You Are Mine Little Sister (by Syra Tucker) novel Chapter 144

RALI

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SIX WEEKS LATER

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"Seventy thousand..! Final bid? Going..."

My eyes drifted toward the double doors. They weren't here. They never came on Tuesdays. If they were, I knew they'd have doubled the bid already.

I stared blankly at nothing, waiting for Lucien to announce the winner.

"Eighty-five thousand!" A man from the right bellowed, earning laughter from a group in the back.

I ignored the daggers the other girls threw at me. Their stares had long since lost their sting.

"Eighty-five thousand!" Lucien repeated. "Is that our winner? Final bid..."

The chatter hushed, all eyes on me like I was the headliner on stage instead of a human being.

I said a little prayer in my heart for Lucien to close it already. What if 'they' decided to come today? If the bid wasn't over by then...

"And there goes our winner! Congratulations, gentleman. The Torturer's woman is yours for the night."

Relief spilled out of me in a sigh.

The winner's friends clapped, half-drunk applause mixing with the thrum of bass from the speakers above. On cue, I walked toward him, striding past Blayne who lounged with delight flickering in his eyes. Eighty-five thousand more in his pocket.

"You can stop right there, beautiful," my 'master' for the night commanded.

I came to a stop, my eyes fixed somewhere above his head.

He reclined in his seat, swirling the wine in his glass as neon lights splashed across his proud face. "You have no idea how long I've waited my turn."

"Get it over with, Marcus. Go get a room!" someone shouted from the smoky tables.

"Nah. I want it to start right here. Take off your clothes and come kneel at my feet."

Clothes? As if I had any left to give. Just a thong, a bralette, and a netted cover that revealed more than it hid.

His voice crawled down my spine, irritation prickling like static. But I had no choice.

So I stripped under the strobe of club lights and the drunken eyes of bloodthirsty men. Then I dropped to my knees before the man who reeked of rot.

He had his time.

.....

When I returned to my room hours later, I scrubbed like I did every night. I scrubbed until my skin blazed red. Until I was raw. Until I should've felt clean.

It never worked. I should know this by now. No matter how hard I scoured, the hands of the men always remained. I could still feel their nails, their sweat, their taste, and every ugly thing I didn't want to remember.

I slid to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, back against the cold tile. Tears flowed as freely as the water from the showerhead.

I cried until my chest ached. Until my skull throbbed. Until my eyes burned like fire.

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