His mind might be in turmoil, but yes, he could smile. Decades of service to Sweet Dove had built up a fine skill set.
Engles held his gaze. The man met him eye-to-eye, straight on, putting him at a similar six-five. His grip was solid. He then added a bit more pressure before he released Reyes’s hand, a familiar signal that he considered himself top dog and wanted Reyes to know it.
Starlin’s front man wore a tailored tux, finely cut but of a shimmering dark-blue silk that made him stand out, no doubt by design. He had dark-brown wavy hair that he combed away from his face, thick arched brows, and round, almost innocent brown eyes. His nose was large and aquiline, giving him the look of a predatory bird. He had a deep cleft in his chin. Oddly, he looked like the man he was, as though even his features had conspired to reveal a man of violent intention with just enough innocence to lure his victims into a false sense of safety.
Reyes turned back to Angelica’s photo and he sipped his drink. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, but it’s the expression in her eyes, don’t you think? I know what they put these women through to get them ready for auction, yet in this photo just look at the glint of rage in her eyes. Yes, she’s the one.”
Reyes took deep breaths. He knew Engles’s preference for fighters, just like Sweet Dove. He wanted someone he could break to his will.
The thought of Angelica falling into Engles’s hands nearly undid his resolution. He didn’t want her hurt like that, her mind and soul destroyed, her body tortured. In addition, Engles’s human slaves never lived very long.
But he had a job to do, a big one, that went way beyond what would happen here tonight—and that included Angelica’s fate.
He had to stick to his plan, he had to remember that he was working to save thousands of women from the fate she would soon endure. Whatever happened tonight would be a tragedy for her, but he couldn’t jeopardize his mission for a lone human female.
And if she survived her captivity, he’d make it his mission to find her and take her out of her hell, but right now, he needed to stay tough. More than just Angelica’s life was at stake.
He lifted his drink to Engles. “I’m sure this woman will be all that you’re hoping for.”
He’d intended to walk away, but Engles held him back. “Are you bidding tonight?”
Reyes smiled, a broad comprehensive smile he’d learned to offer all those years ago. “I came for no other purpose, but I’m looking for more of, shall we say, a group experience.”
Engles clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”
He took one last look at Angelica’s photo and saw what Engles had meant and what would make her tonight’s star. She had a defiant expression in her eye. A slave with spirit always tempted the most sadistic owners. Angelica would have done better to have appeared broken and submissive because she would have gained one of the more humane owners. Her chances at survival would have increased tremendously.
He felt sick in his gut suddenly, that the woman who had kissed him, who had for a brief moment filled him with something like hope, would be sold to Engles tonight.
He cursed mentally as he signaled to one of the servers.
“What can I get for you, master?”
“Maker’s Mark, neat. Make it a double.”
Angelica feigned a drugged-out state in the hope of finding her way out of captivity. For the first time in a week, she was outside her prison cell, all her attention focused on her surroundings, on trying to figure out where she was. She searched every wall, looking for a doorway or some kind of access to the outside world. The trouble was, she seemed to be in some kind of cavern system, which severely limited the number of ways out.
She stood in a long line of women, each dressed differently in strange costumes that left very little to the imagination.
She now understood that she’d fallen into some kind of sex-slavery ring, operated within a very strange secret society, that kept its women inside a kind of prison. She didn’t know where she was or even what part of the world. She’d been one of dozens of women in the same situation, all held in separate cells in the same prison-like facility.
Her captors had put her through hell over the past several days. She’d been stripped of her clothes and tied down, then beaten for screaming that she wanted out. To her surprise, none of the other women had put up such a racket, but then maybe her screams when tortured had taught the rest to keep quiet.
In the end they’d drugged her. At least then, she’d slept.
But a few hours ago the male servant assigned to her had prodded her awake and forced coffee down her throat. The final prepping had begun, as she was bathed, manicured, coiffed, made up, and finally adorned with her costume, such as it was. She wore only a headdress, draped with a long gauzy floor-length scarf in a leopard print. She could appreciate the artistry, except that she was otherwise completely naked.
All the other women had adopted submissive attitudes, which pissed her off. If they all fought their captors together, maybe they’d have a chance of escape.
The line moved intermittently, and the several male servants in charge spoke quietly into headphones, prodding the women as needed. No one talked. No one dared. The men carried Tasers with them.
At the same time a number of shirtless men, real bodybuilder types, who wore black leather pants and carried whips, lined the walls. She didn’t need to be a genius to understand the threat. Even so, she kept looking for a means of escape.
If only she could find a doorway, anything she could slip through, no matter where it led; she’d take the chance. Every instinct screamed that this would be her only opportunity to escape.
Hope dimmed, however, when the line reached what looked like the backstage area of some kind of theater. She hadn’t seen a single door or hallway—nothing that could have taken her away from this.
But what were they doing in a theater? Would each of them be required to perform in some kind of strip show?
She glanced down at her br**sts, beaded in the cold cave air, and she would have laughed if her situation hadn’t been so horrific. If she was supposed to strip, what would that involve? Taking off the scarf?
As she moved by the wings of the stage, past several rows of curtains and backdrops, she saw the first of the women walking down a runway of some kind followed by applause.
Definitely a show of some kind.
But the next words froze her heart. “We’ll begin the bidding on this fine Chinese ware at ten thousand dollars. Do I hear ten thousand? Yes, the gentleman on my left. Do I hear eleven? To the gentlemen in the green blazer. Very nice. Twelve?”