I swallow hard, feeling sick.

I hate you.

Wolf

See you soon, baby.

I lie and tell my family that I’m not feeling well, ignore their pointed questions about why the fuck I’m not home, and dodge some well-meaning texts from Michelle and Zayne. Then I’m at the airport and boarding a plane. Wolf booked me first class, but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it. Or the driver and car waiting for me when I land. He’s thought of every detail . . . and I’ve done nothing but think.

I may feel seen by Wolf in a way I’ve never experienced before, but that doesn’t mean I know him. I don’t know what he looks like. He says he wants me, but it’s easy to lie. It’s not like I’ve challenged him in any meaningful way. I let him fuck me bare, for gods’ sake.

The city shifts around me as we leave its limits and head into the countryside. The longer I go without hearing from him, the worse I feel. Even as I tell myself not to be so weak, I can’t help reaching for my phone. This time, I don’t bother to text. I call him.

He doesn’t make me wait long before he answers. “You’re making good time.”

I look around, even though I know there’s nothing to see. “Who are you, Wolf?”

He’s silent for a beat. “You’ll find out at the auction.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?”

“Come on, baby. You didn’t think I’d send you to the auction and let someone else take you, did you?”

Honestly, I hadn’t been sure what to think. I settle back in the seat, telling myself I’m seven different kinds of foolish for being comforted by his words. He hasn’t given me anything. Trusting him is downright suicidal. “And here I thought you were serving me up to whoever you work for.”

“You’re mine, Ruby.”

I jolt at him saying my name again. Not baby. Not Red. Ruby. I clear my throat. “Why all the song and dance? You already had me. Thoroughly.” I don’t know why I ask. He’s held his information close from the first moment we started interacting. There’s no reason for him to be explicit now.

“Because you’re mine,” he repeats. “And it’s time everyone knows it.”

Oh. Oh. “So this is you pissing on my foot.”

“No, baby. This is a declaration of intention. After I take you in the auction, everyone who’s worth a damn in our world will know who you belong to. No more sneaking around. No more games. No pretending you’re just a good girl who’s been forced into being bad.”

My chest feels too tight. “My parents are going to find out. You know that, right? It doesn’t matter what you intend. They’ll string you up and skin you alive.”

Wolf, the bastard, chuckles. “Then I guess I better make you fall in love with me so you’ll intervene on my behalf.”

The rushing in my head almost convinces me that I misheard him. Lust, yes. But he’s asking for love? Maybe I should have seen the writing on the wall with how possessive he is, how jealous. This was only going to end one of two ways—with one of us dead or with us together.

It’s still outrageous that he’s just saying this shit. “I haven’t even seen your face. We’ve barely had a single conversation. You can’t honestly expect me to fall in love just because you’re good at getting me off.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby. We don’t need all the pussyfooting and small talk. We see each other.” There’s a sound in the background, and he clears his throat. “Don’t fuck with the Concierge. They won’t find your mouthing off as cute as I do.”

“Wolf—”

“See you soon.” He hangs up, leaving me spinning out. Nothing about this experience has been what I expected, but looking back, I can admit that my short-sightedness is to blame. I’ve been reacting to him in the moment, when it’s clear he had a plan from the beginning. I wonder what he would have done if I hadn’t slept with Rafe that first night. I’d bet good money he had a different angle of approach. Bastard.

The car turns off the main road, and I stare at the sprawling estate. We have money, but this opulence is on a different level. The place is obviously a private residence, but it’s easily two or three times the size of my aunt’s estate, and the grounds seem to stretch forever. I even catch sight of a boathouse in the distance, perched on the edge of a large lake.

We bypass the main entrance and circle around to the side, just like Wolf instructed. The driver doesn’t speak a word as they hold the door open for me and set my bag on the ground next to the door with the skeleton key knocker. I’m still deciding if I’m supposed to thank them when they get back in the car and drive off without looking back.

“Well, I guess that answers that.” There’s no going back now. I march to the door and knock.

OceanofPDF.com

10

The door doesn’t lead to a foyer, but to a narrow hall. I don’t bother trying to get a better look. Not when all my attention is taken up by the Concierge. They’re a tall white person wearing an expensive three-piece suit that’s been tailored to their lean body. I can’t quite figure out how old they are—somewhere between forty and sixty: old enough to have fine lines on their smooth skin, to look seasoned in a way people in their twenties can’t quite pull off, but not old enough to be affected by age in the slightest.

I can’t begin to guess their thoughts as they look me over. “This way, please.”

The room I’m led to is luxurious and lovely . . . but there’s a lock on the outside of the door. I’m also divested of my phone and bag. It’s enough to make me doubt, yet again, what I’ve decided to do.

This is beyond playing cat and mouse with a stalker. The first rule of safety is to not go to a secondary location, and I voluntarily boarded a plane and allowed this concierge to lock me in a cell.

“Please sign this.”

I stare at the contract. “Fuck.” It’s huge. Too huge to read through in one sitting, even if my eyes didn’t immediately cross when I had to wade through legalese. We have lawyers on staff for a reason.

The Concierge is unsympathetic. “We cannot move forward until you sign.”

I’m tempted to ask them for a CliffsNotes version, but there’s no reason to trust they’d be telling the truth. “I need to read this.”

“By all means.”

I expect them to leave. They don’t. They sit on the short chair across from me, cross their long legs, and . . . wait.

My skin heats as I page through the contract. Despite my fear of not understanding, it’s relatively straightforward. The House takes 20 percent of the winning bid on me. I get the rest.

By signing this—by participating in the auction as an item—I am giving consent to whatever the winner wants to do with me. The exceptions are anything that could maim or kill me . . . which leaves a lot to be desired.

I look at the Concierge. “No safe words?”

“The contract is your safe word.” They smile thinly. “And each room is outfitted with a panic button should such a thing be necessary.”

That’s . . . not how safe words work.

I keep reading. The contract removes House’s responsibility for any harm that befalls me. My only recourse lies in the fact that the three days I’m apparently offering at auction will happen on the premises, which means there will be someone who isn’t Wolf there if things go wrong. In that time, I can cancel the contract and repay the amount I received . . . for a truly ostentatious fee—an added 30 percent.

If Wolf is the one who wins . . . He has never hurt me. Scared me, yes, but he’s had plenty of opportunity to do actual harm, and he never crossed that line.

But who knows if Wolf even has money like we’re talking about here? He seems like he’s thought of everything, but what if there’s someone with deeper pockets than him? The security in this place is intense. He can’t kill his way through the crime scions of the East Coast to get to me.