The thought makes me tingle a little. I really am a foolish monster.

I sign before I can talk myself out of it. The Concierge gathers up the contract. “There’s a showing this afternoon before the auction itself. You will be expected to be silent and still for the duration.”

“Okay.” I swallow hard.

The Concierge leaves without another word. The lock clicks a few seconds later. I want to ask why they’re locking me in when I’ve consented to be here and signed the contract, but there’s no one to ask.

My seclusion doesn’t last long. A pair of people arrive and guide me into a different part of the building, where I’m subjected to a number of beauty treatments. A body scrub, a blowout, professional makeup. I thought I took good care of myself, have been called high-maintenance in the past, but this is on another level.

Through it all, they don’t say a word. After the third attempt at getting my questions answered, I give up and just enjoy the fun parts.

Unfortunately that’s when the grim thoughts start circling. Wolf made it sound like tonight he’d claim me publicly, but he might have been lying to keep me complacent. If one of Carver City’s enemies wins me in the auction . . . if they demand . . .

I shudder. I’m having regrets. Lots of regrets. Especially when I’m handed what I’m expected to wear for the viewing. “No. Absolutely not.”

The person—they never gave me their name—doesn’t blink. “We don’t have time to argue. Either wear this or wear nothing.”

I stare. Surely they wouldn’t make me go naked . . . but that’s exactly what they’re saying. Not that the garment hanging from their hands is much better. It’s not what Wolf picked out for me, but it covers just as little. Less, even.

No choice.

I pull on the sheer sheath dress; it’s a deep-emerald shade that makes the most of my lightly tanned skin and long red hair. The person’s hands me a pair of strappy stiletto sandals, and I slide them on with only a grimace of protest.

Then it’s showtime. Or viewing time, apparently.

There are . . . pedestals.

A part of me had assumed that this was specifically a sex auction, but apparently that’s not the case. There are a handful of people perched on pedestals, but there are even more that hold everything from a priceless diamond neckless to famous art to a strange chalice that makes the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end to a fucking flower. Who auctions off a flower?

A cornflower blue dress catches my eye and I nearly trip over my feet when the details register. That dress has adorned Bryson women in at least two presidential inaugurations. Those bitches are like the Kennedys but even more powerful. What the hell is that dress doing here?

I’m not the only person auctioning themselves—or being auctioned off either. There’s a petite blond woman who doesn’t make eye contact as I pass. She’s beautiful. I bet she’ll get a large bid.

I’m led to an empty pedestal near the end of the row and step carefully up to perch on it. There’s not much space, so I won’t be able to shift or even turn if I don’t want to risk falling right off it. It’s only twelve inches from the ground, but that would be humiliating.

Between one breath and the next, the lights drop, bathing the room in darkness. I have to clamp my jaw shut to keep from making a startled sound, but I hear at least a few people let one slip. It makes me feel less alone, even if I can no longer see anyone.

And then the spotlights turn on overhead. This time, I can’t stop myself from flinching. I couldn’t see much to begin with, but with the lights in my eyes, I might as well be onstage. I get the impression of doors opening, hear a murmur of people walking the aisles between us, but I can’t detect more than the faint outline of bodies.

It’s horrible . . . and kind of sexy.

No one tries to touch me. They don’t attempt to interact with me. They just circle my pedestal and talk about me like I’m an object to be purchased.

Which I suppose I am.

Through it all, I concentrate hard, trying to pick a familiar gravelly tone out of the masses. An impossible task. It distracts me, though, at least until a light voice says beside me, “Would you look at that hair. I’d love to have it wrapped around my fist.”

A lower voice chuckles. “I bet you would.” There’s a hint of a Russian accent there. “But this one isn’t for you, love. I hear the Wolf has his eye on her. You know better than to get between that one and his prey.”

I turn my head in the direction of the voices, opening my mouth to question why they know my Wolf, but it’s too late, they’re moving away. Even knowing it’s a terrible idea, I almost step down and go after them. I thought Wolf was a name I made up for him, one to give a cheeky nod to his reference to my being Little Red Riding Hood. If other people call him that, does it mean he’s done this before?

Wolf promised I’d get my answers tonight at the auction, so I’ll just have to ask him when I see him. Besides, I signed the contract. It’s too late to back out now.

More, I don’t want to back out.

My parents are going to kill me when they find out what I’ve done. I push the thought away and focus on getting through the next however long. People keep coming and coming; some don’t bother to pause near me, intent on other prizes, but others do.

They comment on my breasts, my hair, my ass. Some of the bolder ones even speculate on what my pussy tastes like.

I pass the time by fantasizing about what Wolf would do to them if they tried to find out for themselves. It would be bloody and violent, and when he came to me afterward, evidence of violence all over him, he’d fuck me harder than I’ve ever been fucked.

Slowly, so slowly that I almost don’t notice, the last of the attendees file out of the space. The lights come up, and I’m left blinking and disorientated.

A different person than the one who’s spent the day corralling me about appears, dressed in the same expensive black clothing. “This way, please.”

I’m led through yet another set of doors and to a small dressing room. There, my makeup is retouched, my hair smoothed, and my body shimmied into the dress Wolf provided, my feet strapped into the sky-high heels.

The last one felt indecent; this one is an invitation. It’s just as over-the-top as I’d suspected. I stare at myself in the mirror—at my rosy nipples on display, at the hint of my slit between my thighs, all framed with gorgeous inlaid pearls.

With my hair down in careless waves and my makeup kept mostly natural, I look like some kind of sea nymph that just rose from the ocean spray.

One that wants to fuck.

“Please wait here until someone comes for you. They’ll bring you out to the stage where the bidding will take place and then bring you back here to reside until the auction ends and the details of payment are finalized. You will meet the winner in the room they book after all that’s done.”

My stomach feels hollow in a way that has nothing to do with hunger. This is happening. There’s no going back now. Maybe there wasn’t from the moment I got that first text message. Earlier, even.

“Okay,” I manage.

The person smiles. “We handle these things with the utmost care. Your payment will be deposited in the account you provided us before you leave this room.”

“It’s too bad I’m not a virgin. I’d make a killing.”

They laugh a little. “You’d be surprised. Some of our clients’ tastes run to the untouched, but plenty of them prefer a partner who knows what they like and is willing to experiment.”

Experiment.

The word sends a zing right through me. “Right. Well, I guess that’s me.”

“I’ll be back when it’s time.”

Once again, I’m left alone with my own thoughts. This time, though, there are none to speak of. I sit numbly and wait for my turn, wait for my fate.