All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

14. Talon

TALON

The two burly men usher me backstage, their grip on my arms unnecessarily tight. The dim lighting and musty air behind the curtain is a stark contrast to the opulent auction room we'd just left. My heart races, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I just bid 250 million dollars on a woman I barely knew, and now I am being led like a prized bull to the slaughter.

As we round the corner, I catch sight of the woman in the striking red dress who had been orchestrating this whole twisted affair on stage. She stands there, cool as ice, her perfectly manicured nails tapping away at a tablet. Not a hint of emotion crosses her face as she looks up at me, as if selling human beings is just another day at the office for her.

"Congratulations on your...acquisition…Mr.?” she purrs, her accent thick, but one I cannot place.

“Blackwood. Charles Blackwood.” The casual way she refers to Vesper as a "purchase" makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to remain composed. I'm deep in the lion's den now, and one wrong move could jeopardize everything. Instead, I plaster on my most charming smile, the one that had gotten me out of more than a few sticky situations. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, Miss?”

“Natasha,” she purrs. The way she says her name sends prickles of dread through my body.

"I'm eager to finalize this transaction and be on my way."

She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Patience, Mr. Blackwood. We must ensure the payment clears and all the necessary paperwork is in order before we can release your purchase to you."

My eyes dart around the cramped backstage area, searching for any sign of Vesper. But she is nowhere to be seen. The knot in my stomach tightens. Where had they taken her?

"I understand," I say, keeping my voice level despite the growing unease. "But I'd like to inspect my purchase now if you don't mind. Make sure she's as pristine as you claim. You know how fluorescent lighting can distort certain.. damages."

Natasha's lips curve into a cold smile. "All in due time, Mr. Blackwood. For now, if you'll follow me, we have some forms for you to sign."

As she leads me towards a makeshift office, I can’t help but marvel at the surreal nature of it all. Here I am about to sign papers as if I were buying a car or a house, not a human being. The absurdity of it all would be laughable if it weren't so damn terrifying.

Natasha's demeanor doesn't change as she slides the documents towards me. There's not even a flicker of emotion in her eyes as she points out where to sign. It's clear that for her, this is just another transaction, no different from selling a piece of jewelry or a rare painting.

"The payment is being processed as we speak," one of the guards informs us, his voice a low rumble. I force myself not to outwardly sigh in relief. Of all the accounts for Alex to skim, we’d gotten lucky it was one of Victor’s. The bastard had way too much money, but in this situation, it worked out in our favor.

I scan the documents before me, trying to absorb every detail without appearing too interested. The legalese is dense, filled with terms like "transfer of ownership”. There is a page of medical records as well.

“As you can see on her medical records, she has been given a long-lasting contraception injection prior to her sale. There is also a certified letter from her owner’s physician outlining her physical evaluation at the time of sale.” Natasha points to a line toward the top of the page that reads “confirmed intact hymen.”

“I’ll need you to sign here to accept your purchase as stated on the medical record.”

My stomach churns as I force myself to sign page after page, each signature feeling like a betrayal to everything I believe in, but at least, the name on her ownership papers isn’t my real name. That, I can live with.

As I flip through the stack, a name catches my eye: Johan Mikeal. I commit it to memory, along with a few others that stand out - names of shell companies and offshore accounts. Every bit of information could be crucial later.

Just as I'm about to sign the final page, a small addendum at the bottom catches my attention. "What's this?" I ask, tapping the paper with my index finger, trying to keep my tone casual.

Natasha leans over, her perfume - something expensive and cloying - invading my senses. "Ah, yes. That is a special breeding clause," she explains, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Miss Rossi's previous owners wish to maintain rights to her harvested eggs, and any living offspring she may produce."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I struggle to keep my face neutral, even as rage boils beneath the surface. "Breeding clause?" I repeat, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I wasn't aware this was part of the deal."

Natasha's lips curl into a cold smile. "It's a standard procedure for acquisitions of Miss Rossi's caliber. Her genetic makeup is quite valuable, you see. The clause ensures that her previous owners retain rights to any potential future progeny."

The longer she talks, the sicker it makes me feel. I knew that shit like this happened in our world, but seeing it first hand is another beast all together. The casual way she discusses Vesper's reproductive rights as if she were nothing more than a prized mare, makes me want to flip the table and burn this whole place to the ground. But I can't. Not yet. Not if I want to get Vesper out of here safely.

"I see," I manage, swallowing hard. "And what exactly does this entail for me, as her new...owner?"

"Oh, it's quite simple," Natasha replies, her manicured nails tapping against the document. "Should Miss Rossi become pregnant during your ownership, you would be required to notify her previous owners. They would then have first rights to any resulting children." Jesus fucking Christ. It’s as if I am buying a heifer for breeding stock.

My mind reels at the implications. This isn't just about Vesper anymore. It's about potential innocent lives, treated as nothing more than commodities before they're even conceived.

"And if I refuse to agree to this clause?" I ask, testing the waters.

Natasha's eyes harden, the first real emotion I've seen from her. "Then I'm afraid we cannot proceed with the sale. The breeding clause is non-negotiable."

I nod slowly, pretending to consider my options. In reality, I know I have no choice. If I want to get Vesper out of here, I have to play along, no matter how much it sickens me. With a heavy heart and a forced smile, I nod. "Very well. I understand."

I sign the final page, my signature feeling like a death sentence. The weight of what I've just agreed to settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket. But I can't dwell on it now. I have to stay focused.

"Excellent," Natasha purrs, gathering the documents with practiced efficiency. "Now, let's confirm the transfer of funds, shall we?"

We wait in tense silence as one of the guards makes a phone call. The minutes stretch like hours, each tick of the clock echoing in my ears. Finally, the guard nods, his face impassive.

"The funds have cleared, ma'am," he announces.

Relief floods through me, but I keep my expression neutral. "Wonderful," I say, infusing my voice with just the right amount of enthusiasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to see my purchase."

Natasha's lips curl into a cold smile. "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. Right this way."

She leads me down a narrow corridor, the click of her heels on the concrete floor echoing ominously. We stop in front of a nondescript door, and Natasha produces a key card, swiping it with practiced ease.

The door swings open, and my breath catches in my throat. There, in the center of the stark room, sits Vesper. She's perched on a simple metal chair, her posture rigid and uncomfortable. A black blindfold covers her eyes, and I can see the outline of bulky headphones beneath her cascade of blonde hair.

I want nothing more than to rush to her side, to rip away the blindfold and headphones, to tell her that everything will be okay. But I can't. Not with Natasha's piercing gaze boring into my back.

"Well?" Natasha prompts, her voice laced with amusement. "Aren't you going to inspect your purchase?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to approach Vesper with calculated nonchalance. I circle her slowly, taking in every detail. The curve of her neck, the slight tremor in her hands, the way her chest rises and falls with each measured breath. She's scared, I realize, but she's doing her damnedest not to show it.

"She's exactly as advertised," I manage, keeping my voice level. "I'm pleased."

Natasha nods, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Excellent. Now, Mr. Blackwood, would you like her gift-wrapped for the journey home?"

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "Gift-wrapped?" I repeat, unsure of what she means.

"Yes, it's a service we offer for long-distance transport," Natasha declares. “I find that it makes traveling together a bit easier.”

I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what "gift-wrapped" could possibly mean in this context. But I can't risk showing any hesitation or confusion. I need to maintain my facade as a seasoned buyer in this twisted world.

"Yes, of course," I reply smoothly, forcing a smile. "Gift-wrapped would be perfect."

Natasha's eyes gleam with a cold satisfaction that sends a chill down my spine. She snaps her fingers, and one of the guards hands her a small case. My heart races as she opens it, revealing a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

"What's that?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Just a little something to make the journey more comfortable," Natasha explains, approaching Vesper with practiced ease. "It's perfectly safe, I assure you. She'll be out for about six hours - plenty of time for you to get her settled and on your way home. We can provide you with an extra dose if your journey is a bit longer. "

Before I can protest, Natasha swiftly injects the contents of the syringe into Vesper's neck. I watch in horror as Vesper's body goes limp almost instantly, her head lolling to the side.

"There we are," Natasha says, stepping back. "All wrapped up and ready to go."

I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to lash out. The casual way they're treating Vesper, as if she's nothing more than a package to be shipped, makes my blood boil. But I force myself to remain calm, to play the part of the satisfied customer.

"Excellent," I manage, my voice tight. "Is there anything else?"

Natasha tilts her head, considering. "We do recommend having a tracker placed before leaving. Just as a precaution, you understand. Some of our clients find it helpful."

I shake my head firmly. "That won't be necessary. My team will handle any tracking once we're in the car."

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn't push the issue. "As you wish, Mr. Blackwood. Now, shall we get your purchase ready for transport?"

I watch, my stomach churning, as two guards lift Vesper's unconscious form from the chair. They handle her with an unsettling efficiency, securing her wrists and ankles with padded restraints before wrapping her in a thick, dark blanket.

"Standard procedure," Natasha explains, noticing my gaze. "It ensures a smooth transition from our care to yours."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Seeing Vesper like this would have kill Oscar. I know how badly he wanted to be the one to do this, but it’s better this way. I barely know her and seeing her bound and drugged is nearly too much for me to bear. Oz wouldn’t have lasted two seconds without blowing our cover.

"Your driver is waiting at the rear entrance," Natasha informs me, leading the way as the guards carry Vesper. "I trust you'll find everything to your satisfaction."

As soon as the cold night air hits my lungs, I see Alex standing by the SUV we’d arrived in with the back driver’s side door open. The guard places Vesper’s limp body inside before stepping back and allowing Alex to close the door behind her. He shifts to the other side of the car, waiting for me to join her.

"Thank you again for your purchase, Mr. Blackwood," Natasha purrs, her cold smile never quite reaching her eyes. "If you find yourself unsatisfied in any way, please don't hesitate to let me know. I assure you, resale will be no issue at all."

The casual way she talks about reselling Vesper as if she were nothing more than a defective appliance, makes bile rise in my throat. I swallow hard, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, but I appreciate the offer."

With a final nod to Natasha, I round the back of the SUV and climb into the back passenger side, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it. The leather seat creaks beneath me as I settle in next to Vesper's still form. She looks so vulnerable wrapped in that dark blanket, her face partially obscured by her blonde hair. I resist the urge to reach out and brush it away, to check if she's breathing. I can't show any concern, not yet. Not until we're safely away.

I wait for Alex to slide into the driver’s seat.

“Get us the fuck out of here,” I quietly order him. He pulls away from the curb nonchalantly and waits until we’re a few miles down the road to speed up.

Vesper stirs slightly beside me, a small moan escaping her lips. Without thinking, I reach out to steady her, my hand hovering just above her shoulder.

"How long until we reach the safe house?" I ask Alex, my voice tight with tension.

"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty if we need to take a more circuitous route," he replies, his eyes never leaving the road.

"Where’s Oz and Zaire?"

“They found their own ride. They’ll meet us there.”

The car takes a sharp turn, and Vesper's body shifts against mine. Even unconscious, there's a tension in her frame, as if some part of her is still fighting, still aware of the danger. I adjust the blanket around her shoulders.

I watch Vesper's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, my own heart racing in tandem. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face as we speed through the night, each mile taking us further from that hellish auction house. Her blonde hair looks dull in the dim light of the car's interior. I resist the urge to smooth it back from her forehead, to offer some small comfort even in her drug-induced sleep.

Alex weaves through traffic, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I count the minutes, each one feeling like an eternity. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. Twenty-five. Finally, we turn onto a quiet suburban street, the houses dark and silent at this late hour.

As we pull into the driveway of a nondescript two-story beach house, I spot Zaire's imposing figure waiting on the front porch. His face is a mask of concern and barely contained rage as he strides towards the car.

“How is she?" he asks as soon as I open the door, his voice a low growl.

"Unconscious," I reply, my throat tight. "They drugged her before we left. Some kind of sedative."

Zaire's eyes flash dangerously. "Those bastards," he mutters, then turns to Alex. "Oz called in a favor. There's a doctor waiting inside.”

“How’d he get a doctor here at this time of night in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

“She owes us a favor. Her daughter was the one who was attempting to extort that politician’s son.”

I nod, relief washing over me. "Good thinking. Alex, can you sweep her for trackers before we take her in? I wouldn't put it past those fuckers to have planted something on her."

Alex nods grimly, producing a small device from his pocket. He runs it carefully over Vesper's still form, paying extra attention to her neck and the backs of her ears. After a tense minute, he shakes his head. "She's clean. No trackers."

"Thank fuck," I breathe, then turn to Zaire. "Can you carry her in? I don't trust myself right now."

Zaire doesn't hesitate. With gentle hands that belie his imposing stature, he lifts Vesper from the car, cradling her against his broad chest. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and a strand of her blonde hair catches on the scar on his neck. The sight makes my chest ache.

We make our way into the house, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the chill night air. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor is waiting for us in a bedroom that's been hastily converted into a makeshift exam room.

"Put her on the bed," she instructs Zaire, already moving to check Vesper's vitals. Zaire lays Vesper down with utmost care, removing the restraints binding her. His hands linger for a moment before he steps back. Oz stands in the corner of the room, his gaze unwavering. His face is dangerously unreadable.

I watch anxiously as the doctor examines Vesper, her movements precise and practiced. She gently lifts Vesper's eyelids, shining a small penlight into each eye. "Pupils are equal and reactive," she murmurs, more to herself than to us. "That's a good sign."

The doctor's hands move efficiently, checking Vesper's pulse, her breathing, and even her skin tone. I find myself holding my breath as if my own stillness could somehow contribute to Vesper's well-being. The room is thick with tension, broken only by the soft rustle of the doctor's movements and the steady beep of a portable heart monitor she's attached to Vesper's finger.

"I'm going to draw some blood," the doctor announces, reaching for her bag. "We'll need to run some tests to make sure there are no unexpected complications from whatever they gave her."

I wince as the needle pierces Vesper's skin, a drop of crimson welling up before the vial begins to fill. The sight of her blood makes this all feel more terrifyingly real. What have we gotten ourselves into?

"Her pulse is strong," the doctor says, her voice calm and reassuring. "But she's slightly dehydrated. I'd recommend starting an IV if you have the supplies."

Oz nods silently, his eyes never leaving Vesper's face. He moves to a cabinet in the corner, retrieving an IV bag and tubing with practiced ease. It's a stark reminder of how prepared we are for situations like this, how often we’ve had to patch each other up in secret.

As the doctor sets up the IV, I can't help but marvel at Vesper's strength. Even unconscious, there's a resilience about her that's palpable. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, her face peaceful despite the ordeal she's been through. I find myself studying the curve of her jaw, the sweep of her eyelashes against her cheeks, committing every detail to memory.

"Without more advanced diagnostic equipment, there's not much more I can do right now," the doctor says, stepping back from the bed. "She seems stable, but I'd strongly recommend bringing her into my office tomorrow for a full workup. We need to know exactly what they gave her and what long-term effects it might have."

I nod, my throat tight. "Of course. Whatever she needs."

The doctor turns to Oz, her expression serious. "I'll call you as soon as I have the blood test results. In the meantime, keep her hydrated and monitor her breathing. If anything changes, anything at all - call me immediately."

As the doctor leaves, Alex and Zaire follow her out, their hushed voices fading down the hallway. I linger for a moment, my eyes fixed on Vesper's still form. Oz remains rooted to his spot, his gaze never wavering from her face.

I feel a strange mix of relief and tension coursing through my veins. We got her out, but at what cost? The memory of signing those papers, of agreeing to that horrific breeding clause, makes my stomach churn. I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

"I'll take the first watch," Oz says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. He moves to sit in the chair beside the bed, his movements careful and controlled.

I nod, knowing there's no point in arguing.

"Call me if anything changes," I say, my voice sounding hoarse even to my own ears.

Oz nods, his eyes still fixed on Vesper like she’ll disappear again right in front of him again.