Chapter 3

Damien

Mirabelle’s eye light up like the fourth of July, seeing the women for the first time. Her gaze darts between each one and then back to me. She’s impressed.

“Beautiful,” Armando whispers, as his eyes glaze with something I don’t recognize. He’s a sick bastard, but I can’t let it faze me. As if he can read my thoughts, he looks at me with a curiousness buried deep in his eyes. He waves me forward. “Go. Inspect and choose.”

I take a hesitant step forward, my gaze on the women chained and shivering before me. My gut clenches at the sight of them, but I pause, placing my character Tony on full blast. I trudge on, stopping just short of the first woman.

I see fear in her deep brown eyes and instantly wish there were a way I could take it away and make her feel safe. But I ignore the emotion, refusing to let anything other than interest be seen on my face. I can’t show an ounce of pity to these women. It isn’t my job to see them as anything more than property to sell. Anything else will be a sign of weakness. I can’t afford weakness.

The woman in front of me shifts, causing her ebony skin to glisten in the light. She is the tallest of the group; her long limbs add to the willowy effect of her height. She keeps her eyes downcast mostly, occasionally peeking up at me through her lashes as I inspect her. My gaze crosses Mirabelle, who instantly shakes her head a fraction, telling me this woman isn’t her choice and is free for my claiming.

But I do not claim her and move on to the next woman.

She is the shortest and smallest of the group. I’m not sure of her age—her paperwork was not specific about it either—but she looks much younger than the others. I fight the urge to ask for her age, already sure she’s no more than a child still. The girl is simply too young to be here, but then again, none of them should be. I glance at Mirabelle from the corner of my eye and am relieved to see she is not interested in her either. I move again, swallowing the hard lump of remorse I feel for the young one.

Sidestepping again, I’m met with honey-brown eyes and a flurry of auburn hair. There is something about the look in her eyes. I get the feeling she’d be a hard one for anyone to break because she’s a survivor and has spirit. Mirabelle must have seen it, too, because she only has eyes for the last woman.

Her eyes focus intently on the last woman, causing my heart to thump against the cavity of my chest. Focusing on her myself, I forget to breathe. Her crystal-blue eyes are filled with fire, as she tries to stare me down. Her pouty pink lips are quirked, meant to make her look serious and mean; instead, it makes her look adorable. Her long blond hair needs a wash and hangs down around her body. She’s thin but with curves in all the right places. I can see why Mirabelle wants this one. She is stunning.

Mine!

I shake my head, trying to figure out where the thought came from. I look the poor girl up and down one more time, trying to pinpoint it. She’s isn’t mine. She can’t be. And yet there is something about her that draws me in. I want to know more about her. I need to know more.

Penelope. The name surfaces through the clouded haze of my thoughts. She fits the description of the girl on my list, though the picture doesn’t match the beautiful creature standing before me. My stomach heaves at the thought of Mirabelle desecrating her, and I look over to see the she-devil eye fucking the shit out of my girl.

Mine!

My hands ball into fists, and it takes everything in me to keep still. There’s no way I can keep my deal with Mirabelle and the girl. Mirabelle won’t go for it, and I need this favor. She’s the only one who can get me the information I need on Charles. The business dealing between the two men are kept separate. Most of what I’ve gathered incriminates everyone on the west coast. I’ve seen very little to do with the east coast.

Brock is too loyal to his master. He would never unknowingly give me anything I can use. Which is why I planned to use Mirabelle instead. She might be a poisonous bitch, but her husband shares everything with her, and I have no doubt she has the information I seek. If I play my cards right, she’ll give it up without too much coaxing. Besides, she’ll be happy to see both Armando and Charles hang, especially if it means there is a chance she will rise to the top after they’re gone.

But now there is a problem with my plan, and no matter how badly I want to ignore the girl standing before me, I can’t.

There is only one way to save this girl. I must convince Mirabelle to choose someone else. Or do it for her.

Stepping back from the women, I look over at Mirabelle and shake my head. “They simply won’t do.”

She frowns, Armando scoffs, and Brock chokes on his drink.

“Excuse me?” Andre speaks out of turn, his face flushed with irritation. I’m walking on thin ice, insulting the goods like I am, but I push on anyway.

“Don’t forget I studied this lot carefully.” I cross my arms, my gaze resting lightly on him, reminding them all of the care I took getting them here.

“You are wrong, sir,” Andre growls. “They are exceptional. Armando only chooses the best.”

“I agree, Andre, for a man like me, these women are exceptional. But they cannot hold a candle to Mirabelle.”

I see Mirabelle smile as she catches on to my play. Her eyes flick between Armando and myself excitedly, waiting for his reaction. Armando glares at me, his disbelief and anger in his eyes.

“You have first choice,” he grits his teeth, and I know he is having a tough time controlling his anger. “Your need to please Mirabelle is misguided, Tony. You have worked too hard for this prize. Tonight, you must treat yourself.”

“I find them perfectly acceptable for me. You are correct, but I want the very best for Mirabelle,” I explain, wondering how much farther I can push him, knowing I shouldn’t play this close to the fire. “Armando, I know you have chosen the best for me, but Mirabelle has specific needs. She needs someone with fire, with passion, someone who will battle her in the throes, equally giving and receiving. These women, while they would please and pleasure you and me very well, they are not for Mirabelle.”

I look toward the redhead, noting the hungry look once again in her eyes. Yes, I understand her devious nature and hedonistic needs. I’m using this knowledge to play her. She makes it too easy.

“What are you saying?” Armando asks, his irritation replaced with confusion.

“I choose the blonde,” I answer and move toward Mirabelle and offer her my hand. She takes it without hesitation and moves gracefully to my side. She blindly turns to Armando and smiles, but she is completely unaware of what has transpired. She is mesmerized by the young women standing quietly before us. “But Mirabelle should have another. One that is not here amongst these girls. I believe the one I seek is called Svetlana.”

Svetlana is a hearty girl and the most physically able to withstand whatever bedroom games Mirabelle has in store for her newest victim. My gut aches because I have offered another girl for Mirabelle to torture, but I cannot let her have the blonde.

Mine!

It is true Svetlana doesn’t hold a candle to the blonde—the notes in her file called her dowdy and frumpy— but I know she will survive the night and perhaps longer if things continue to progress for my investigation.

The blonde, even though she’s shooting a dangerous glare my way, wouldn’t be able to withstand Mirabelle. Or Brock for that matter. They’d shatter her to pieces.

What was the name used for her on the paperwork? I can’t remember; the detail seems to be missing from my mind.

“Very well,” Armando agrees, eying me carefully. He’s onto the game I’m playing with Mirabelle because he knows Svetlana, and he knows she is not a girl Mirabelle would choose on her own. But he says nothing to question my motives, nor does he sell me out to Mirabelle. Not that he would. He hates Mirabelle and is likely going to find enjoyment in her reaction to the woman I have chosen for her. “Mirabelle shall have Svetlana, and the blonde is yours.”

Andre turns away and leads the women to the door leading out of the room. He steps aside, allowing them to pass in front of him, knowing chained as they are, there is no fear of them trying to escape. His new task is to prepare the girls to be presented to us tonight, but something inside me doesn’t want to let the girl disappear through the doorway. I move before I can speak, knowing they will see my movement as anxious excitement.

“I see that you are pleased with your choice.” Armando’s boisterous voice fills the room, stopping me from following them any further. “Come away from there, my boy. Andre will present her later tonight. Now, we must feast and drink.”

I clasp my hands behind my back, watching the girls exit one by one. The blonde’s eyes never let up. Her fire excites me, sending a chill down my spine.

What the fuck, I curse at myself, feeling ashamed of the way I’ve reacted toward her. Get a hold of yourself, Damien.

Andre stops short of his exit from the room and addresses me. “Is there a specific way you would like her prepared, sir?”

“The quicker it is done, the better,” I respond without thinking. I tell myself the only reason for my request is to assure myself of her safety. It has nothing to do with my attraction to her. I turn to Armando, afraid of what my response has revealed to him, but I am no longer a blip on his radar. His attention rests on the ebony-skinned woman. He looks at her with a primal hunger, a look I have never seen from him. Armando is always careful to mask his true emotions, instead always cloaking them with his joyous nature. But this time, his mask slips, and I don’t like what I see.

“Andre.” Armando’s voice deepens, sounding almost demonic. It stops his servant dead, and for a moment I see the man shiver with fear. “The ebony. Ready her for me.”

I see the woman turn her head, her wild eyes glistening with tears. Fuck, how much more of this can I take? Andre nods and pushes her forward, and a sob breaks from her lips, but it is quickly quieted as the door shuts behind them.

A shiver runs down my spine.

A shiver of fear and anger that settles as a knot in the pit of my stomach.

Three days.

That’s all I am giving myself.

Three days to wrap this case up and free these women.

I won’t last a day longer.