Auctioned to the Prisoners (Auctioned #4)

1

LORY

ENDS OF THE EARTH

“I need to raise money fast.” My hands shake as I clutch the sweating beer bottle, relishing the cold against my clammy skin.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn’s dark, overdrawn eyebrows furrow as she assesses me across the tiny wooden pub table. It’s gloomy here and smells of stale carpets and sour booze, and we’re surrounded by leering men who’re hoping they’ll get laid tonight.

“My sister’s got herself mixed up with an asshole. He’s terrorizing her. She needs cash to move out of state with her kids, so he won’t be able to come after her.”

“And that’s your problem, why?”

Evelyn’s chewing gum while drinking her gin and tonic and the combination of flavors makes me queasy, but she never takes the gum out, even when kissing the skeevy guys who frequent this place. She’s fifteen years older than me, but still dresses and acts like she’s sixteen. At least three of her exes are banged up, and her brother runs with one of the criminal biker gangs that are tearing this town to shreds. If anyone can help me work out how to get the money I need, it’ll be her.

“If it was just her,” I say, “I’d tell her to make her own way home. She could crash with me.”

Evelyn widens her eyes in disbelief. She’s seen my place. It’s a tiny room with a corner kitchenette and a shower where a closet used to be. It’s barely habitable for me, let alone for two. “But those kids…”

My niece is eleven months old, and my nephew is three. They’re innocent and probably already experienced enough trauma to fuck their lives up for good. Me and my sister saw enough of it growing up, and I don’t want them to go through the same as we did.

“You’re too soft,” she says, knocking back her drink. She bites the corner of her fuchsia pink lips. “You could borrow from a loan shark. I can ask Josh for a contact number?”

“And then I’d be in the hands of a violent man.” I peel the label from the bottle and drop it on the table, remembering those kinds of men and the weight of their fists on our flimsy trailer door when they came to collect. No, thank you.

“There’s prostitution,” she says with a grin, knowing full well I’d never survive on the streets. The pimps in this town have the girl trade on lockdown. No way I want to get involved with one of those bloodsuckers, and anyway, my tits are too flat.

“Sell a kidney?”

She’s treating this as a joke, but it isn’t for me. Kennedy is tough but she sounded broken on the phone. Worrying about her keeps me up at night.

“I think I’d like to keep all my body parts.” I grimace. “There’s blood, though. Shame I’m not a dude. I could jack off in a cup daily for cash, but it wouldn’t be enough.”

“What about the auction?” she says as an afterthought.

“What auction?”

Leaning across the table, she cups her hand around her mouth. “Girls,” she says softly. “Josh was telling me about it. Last month, a girl sold her virginity for twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“That ship has sailed.” I nibble my nail, considering the dirtbag I wasted it on and how he wasn’t worth shit, let alone the gift of something that could be worth twenty-five grand. “And I’m hardly salable.” I look down at myself. In scruffy jeans and a thrifted shirt, I look like a college reject. I haven’t been able to afford a haircut for my long dark hair in over a year, and my nails are bitten to the quick.

“I could work on you,” she says, rubbing her lips. “And you set the terms if you’re putting yourself up for auction.”

“Is there an alternative?” As the words leave my mouth, sickness rises in my stomach. Of course, there’s an alternative. Violent men are everywhere, just waiting to prey on a desperate woman like me. “I don’t need twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Everyone needs twenty-five thousand dollars.” She takes her chewing gum out and wraps it in my beer label, then fishes for a new stick in her purse, chewing it frantically until it’s molded to her mouth. “Could you do it, though? Fuck someone for money… someone you don’t know?” It’s kind of rich coming from Evelyn. Most Saturday nights, she ends up under someone she’s just met. She might not fuck for money, but she fucks for drinks and dinner, and the chance of a new purse. She fucks to be less alone or less washed up. She fucks, still dreaming that a happily-ever-after ending might emerge from the grunting and sweating.

Could I fuck a stranger?

I’ve had plenty of sex, much of it underwhelming. Daddy issues do that to a person. I’ve looked for love in all the wrong places, often with men I didn’t have a connection with. I’m always attracted to damaged men, and they’re always looking to damage me. How different would this be? At least I’d get something out of it besides carpet burn, a UTI, and an awkward goodbye.

“I’m struggling to cover rent right now. Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” I say.

“I’ll call Josh,” Evelyn says. “He’ll know more.”

***

I wake up late with a sluggish head and dry eyes as the pipework in the upstairs apartment creaks like old bones, and outside, a police siren screeches loud enough to wake the graveyard. I climb out of bed, and in two steps, I’m in my kitchenette. The pan I use to boil water is waiting on the stove and I fill it with just a cup; no point wasting energy boiling more than what I need to make a single cup of coffee. My stomach rumbles. My decision to exchange dinner for beer last night has left me hollow and drained.

When I’m with Evelyn, I don’t make good choices. The sleezy man I danced with before the bar closed comes back to me, and I grimace.

I find a few slices of bread in the refrigerator, and some peanut butter on the counter. I don’t get paid until next week, so I have to eke out what I have. After work tonight, I’ll be able to bring home some leftovers. If I stop at the supermarket on the way home, I might be able to get some discounted food with the last few dollars in my purse.

As I spread the peanut butter, my phone rings. The saved photo of my sister’s happy face flashes up on the screen, cheeks squished by the chubbiness of her children on either side. I answer immediately, fearing the worst.

“Kennedy.”

“Lory.” She’s whispering, which is bad. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, not the middle of the night when she might have reason to stay quiet.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s getting worse.” Her voice is tight like her throat is swollen with dread. I clasp the countertop and listen to her soft, shallow breaths.

“Did something happen?”

“He’s been yelling at me and at the kids. He threw their toys outside and they were crying. His eyes… I don’t know… it’s like they’re dead, Lory. It’s like there’s nothing behind them.”

“Shit.” I run my hand through my hair and pace the few steps that spans my tiny apartment.

“I can’t do this anymore.” The sob that escapes from her throat breaks me. She’s my little sister, and I’ve spent my childhood trying to protect her. Now, she’s too far away for me to shelter her with my body or defend her with my words. Men like her boyfriend only listen to the fists of a bigger, angrier man, and I don’t have a boyfriend or husband to step in.

“I know, sweetie.” The half-drunk conversation I had with Evelyn last night comes back to me through the fog. The auction. Josh confirmed the details. For someone like me, who’s been around the block more than a few times, it’s a thirty day minimum. The bidders want their money's worth. I’d heard the terms and discounted the idea, but Kennedy’s desperation resurrects it. What other choice do I have? Even if I work double shifts, I barely make enough to cover my own expenses. I chew on my nail and stare at the bubbling water that’s threatening to spill over. I’m out of time, and out of options. It seems like the theme of my life. I flick off the burner. “I have a plan to get the money so you can leave.”

“What plan?” She sounds so hopeful.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll have it in a month.”

“A month? Where are you getting it?”

I ignore the second part of her question. “It’s the best I can do. Listen, if it gets worse… if you need to leave before then, find a refuge. I might not be contactable for thirty days. Just know that I’m coming for you then. Okay?”

“I don’t like this,” she says. When I don’t explain myself further, she sighs. “Okay.”

I hate being so far away from her, and I hate that I’m so helpless right now.

“I love you,” I whisper. “It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?”

When we were still living with my momma, and her boyfriend was raging, we’d hide under my bed with our stuffed animals and hope he wouldn’t come looking for us. I’d say the same thing, “It’ll be okay, Kennedy,” and she’d hold my hand until we were both sweaty with fear. I didn’t believe it then, and I’m struggling to believe it now. I’m going to do my best, but this plan I have isn’t without risk, and Kennedy staying with Derek for another month is laced with danger. I just don’t know what else to do.

“Just message me every day in case I can access my phone. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The line clicks off, but my heart races for another ten minutes.