What He Sacrifices (What He Wants, Book Fourteen) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (6 page)

“I’ll see you soon,” Professor Worthington said
when he pulled away.
 
His breath
smelled like dust and garlic.
 
“You
be a good girl.”

He turned and walked away, slipping back down
the staircase.
 
Was he really just
going to leave me here?
 
What would
he do?
 
Wait until someone purchased
me in the auction, let them use me, and then kill me?
 

I could feel the time slipping away, could feel
my chances for escape dwindling.

I had to tell someone what was happening to me,
I had to at least
try
to make someone listen.
 
All it would take was one person, one
person who would believe what I was saying, one person who would try to help
me.

As soon as the back of Professor Worthington’s
black leather jacket disappeared down the stairs, I started to scream.

“Help me!” I yelled, straining my handcuffs
against their shackles and banging my fist against the wall.
 
“Help me, I’m being held here against my
will!”

I expected something to happen, expected someone
to at least look at me, or maybe even punish me.
 
But no one even noticed.
 
The drugged girls writhed and moaned on
the floor and the Dungeon Masters glanced at me with disinterest.

Finally, after a few more moments of me
screaming, the Dungeon Master, Ty,

walked
over, his whip trailing behind him on the ground.

His black mask covered his face, but I could still
see his eyes.
 
They were dark brown
and deep and they seemed to stare right through me.

“Please,” I said, straining against my
shackle.
 
“Please, I’ve been
kidnapped.
 
I’m not supposed to be
here.”

I thought I saw something flash through his
eyes – sympathy, understanding,
something
– but I wasn’t
sure.
 
It could have been just
wishful thinking.
 
But then he
reached up and unhooked my handcuff from the wall.

“Thank you,” I cried, rubbing my fingers, which
were starting to go numb from being held over my head for so long.
 
“Thank you, thank you so much.
 
I need to… I need to leave here, I need
to call someone,
I
need to get picked up.
 
Noah Cutler… do you know him?
 
He’s my boyfriend, he… he’ll know what
to do, but first I need to get out of here.”

I was babbling and I couldn’t stop.

Ty took me by the elbow and began leading me
toward the huge red curtain on the side of the stage.

“What are you doing?” I asked.
 
“Where are we going?”

“Your turn,” he said, his voice dark and full
of danger.

He wasn’t helping me after all.

He was taking me to the stage.

It was time for me to be auctioned.

***

Once I was on the stage, the only thing I could
feel was the sound.

It surrounded me, the laughing and jeering of
the men in the crowd, the heavy bass pumping through the speakers,
the
moans of the girls backstage.
 
The acoustics pushed it through my body,
beating in time with my heart like it was a part of me.

Hands grabbed at me, pushing me further onto
the stage.

The auctioneer was standing on the middle of
the raised platform, a spotlight shining down on him, making him appear almost
ethereal.
 
He was dressed in the
same leather pants the Dungeon Masters backstage were wearing.
 

But this man had no mask.
 

He was heavily tattooed, his blonde hair pushed
back off his forehead, his blue eyes cold as steel.

He looked at me, his nose wrinkling when he saw
the bruises on my body and the scratch on my cheek.
 
He circled me, and the spotlight followed
him until it shone on me, too.
 
He
took my handcuff and attached me to a pole that ran from the floor to the
ceiling.

“Number 5488,” he said into his microphone as
he did so.
 
His biceps flexed as he
clipped me in, and I caught sight of what the tattoo on his chest said –
TAKE NO PRISONERS.
 

“She’s a hefty one,” he said, and the crowd
being screaming and yelling.
 
Someone backstage began laughing, one of the girls, a high-pitched
crazed sound.
 
A smoke machine
pumped smoke onto the stage, and it curled and swarmed around my legs.

“We’ll start the bidding at one thousand
dollars,” the auctioneer said, and the crowd booed, seemingly unhappy with the
price.

Then the men began screaming and yelling, and I
forced myself to gaze out across the room, trying to get a look at the man who
would own me for the night.
 

The first bid came from a voice in the back of
the arena, but it was impossible to see anything past the first couple of
rows.
 

After that, there didn’t seem to be any more
action.

“Come on,” the auctioneer said, annoyed.
 
He circled me and pulled roughly on my
bra top until my breasts were exposed.
 
“This bitch is waiting for someone to teach her how to be the whore that
she is.” He pulled back his whip and cracked it against my nipples with a loud
snap.

I cried out, my knees buckling from the searing
pain that licked my skin.

“Quiet, slave,” the auctioneer commanded.

“Fuck you,” I spat.

It earned me another whip and a roar of
approval from the crowd.

After that, the bids began again –two
thousand, three thousand, ten thousand– until finally, there were only
two people left bidding.

One was in the front of the stage, the other in
a back corner.

My arm was aching, my legs were sore, and my
skin was raw from the whipping.

I was so tired, and the smoke was making me
feel light-headed and dizzy.
 
I
struggled to hold onto the pole.

I slid down to the ground, expecting to be
snatched up and told I wasn’t allowed to sit.

But to my surprise, the auctioneer let me stay
there.

Once I was on the ground, I regretted it.
 
While my legs immediately stopped
aching, I was able to get a better look at the crowd.
 
Men leered at
me,
their eyes glazed with something bordering on lust, but was far more sinister.

Some of them were dressed in leather.

Some of them held paddles or whips.

Some of them ogled my breasts.

Some of them sipped beers and looked
bored.
 
These were the ones that
scared me the most.
 
If they seemed
bored by this, what would it take to get a reaction out of them?

I moaned out loud.

“Twelve thousand dollars,” the Auctioneer was
saying.
 
“Going once… going twice…”

“One million dollars,” a voice from the front
called, and a gasp went up from the crowd.

I looked in the direction of the voice.

And when I saw who it was, I gasped.

It was Audi James.

Noah’s brother.

He was standing in the front of the stage, his hair
slicked back.
 
In one hand, he held
a phone.

Noah.

It must have been Noah on the other end of the
line.

Noah was going to win me!
 
He was on his way
here,
he was going to step in and save me.
 
It had to be him.
 
There was
no other explanation.

I wanted to scream in relief.

No,
Noah’s
voice whispered.
 
I’ll be there soon, Charlotte.
 
But you need to pretend you’re playing
by the rules, at least for a little while longer.
 
Don’t let them get suspicious.

“Hold on, hold on,” the auctioneer said.
 
He peered down at Audi, the smoke
swirling around his heavy black boots.
 
“You are you going to bid one million dollars to own this bitch for the
night?”

“Yes,” Audi said, his voice barely able to be
heard over the roar of the crowd.
 
“One million dollars.”

“One million dollars…” the auctioneer said,
shaking his head in wonderment.
 
“Going once… going twice… sold for one million dollars.”

I watched as Audi spoke into the phone and then
ended the call.
 
His eyes met mine,
and he gave me a brief, grudging nod.
 
He was confirming that Noah had been the one on the phone.

I sagged against the pole in relief.
 
It was over.
 
I didn’t know how it had happened, but
Noah had someone saved me.
 
He’d
somehow gotten out of
jail,
he’d called Audi and made
him agree to bid on his behalf.

He must be on his way here.
 
There was no other explanation.
 

I began to cry, my body shaking with sobs of relief.
 
A million dollars.
 
Noah had spent a million dollars on me,
he’d figured out a way to save me, to protect me.
 
Just like he’d always said he would.

I loved him so much.

A pair of arms encircled me and lifted me up
from the floor, then unhooked me from the pole.

Someone pushed me off the stage, back toward
the backstage area, where Ty the Dungeon Master led me to a narrow black
box.
 
It looked like a coffin that
was standing upright.

“Waiting area,” he growled.

He pushed me in and slammed the door shut,
sealing every bit of light out of the box.
 
It was so black that I couldn’t see my hand in front of me, so narrow
that I couldn’t sit down.

Just relax,
I told myself.
 
Noah will be here soon, and this will all be
over.
 
He’ll get you out of here and
then you can call the police.
 
You
can tell them that Professor Worthington admitted to killing Katie.
 
Noah will be cleared.

Obviously there was some connection between
Professor Worthington and Noah, some reason Professor Worthington was trying to
frame him.
 
And I was sure Noah
would tell me what it was as soon as he got me out of here.

I took in deep breaths, trying to keep myself
calm.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
 
I couldn’t hear anything that was going
on around me, and it was disconcerting.
 
If someone forgot I was in here, I would die.

You’re not going to die.

The air was becoming gritty, and with each
breath I felt like I was inhaling particles of dust.
 
I imagined them sticking to my throat
and lungs, little black specks adding to each other until I was completely black
inside.

It was hot, and I tried to fan myself with my
hand, but there wasn’t enough room to move.

Finally, the door to the box went sliding open.

I blinked in the light.

I looked up, expecting to see Noah standing in
front of me.

But it wasn’t Noah.

It was Professor Worthington.

“Miss me?” he asked.

And then he plunged another needle into my neck
before I even had a chance to scream.

***

When I woke up, I was in a dark room, shackled
to a metal table.

I was alone.

How long had I been out for?
 
It couldn’t have been long -- I didn’t feel
as out of it as I’d had before.
 
Professor Worthington had probably knocked me out just long enough to
get me from one place to another without me putting up a fight.
 

I pulled on my wrists experimentally, but I was
strapped down good.

I was still wearing the outfit I’d been in for
the auction, and my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with dirty cotton.
 
I swallowed and licked my lips, but my
tongue was dry too, and it was like sliding sandpaper against sandpaper.

A second later, Professor Worthington walked
into the room.