The Dragon Master's Pleasure Slave novel Chapter 5

Margot

“Daddy, please don’t do this.”

My father ignores my pleas and shrugs off my hand, grimacing and brushing his sleeve as if my fingers have dirtied him. The one man in my life who is supposed to love and protect me no matter what has betrayed me. Again.

My father pushes me out of the SUV’s open door. I fall to my knees on the dirt road in front of a huge warehouse. I glimpse the busted-out, cracked windows lined with brown paper bags. My heart pounds, and my vision swims. This can’t be happening.

He yanks me to my feet. “Get the fuck up.”

There’s nothing. No sign, no cars, no people. And no lights other than the full moon and a single red light above the door.

His grip pushes the thin gold bracelet deep into my wrist. I’ve worn it for the past five years. Ever since I was thirteen—when I was supposed to get my dragon. It’s kept me from reaching her ever since. I don’t even know if I can, if I even have a dragon.

I’ve read that some people born to dragon shifters never get their dragon because our genes aren’t strong enough anymore.

“Please,” I whisper. “Why does it have to be me?”

He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me close to speak into my ear. “Keep your mouth shut.”

I already know the answer. It’s because I remind him too much of my mother. My stepmother and her daughters have taken any scraps of love my father might have had for me and used them all up. Just like they’ve used up all of his wealth.

I’m not the one who’s put him in debt, but I’m the one he’s going to sell to get out of it.

Dragons are supposed to be possessive, to protect and hoard their belongings. But it’s clear my father didn’t get that gene when it came to me.

As soon as I turned eighteen, my father announced he was selling me.

At the enormous metal door, he knocks. A small window slides open.

“Name?” comes a male voice from inside.

“Winston Brummel.”

The window snaps shut, and the door opens toward us. My father yanks me in behind him.

A skinny man with tattoos up his neck and slicked-back dark hair sits behind a podium. I catch of a glimpse of his dragon in his eyes as he looks me over and his pupils turn to vertical slits. He has a little black notebook in his hand and turns to my father.

“Item number Fifty-Two,” my father says.

The man eyes the bruises on my arm, makes a notation in his little black book, and motions my father to head down a long, dark hallway. It opens into a large room that takes my breath away.

Sparkling crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and bottles of fancy-looking liquor line the mirrored back bar in the corner. Barely dressed women are making drinks for men in expensive tuxedos.

Opposite us is a large stage in front of rows of plush loveseats, high-back chairs, and assorted couches.

I’ve always known my father was rich—most dragons are—but this is more than I could have imagined.

“I heard you were bringing a treat to the auction tonight, and you didn’t disappoint, Winston. This one looks delightful.” The man licks his thin lips and scans the bruises on my arms, souvenirs from my stepmother and half-sisters. “She even looks a little broken in, too. Just like I prefer them. How do you make the marks stay, though? She is of your kind, isn’t she?”