Chapter 1 Like A Thief In The Night

• Sienna
• It's past midnight when I get home, the perfect clear sky black but for the sliver of the moon.
• The walk from the bus stop is only two blocks, but this isn't the best neighborhood and I'm on my guard.
• The one thing I can consistently rely on is that the street lamps will always be broken. Twice on the short walk I catch myself glancing over my shoulder, the streets quieter than they should be.
• But I'm alone.
• All the windows of all the houses are dark and the only sound is that of my keys jangling as I reach down to find them at the bottom of my bag.
• I insert the key into the door lock and when it opens, nothing happens.
• Relieved, I push the door open and step into the house.
• And before I've even pulled the key out or closed the door, I know something's wrong.
• It's the smell of the place. It's different. Subtle, but it doesn't belong.
• Aftershave.
• And not just the scent.
• Instinct tells me to run. To get out. But before I can process, the light goes on and it's simultaneous to someone clearing their throat.
• It's only then that I manage to get my legs to work.
• But I don't even get out of the house before a hand clamps down around my arm and tugs me back inside as the door is slammed shut.
• How, with my heart hammering against my chest, I somehow don't scream as I look at the man sitting on the armchair, a worn-out antique that came with the rental.
• As I take in the two bodyguards who stand in my living room.
• The third who's holding onto me, his grip like a vice.
• "Let me go!" I begin struggling.
• The man in the chair watches and I can see he's entertained when his lips curve upward.
• "Ms. Williams," the man in the armchair says.
• Of course he knows my name.
• Men like this, they're not petty thieves. Not here to steal things. Not at a house like this anyway.
• Armchair Man checks his watch. "You're late."
• "Wha..." But my question dies away as he rises to stand.
• He's a giant. Bigger even than the one beside me, and I find myself shrinking back.
• "And now we're behind schedule," he says casually, simply continuing his sentence.
• I spring back as he approaches.
• He grins and I get the feeling he's used to this. To people being afraid of him. I get the feeling he likes it.
• "Who are you?" I ask, voice trembling.
• "I'm not the one you should be worrying about, sweetheart, " he says with a grin.
• He gestures with a single nod to the man at the door to open it.
• I look outside at the sedan that's just pulled up to the curb. It looks totally out of place here in this neighborhood.
• "Coming?" Armchair Man asks me.
• I swallow quickly.
• He gives me that grin again and leans in close like we're old friends.
• But I know men like him. I grew up with them.
• And there's nothing remotely friendly about them.
• "I suggest you walk. The other way isn't so pleasant."
• I also know there's no benefit to doing as they say. No leniency for obedience. And so I try again to run because I can't not.
• This time, I make it out onto the porch and it's when I'm setting foot on the front lawn that he catches me.
• Armchair Man. And his grip, it's different than the other man's.
• Harder.
• More cruel.
• "For a minute there, I thought you'd be smarter," he says, beginning to lead me down the cracked pavement to the waiting sedan, my struggles seemingly inconsequential.
• "Get in the goddamned car," he orders, his voice harder.
• He doesn't give me a chance to obey.
• Instead, he wraps one arm around my middle and a moment later, I'm in the car and he's beside me, and when we pull away, I hear the locks click into place and that sound, it's like a foretelling of my future.
• --------
• Giovanni
• I sip whiskey from my place at the back booth of the auction floor. It's the quarterly draw, a party I throw for my associates, for lack of a better word.
• We've had a good quarter, and this is their reward.
• Every man who's walked into this room is captured by the many cameras. Every name noted. Every bid recorded in the ledger.
• Piano music sets the backdrop, the collection of voices loud over it even though most speak in whispers during the breaks in entertainment.
• These, too, are recorded, and they'll be dissected later.
• Pretty women serve drinks and anything else required of them as the stage is readied, the next girl taking her place on the raised dais.
• This one, her name is Diana or Donna or something. She looks young, but I'm assured she's legal. They like young, the men gathered here.
• She's on offer for one night only, and from the look of her, she'll bring a high bid.
• I study her face on my screen from the cameras installed behind the curtain. She's hesitant, to say the least, but Marcus handles it.
• Marcus' loan comes due tonight — and I've been more than patient so he's got some incentive to make sure she gets her sweet little ass on that stage.
• Besides, she'll be paid handsomely for her time. For the use of her body.
• I watch as she's situated on the dais that's set at the very center of the stage. The auctioneer, an old English man, takes his place behind the podium. The gong sounds as the curtains are raised and a hush falls over the room.
• The spotlight shines on the girl and she squints into the bright light, momentarily blinded. Two women peel the cream-colored cloak from her and let it drape at her feet.
• There's a swell of approving sounds from the men who are probably all sporting hard-ons for the pretty, young blonde.
• I admit, she is magnificent. Not my type, but magnificent.
• The auctioneer takes in the response and starts the bidding high.
• Good.
• Flesh comes at a cost. One of these bastards can afford to pay.
• The elevator doors slide open, drawing my attention. Axel steps out and turns his gaze only momentarily to the stage. He's about as interested as I am in that girl. These women, it's too fucking easy with them.
• Donna, or whatever the fuck her name is, is probably creaming herself as she's turned, bent over, and the numbers being shouted out grow higher and higher.
• I'm more interested in the woman who's following Axel.
• Well, following isn't quite the word.
• She's got a man on either side of her and, for as small as she is, she's struggling to free herself of them.
• She turns her head this way and that as she takes in the scene. I think she gasps when her gaze falls on the exposed woman on the stage about whom the auctioneer is embellishing the virtues of a virgin ass.
• He's good at this.
• Because her price just doubled.
• The word virgin never disappoints. I get it. There's something about being the first man to sink your cock into virgin territory.
• Marcus catches my eye from the side of the stage. He raises his glass to me.
• I raise mine back because this puts me in a good mood. It means I'll get my money tonight and I won't have to get my hands dirty for it.
• Contrary to my reputation, I don't like getting my hands dirty.
• I will when I need to, but this is easier. Cleaner.