Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva), Nicole Fox [ebook reader 7 inch txt] 📗

around. Some creep in the front row jumps up and slaps the woman’s ass, cackling like a crazed lunatic. In that instant, the woman looks up and our eyes meet. Her eyes are full of terror and hopelessness. Her mascara mixes with tears, black tracks running down her full cheeks. Her bottom lip is swollen, a trickle of blood running from a split in the middle.

“This is some beauty. That ass has enough cushion to take quite a pounding,” the guy from the crowd says.

“Bidding will begin at six thousand dollars. Do I have six thousand?” The auctioneer starts up his spiel again. “Six thousand. Do I hear seven thousand?”

My blood begins to boil once again. I’m not going to let anyone bid on me like I’m some piece of meat. And I won’t be sold to some fucking creep just so he can screw me to get his sick rocks off.

No. Fucking. Way.

I have to get the hell out of here and now—by any means necessary. Judging by the bloodlust in the eyes of the men in the front row, I’m beginning to think I’d rather have them kill me than be subjected to whatever the winning bidder has in mind once he gets his filthy hands on me.

The bodyguard to my right is too busy looking at the spectacle going on with the girl’s bidding. He’s tall and broad, like a linebacker. But he’s currently distracted, so I take advantage and I make a break for it. But suddenly, I’m snapped backward and my feet go up in the air as I crash to the ground, landing hard on my backside.

I forgot about the collar.

Every eye turns to me. The room breaks out in a cacophony of laughter and claps. One guy turns beet red and slaps his thigh. I’m mortified, frozen to the spot on the ground I landed. I can’t believe this is happening, and that everyone in the crowd finds this amusing. I clench my jaw tight as I take in the cruel laughter, my head beginning to spin once again.

“When’s she up for bidding?” someone yells, and I want nothing more than to become invisible.

“Gentlemen, let’s focus on our current bid. We will get to the lovely lady who’s been providing us with an unprecedented level of entertainment in a few minutes,” the auctioneer says.

I remain seated on the cool floor. Terror sinks its claws deeper into me. There’s no way I’m going to make it out of here, no way I’ll ever see my family again. What did I do to deserve this? Why has my life ended up in this nightmare? I pull my legs up to my chest, balling myself as tight as I can, wishing I could shrink even smaller and just disappear. Why did I have to go out tonight?

The crowd gets louder as the bidding continues once again. An argument breaks out, but the auctioneer keeps the two men in control. Finally, the bidding on the woman ends at forty-five thousand dollars. Sweat drenches my skin, my eyes throb uncontrollably, and my heart thumps in my chest like a herd of stampeding horses. My fingers curl into a fist, nails digging into my palms. My breathing is ragged and shallow. Fear churns my stomach in tense cramps.

I’m next.

I scurry backwards, as far away from the front of the stage as I can. But a pair of large hands comes from behind to lift me to my feet. I whip my head around to find the linebacker goon with a foul smirk on his face. My legs are shaky and I stumble a bit as I attempt to find my balance. I choke back a sob and close my eyes as I take a deep breath, silently praying for a miracle. Praying for a way out of this nightmare.

The man’s calloused skin scrapes up my shoulders and pulls me back to my horrific reality. He stops near my neck. Maybe he’s going to unhook my collar. Maybe this is my chance to get away. My miracle.

Instead, the unmistakable sound of tearing of fabric fills my ears. The front of my shirt falls to my waist, exposing my bra and cleavage.

“Oops, clumsy me,” the man behind me drawls, the unmistakable hint of humor lining his words.

The crowd roars in appreciation. Some people stand and applaud. One man waves a handful of cash in the air while another sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Even the auctioneer turns and smiles, his pupils dilating as he focuses on my breasts. His gaze runs the length of me and the tip of his tongue grazes across his crooked teeth.

I curl my shoulders forward, trying to hide, but it’s no use. My heart aches. My stomach churns. My skin is drenched in cold sweat.

The goon behind me unclips my collar from the pole and pushes me toward the front of the stage, holding onto the chain as if it were a leash. As if I’m a dog who needs someone to lead me. When I try to hold my ground, the man jabs me in the back, forcing me forward. When I’m where they want me to be, the auctioneer circles around like a shark waiting to feed. His creepy eyes devour me.

“Where am I?” The words squeak from my lips without permission. I wish I could take them back.

The crowd once again breaks into a bout of laughter. I hate being a source of entertainment for all of them. They’re demons. What other explanation is there? How could any human do this to another person?

A fat man, bald and sweaty, in the front row glares at me. His bloodshot eyes twitch. Bloody red stitches climb his crooked neck, under his leering grin. A cackle erupts from behind his chipped teeth that slant in every direction like broken piano keys. He’s crouched awkwardly, and for some reason it reminds me of a tarantula, the way he clings close to the ground, all