. Tonight, I’m playing the role of one of those.

The large ballroom is dimly lit, and elevator music plays softly from the speakers above. Rows and rows of round tables are on either side of an aisle. A stage stands at the front of the room, and a black satin curtain hangs behind it from the ceiling to the floor. Women wearing tiny black shorts and matching lace bras walk around with trays, serving the guests. Men dressed in three-piece suits that cost more than most homes pass out numbered paddles to each attendee. No names are needed, I was told when I paid my fee to enter. Ten grand was what they charge for a “plate.”

“It’s for charity.” That’s what the man said. “To feed the starving children for two years.”

I snort, taking a drink of my bourbon. Really? Don’t they see the irony?

Not that I don’t want to feed the starving children in Africa. The Kings and I do our fair share of donating to charities all around the world. But there has to be a better way for them to collect money other than kidnapping and selling women.

My cell vibrates, and I pull it out of my suit pocket to see it’s from Luca.

Luca: Are you there?

Me: Yes. The auction is about to start.

Luca: Thanks again. I owe you.

I don’t even bother to respond. What are friends for?

“Here you go, sir.” A man places a small black book down on the table in front of me.

I reach for it, opening the soft leather and skimming it over. It’s a menu of the women being auctioned off. I run a hand down my face while I scan the pages. No photos, just names and information about each girl. I should have brought Cross—another King—with me. He would have just set the place on fire, and then we could have rescued all these women. But no one knows I’m here except for Luca. The Kings think I’m in the city to “play.”

When I told them I had to go to New York, they all laughed and nodded like they thought I was coming to get my dick wet for the weekend.

If only.

My eyes get to the last page, and I read her name—Mia Rosa Bianchi.

They made her the main event. No price or starting bid. I’m not surprised.

Her name alone is what will bring in the cash. Besides her name, it states the two most important things about her. She’s twenty and innocent.

A virgin? Fuck, for some reason, that makes the video of her I watched ten times worse.

The lights dim, bathing us almost in complete darkness, and I notice the numbers on my paddle glow. Now it makes sense. Easier for them to see who is holding up what. The spotlights that cover the stage turn on. The music fades until you can no longer hear it, and a woman who looks to be in her fifties walks onto the platform, microphone in hand. She gives the crowd a smile, dressed in a white satin dress that resembles a wedding gown. It’s tightly fitted with a V-neck, showing off her large fake tits and long train, but she has no wedding ring on her finger. Makes me think she’s using this opportunity to be the bride she dreamed of. “Good evening, gentlemen. I want to thank you for your generous donations tonight. The auction will begin in ten minutes.”

_______________

A LITTLE OVER an hour later, I’ve watched twelve women being sold. Well, the last one I’m pretty sure was a girl. Definitely under the age of eighteen.

And all of them had a smile on their faces. And not the I’m scared to death smile, but a genuine I’m going to serve you. It’s my purpose in life smile.

I’m not sure if they volunteered or what the fuck is going on. After all, I thought this was about sex trafficking.

“Next up, we have Mia,” the woman’s voice announces over the speakers. “Innocent and beautiful. We’ve saved the best for last, gentlemen.”

Men are already gripping their paddles, ready to bid, but no one walks onto the platform.

My hand fists the glass of bourbon before I throw it back. I can’t get that video of her out of my mind. I watched it five days ago. What has happened to her since then? How long did they have her before they recorded it?

I stare up at the stage, expecting her to be brought out on her hands and knees in chains with a bag over her head. But that is not what they had planned for her tonight.

A woman is shoved onto the stage. She trips, falling onto her hip. Her palms slap the black stage, and long, dark hair shields her face from the crowd. A black crown that looks dipped in glitter falls off her head and clanks to the floor next to her.

No one makes a sound. She’s dressed in a black evening gown. You can’t see the front because of how she’s hunched over on the stage, but you can see the back. It dips down, exposing sun-kissed skin, and stops at the top of her ass, where two little dimples show. We silently watch as she breathes heavily. Her body shakes, and her spine is prominent. She’s even been starved. No physical sign of abuse, though, like I saw on the video. Either they’ve healed or they have them covered up, which makes me wonder how long ago the video was filmed before it was sent to Luca.

A man storms onto the stage. It’s the same one from the video. The one she had kicked in the nuts. “Get up,” he orders, grabbing her upper arm.

She tries to shove him away, but he won’t release her.

“Richard.” Someone growls from beside the stage. “Leave her.”

With a mouth set in a hard line, he exits the stage just as angry as he

stormed onto it.

Silence falls once again.

She sits there for a few more minutes before she begins to move. She gets to her knees first; long dark curls still cover her face. Then her heels.

She sways a little bit but manages to stand and then turns to face the crowd.

Silvery-blue eyes—as clear as the sky on a sunny day—glare at all of us from the stage lights that shine down on her. The dress dips low in the front as it does in the back, showcasing two perfectly round tits. They look untouched. The bralette they had her dressed in the video they sent Luca did

nothing for them. Her heavy breathing fills the large room as she bends over and picks up the crown that fell off her head. The crowd gasps when she snaps it in half and drops the pieces to her feet.

“You are all bastards,” she growls, showcasing a set of perfectly straight white teeth.

Men throw up their paddles, and the bidding begins. Five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, the number rises by the second. Everyone wants her. But I am the one who will take her home.

I stand, buttoning my suit jacket. “Ten million,” I call out.

Paddles drop as heads turn to stare at me. Some in shock, others in envy.

Who the fuck would pay ten million for a woman they will just throw in a cage? This room might be full of whales, but none of them will dish out that kind of cash for a slave. Not a smart one, anyway. The wealthiest men can be the cheapest at times. And they’re not going to pay that much for pussy.

The woman runs onto the stage with her microphone in hand. “The auction has come to a close,” she states, unable to contain her shit-eating

grin.

I send a quick text to Luca.

Me: She’s all mine.

MIA

I’M YANKED OFF stage and almost trip down the stairs again. Then I’m spun around, and my hands are pulled in front of me and crossed at the wrists. A zip tie is placed around them and pulled tight, pinching my skin. I reach up and fist both of my hands, landing a hit to his face.

“Bitch,” Richard growls and then slaps me so hard it knocks me into a table off to the side of the hallway. It hits me right in my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. My face stings, and I taste blood. He grips my hair and yanks my head back, placing his face in front of mine. His lips are so close to mine that they almost touch. He lets out a deep breath, and I have to swallow back the vomit from the smell of cigarettes. “Fuck, you’re not worth the hassle. No matter how much I’m getting paid to deal with you.”

I spit blood and saliva all over him, and that gets me another hit to my face. This time with his fist. So hard it knocks me out of my heels, and I fall to the cold concrete floor. I close my eyes and bite my tongue just to keep

from whimpering when my hip hits again. I’m gonna be bruised all over, but I refuse to lie down and take it. I’m going to fight them no matter what.

I choose force. They will have to drag my cold, dead body out to the back before I lie down and take whatever these sick bastards have planned. If any of these men think I’m going easy, I’ll prove them wrong. I have four brothers. My family is the Mafia, for Christ’s sake. I’ve been fighting them all my life. I can handle a fucking punch and a slap.

“Do I get a discount if my merchandise is damaged?” a deep voice asks from behind me. He sounds anything but concerned about the state he gets me in.

“She spit in my face,” Richard whines, pulling a pocket square from his expensive suit and running it over his face while glaring down at me.

I smile up at him from the floor. I go to kick him in the dick, but he takes a step back, expecting it. “Fucking piece of shit …”

A hand grips my upper arm, cutting me off, and I’m yanked to my feet.

“Let’s go,” the deep voice orders.

“Fuck you.” I fight his hold. I can’t see his face due to my hair covering half of mine, and he’s forcing me to walk in front of him.

A door is shoved open at the end of the hallway, and I try to adjust my eyes to the darkness. It’s nighttime wherever we are, and the heat that hits me makes my skin instantly clammy. I go to run off, but the hand on my arm tightens. Nails dig into my skin, and I cry out, my knees buckling as he shoves me through the back door of a limo waiting for us in the alleyway.

Blowing the loose strands out of my face, I look around the inside. It’s dark in here too. Purple lights outline both benches at either end and a couch that runs along the opposite side of the bar.

I crawl across the black carpet the best I can to the other side of the car. I plop down on the small bench and turn to face the back door when it closes.

Breathing heavily, I shove my hair out of my face the best I can and stare at the man who bought me like I’m cattle he’s going to slaughter and feed to his merry fucking men.

The purple lights that line the ceiling illuminate his face. A set of hard blue eyes glare at mine, framed with dark lashes, a straight nose, and chiseled cheekbones. The lack of lighting makes him look hauntingly beautiful dressed in a black suit and matching button-down. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A pretty face to hide the evil. There are no Prince

Charmings in my world. Only beasts who claw and fight their way through the masses to get to the top.

“Ready, Nigel,” he orders, not taking his eyes off mine.

“Yes, sir,” says the driver sitting behind me. I turn around to see him just as he closes the divider, closing us in together.

I swallow, turning back to face the monster. “Where are we going?” I ask nervously. Does he live in the States? How far will he take me? I don’t have a phone. I don’t even have an ID. I was taken with only the clothes on my back, which wasn’t much.

I stand in the pool at my father’s Venetian home in Italy. My arms are on the side as I look out over the infinity pool and to the ocean. It’s calm at night. It’s also my favorite time for a swim. I hear the sliding glass door open behind me, and I look over my shoulder to see one of my older brothers—Matteo—walk outside dressed in his three-piece charcoal suit.

I swallow nervously. He never comes to visit me. He stays in the States.

The twins live here, but they leave me the hell alone. I don’t even exist to them, and I prefer it that way.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, looking around to see it’s just him and me.

“Here on business.” That’s his cryptic answer.

“Well, the twins aren’t home,” I say and turn my attention back to the dark ocean.

“Actually …” I see his shoes come to stand at the edge of the pool out of the corner of my eye. “You’re the job.”

I didn’t have a second to escape. He reached down, gripped my hair, and dragged me out of the pool kicking and screaming. Then he placed a piece of cloth over my mouth. I fought him with all I had, but eventually, my body betrayed me, and I was out. When I woke up, I was in a penthouse in New York. I was stripped, washed, and waxed. Touched from head to toe to make me look like a million dollars. To make me desirable. They drugged me. I know they did. I have times that are missing. Days even. I’m not sure how long it’s been or if we’re still in New York. All I know is that when I woke up, my body was sore, and there were visible bruises that had been there for days, judging by their color.

“Do our family justice,” my brother Matteo had said to me before I had passed out in Italy. Then today, I was dropped off at the auction with a hood over my head.

The man sits back in his seat, breaking our stare. His eyes drop down the length of my body and stop on my thigh. My dress had a slit up the side, but since Richard shoved me down, it’s ripped clear up to my hip on the right side. You can see the strap to my black lace thong.

He doesn’t answer me as his eyes return to mine.

“Hey, jackass?” I snap. “Where the fuck are you taking me?”

He pours himself a drink from the bottle that sits in the glass bucket. “If you won’t be silent, I’ll make you.” He finally speaks directly to me, sounding bored.

Oh, this fucker … “Gonna beat me into submission? I’ll kick your ass,” I warn, wishing I still had my high heels on. The sharpness of the heel could come in handy when you want to poke someone’s eye out.

“No,” he replies in that same tone, but I see a glint in his eyes. Something tells me he’s going to be one of those sick fuckers who likes to prove their dominance. He swirls his drink, the ice clanking, and his eyes drop to my exposed hip again. “I’ll remove your thong and gag you with it.”

My jaw tightens while my tied hands fist in my lap. “Trying to silence me so I can’t scream rape?” Typical man who has to force a woman in order for him to feel like he’s in control.

His drink pauses in his hand, and he looks oddly satisfied to answer that question. “If I decide to fuck you, you’ll choose to remove your clothes for me.”

The audacity. I roll my eyes. “Fat chance, asshole.”

Taking that drink, he then sets it down at the minibar and begins to unbutton his suit jacket before slipping out of it. He places it neatly on the seat next to him. Then he undoes his cuff links, rolling up the sleeves to his black button-up. Tattoos cover his arms and knuckles—mainly black with very little color to them. I can’t make out what exactly they are from here, but I catch sight of a skull ring on his right ring finger. It looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place it.

I’m not surprised, though. My brothers all wear a tacky gold ring on their fingers to signify their connection to our world. It’s how the cults like to show they have power.

Once satisfied and comfortable, he reaches down and picks up a small lunch box. I shove myself farther into the seat when he comes to sit on the long bench to my right. “Stay away,” I order, placing my hands up.

He grips my arm and yanks me from the seat. My knees hit the floor, and my body falls between his open legs. My breathing picks up, my heart now racing with the fear of the unknown. He holds my tied hands in front of him with one hand, and the other goes to the lunch box. He pulls out an ice pack. “Hold this to your face,” he orders, glaring down at me.

“What? Am I too ugly for you now that I have bruises?” I snarl. If that’s the case, I’ll slam my face into the door every day.

He leans down, his face inches from mine. His expensive, suffocating cologne covers me like a blanket, making it hard to breathe. I try to pull away, but he holds me in place. “If you’re going to sport bruises, they’ll be from my hands. No one else.”

I don’t look away from his stare and snap, “Prefer your women black and blue?”

He reaches his free hand into his pocket and pulls out a pocketknife. He flips the blade open, and I suck in a long breath. I close my eyes as he lowers it to my face, but I feel the zip tie snap open, my wrists pulling apart in the process. Then he’s shoving the ice pack in my right hand. “I won’t say it twice,” he says before pushing me away.

I fall onto my ass, my back hitting the minibar. He goes back over to his original seat by the door and picks up his drink, dismissing me.