Original Sins by Faith Summers

9

Evie

I’m here.

I’m actually here in the building, at the Renoir Hotel, and I’m about to auction my body for money. I’m actually going to do it.

As the virgins taking part in the auctions make their procession to the backstage area, I walk in line and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I look like I’m functional, but my God, I’m so nervous I could faint and throw up at the same time.

The nerves assaulted my body the instant I left Cordelia. She’s here, but she’s not allowed in the auction. I’ll see her at the end after I’ve been sold and met my buyer.

My buyer.

That sounds so wrong.

Buyer, as in someone who purchases property.

That’s what I am—property—like a thing.

I don’t know how the other girls walking in front of me are holding it together so well. As if they’ve done this before. But they couldn’t have because they’re just like me.

So it’s just me who’s nervous as fuck.

And to make matters worse, I can feel several eyes on me, although I can’t see who’s watching.

This wall is designed for that.

Gina, the woman in charge of the auction, gave us the details of what would happen tonight. She reminded me a little of Effie Trinket, the announcer in the Hunger games with the crazy makeup and hair. Gina looked near enough the same.

This is the first part—the viewing. She talked about it like it was the most exciting thing in the world, and I fully expected her to say may the odds be with you at the end of her speech.

As we walk, I feel those eyes all over my body, and it just adds to the bizarreness of this whole week and the bad spell of shit I’ve been experiencing since my birthday.

This week is one I’ll never forget as long as I live just for the virginity check.

After I registered for the auction, I had to go into their office so they could check me to see if I really was a virgin. I used to read about things like that in school, and I never really thought much about it. Most of what I read was to do with people in the dark ages, or royalty, way back in the day.

I got the first-hand experience to see what that sort of test entailed, and it was awful. It was carried out by a fucking pervert of a man who obviously got the job because of his love for the female anatomy.

I’m here, and I feel like shit, but at the same time, part of me feels like I’m doing something active to achieve my goals.

Getting the money together is the biggest part of making that possible. Without it, I’m screwed.

With the starting bid at a hundred grand, I know I don’t have to worry too much. I just hope I get the total amount I need. It will be worse if I don’t get enough and still need more money after selling my soul.

Dad called this morning. Again. He’s been calling every day this week.

He took his time contacting me after he spoke to Cordelia. We had an argument on that first call. He was trying to sell me some bullshit that Peter was rough around the edge and didn’t mean to hurt me. Of course, that’s what Peter told him, and he believed him. I was only too sorry that I didn’t take pictures of my fucking face.

By the time I spoke to Dad, the bruises were already fading. I didn’t think it would have changed his mind anyway, so I didn’t push.

Every conversation, however, pushed me toward leaving.

So as nervous as I feel, this can’t be the wrong path. It’s just something I have to do. It’s the cost of survival.

I’m just worried about who will buy me. What kind of man will own me for a month?

Will he be older, as in really old, or younger like me. I doubt the latter, but Cordelia made me aware it could be a possibility.

What is definite, no matter if an older or younger man owns me, they will have a dark taste for the decadent and risqué.

Cordelia said I’ll be little more than a pet to play with.

Since I signed up to do everything, I expect my buyer to be of the adventurous variety who will most likely be well versed in BDSM. There was a list of what we consented to, and I said everything. That means it will be made known when I walk out on stage.

We take the stairs to the backstage area, so I shouldn’t still feel those eyes on me, but I do.

I still feel them undressing the barely-there robe I’m wearing. It’s all I’m wearing because if I want a higher bid, I can get naked if I want to.

Even though I’m last in the procession, I’m number ten.

I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

It could mean all the prospective men I could have hoped to purchase me will be gone.

At the same time, anyone who’s interested in me would have seen me already, and I won’t see their faces until I step on the auction block.

Gina smiles brightly and brings her hands together as she looks at us.

“Great. This is it, girls,” she nods with the same excitement. “Don’t be nervous. That’s the most important thing I have to tell you. There are good nerves and bad ones. The bad ones will make you lose money and look like you’ll be difficult to be with.”

She looks at each of us, but when her gaze lands on me, I wonder if she’s directing that comment at me. I wouldn’t be surprised since, of the bunch, I’m the one with chattering teeth and sweaty palms.

I get what she’s saying, though. It makes sense, and I would imagine it ruins the fantasy.

“Good nerves make you look sexy. It’s okay to look like you don’t know what to expect, but not terrified.” She chuckles and claps her hands. “Now, let’s do this. Numbers one to ten follow me.”

I’m up.

This is it.

We follow her onto the stage, where she takes us into a little cubicle with a full-length mirror.

This is the last section before you go out. The stairs leading off the stage go straight into the lounge where your buyer will collect you and contracts will be signed.

There’s another lady whose name I can’t remember waiting at the end of the stage. That’s her job while Gina runs the show.

“Good luck, girls,” she says and walks out onto the stage where she announces the beginning of the Golden Decadent auction.

Girl number one is the redhead that looks like Ariel from The Little Mermaid. She is sold within five minutes for one hundred and twenty-five thousand.

It makes me worry because that wouldn’t be enough for me. I hope it was enough for her. Ten men bid on her, and she was sold to an old guy, a Russian guy who looked to be in his late sixties.

I can’t see all the men properly from here, just the men sitting at the far end.

Girls number two to eight are sold for much more. Girl eight being the highest bid at a quarter million. She was a striking dark-haired Latino beauty who owned the stage when she went out. A sign that confidence is key.

So far, no one has taken off their clothes.

Girl number nine walks out on stage and is the first to do so, knocking the thought right out of my mind.

With her massive breasts and fully rounded ass, the starting bid for her is a quarter million.

I’m not sure if her tactic is desperation or confidence. Whichever, I commend her because she got her money’s worth.

She is sold for close to half a million to a super-hot guy who has to be in his twenties.

It’s my turn. The moment I think that my name is called.

I summon confidence, bravery, and every reason I’m doing this to help me. What helps is the image of Peter’s face and the memory of how violent he was with me.

Strength comes, and I walk out onto that stage, stepping up onto the auction block like I own the place.

The little smile I get from Gina suggests she’s pleased with my entrance. Now to hopefully get what I came here for.

I’m not going to take off my clothes just yet. I’ll save that for when I might need it the most. While I have big breasts, I’m not as endowed as girl number nine, and she had a body like Marilyn Monroe.

I’m more willowy and athletic with tighter curves. I also don’t think I should follow her act in the same way.

As Gina introduces me, I scan the crowd.

When I look to my left and see Georgiou Giordano and Henry Dubois sitting in the front row, my heart summersaults in my chest, and I swear my lungs constrict so tight they might collapse.

No way could it be them.

I must be so fascinated with them that I’m imagining things. Right?

With that reasoning, I blink several times to check if my eyes are screwing with me. But they aren’t. My perfect twenty, twenty vision is just fine and who I’m looking at is exactly who they are.

And they’re looking at me too. So is every other man in this room.

They’re looking at me and assessing my body to see if I’m what they want.

Georgiou and Henry are looking at me and trying to figure out if they want to buy me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Christ.

This is bad. Of course, Cordelia and I factored in that the men here could know Dad. I’d be able to guess that might happen just from the type of wealth this event would attract.

We didn’t think it would be a problem because nobody knows me.

Georgiou and Henry don’t know who I am either. But if they buy me, the fact that they are so close to Dad is the danger.

They go to my home to meet with him.

I look them over, doing my best not to appear so obvious, but I can’t help it because the other thing I notice is that only one of them has a bid paddle. Every man seated before me is participating in the auction. There are no guests or observers. Where there’s a bid paddle between two guys, it means they’re sharing.

As in actual sharing the woman they buy. As in, they both get to have sex with her.

The thought of them both taking me sends a shiver of fire through my body.

A fire that’s consuming and leaves my mouth drier than any desert.

Arousal claws through me, and at the same time, I feel like I’m trapped in a

web of shit, and I got myself into this mess.

I tear my eyes away from them and school my thoughts when a man from the back row makes the first bid.

It’s two hundred thousand.

I’m so shocked by the bid that I gaze ahead at him and see he’s a James Bond look-alike with a deadly stare. He even had the British accent to add to the package.

There are a lot more men in here than I realize. There are at least sixty.

Someone outbids James Bond taking the current bid to two-hundred and five grand.

My bidder is an elderly Italian man. He looks like the kind of man who would work for my father too, like a client at the bank. It is no wonder why I’ll have to disappear after this.

It would ruin Dad if this got out.

James Bond outbids him taking the bid to three hundred grand.

While I would prefer the British-looking James Bond lookalike, I have to admit that something stabs at my heart because Georgiou and Henry didn’t bid on me.

That’s the last thing I should be worried about now—the very last.

The sinking feeling comes because it means for all the years I’ve been fascinated with them, I was foolish. Very foolish, and I’m still foolish now for not seeing the bright side to this.

If James Bond wins me, chances are he doesn’t work for Dad, and I won’t have to lie too much.

It’s all bad no matter what I do because I don’t want to do this at all, and it’s going to be worse with a man who I don’t know at all.

My bid goes up to three-fifty, and I expect it to cap out at that. There’s no way anyone is going to outdo that. At three-fifty, I’d have more than enough money to disappear for good. Disappear forever.

I should be happy. In the background, I’m sure Cordelia can see what’s going on. I doubt she can see Georgiou or Henry, so she must be doing the happy dance.

Gina checks to see if there’s anyone else to challenge James Bond at three-fifty and when nobody answers, she says, “going once.”

“Going twice,” she adds with a vibrant smile.

“Five hundred thousand,” comes a voice from my left.

I snap my head around so fast my neck feels like it might break.

The voice belonged to Henry, who has the bidding paddle.

Our eyes lock when I look at him, and I don’t miss the playful smile brightening his very, very handsome face.

The same smile lifts Georgiou’s face, and he leans in closer to whisper something to Henry.

I would almost kill to know what he said.

“What an interesting turn of events,” Gina booms and looks my way.

“Six hundred thousand,” James Bond cuts in, and the guys look at him.

“Seven,” Henry replies, and my damn head spins.

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Nine-twenty five.”

Both Georgiou and Henry exchange glances as if they’ve already won. There’s a rush of whispers over the crowd, and Gina looks thoroughly impressed.

My brain is too numb to process what is happening.

Nine-twenty-five. That’s more money than I thought a person would pay for me or anybody here.

It’s an unimaginable amount of money that would set me up for life. I came in hoping for two hundred thousand with the money Cordelia and I already have. I thought it would be enough. This, however, is beyond my imagination. And they look like they aren’t finished bidding yet.

“Nine-fifty,” Henry says, turning around to look back at James Bond, who now looks furious.

“One million,” James Bond replies with an arrogant smile on his face.

“One and a half,” Georgiou counters, and his voice carries over the room the way I imagine it would my body.

The arrogance and confidence James Bond first exuded falls into the abyss, and the look Georgiou gives him shuts him right down.

“One point five million,” Gina booms again. “Going once, going twice and sold.”

When Georgiou and Henry return their gazes to me, the darkness in their eyes pierces through me. It’s a darkness that tells me they’re used to getting whatever they want, and they will expect the same from me.

I feel so exposed I could be naked, but it’s the type of nakedness that allows you to see straight through to my soul.

I’m sold.

To both of them.

They bought me.

They own me now.