"Gentlemen, welcome to our exclusive event. We have eight items for your consideration tonight. As always, payment is cash only, and the merchandise will be delivered to your specified location within 24 hours."
My trigger finger itches. Eight women. Eight lives. Eight daughters, maybe sisters, maybe mothers.
Like Emma.
The first girl is brought out. Can't be older than twenty. Drugged, barely able to stand. The bidding starts at $5,000. My stomach churns as men raise numbered paddles, the price climbing for this child who should be worrying about prom, not being sold like cattle.
I memorize faces. Every single one. They'll all pay later.
Three more girls are paraded out. Each one younger and more terrified than the last. I've seen war. I've seen death. But this... this is a special kind of evil.
Then she appears.
The fifth girl stumbles onto the stage, brown hair tangled and dirty, falling in waves around a face too thin from malnutrition.Unlike the others, she's not drugged. Her green eyes are clear, hollow with despair but burning with a quiet defiance. She's older than the others, maybe early twenties. Curves that even the shabby dress they've put her in can't hide.
"Item five is more... developed than our usual offerings," the auctioneer announces with a smirk that makes me want to tear his throat out. "Starting bid is lower at $3,000 due to age and condition."
Condition. Like she's a fucking used car.
Something in my chest breaks. Reforms into something primal and possessive. I've never felt anything like it.
A paddle raises. "$3,000."
Another. "$3,500."
My hand tightens around my phone as I text Ghost: *Now. Back room. Human trafficking confirmed.*
I raise my hand. The auctioneer nods at me. "The gentleman in the back."
"$10,000," I say, my voice carrying through the room.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The girl's eyes find mine, and what I see there isn't relief. It's resignation. She thinks I'm just another buyer. Another monster.
She's not entirely wrong.
"$10,000 from the newcomer," the auctioneer says with a greedy smile. "Do I hear $11,000?"
A paddle raises.
"$20,000," I counter immediately.
The girl's eyes widen. The auctioneer practically salivates.
"$20,000 going once—"
"$25,000," calls a voice from my right. Fat man. Sweating through his expensive suit.
I stand up slowly, unfolding to my full height. The room goes quiet as I reach inside my cut and pull out my gun, aiming it directly at the auctioneer's head.
"I think you misunderstood," I say, my voice deadly calm. "She's coming with me. And so are all the others."
Chaos erupts. Security rushes in, but they're met by the other Outlaw Order members crashing through the back door, guns drawn. Shots fire. People scream. The girl on stage drops to her knees, covering her head.
I move through the crowd like a shadow, taking down anyone who gets in my way. Kneecaps, shoulders, ribs. Not fatal. Pine Haven is our territory, and we're here to protect it, not turn it into a war zone. Sheriff might not like us, but he tolerates the Outlaw Order because we keep worse elements out.
"Blade!" I bark over the chaos. "That one. The one with the scar. We need him alive and talking."
Blade nods, moving toward the man trying to slip out the side door. He takes him down with a tackle that would make any NFL coach proud.
