Page 11 of Sold to the Bikers

A murmur goes through the room as I snap my attention to the new bidder. It’s the man in the suit who was talking to Crusher. He looks up at me from his chair, his lips curling into a seductive smile.

Why did he just jump into the bidding? He didn’t seem interested until just now.

I bet he drives a nice car, and lives in a fancy house. That suit looks both expensive and out of place in a biker den. Maybe he’ll win and I can pretend to be a high end escort like in Pretty Woman. He’ll fall in love with me and we’ll have a messed up happily ever after.

But he’s no Richard Gere, and there’s nothing seductive about his nearly black eyes. Just eerie darkness, and the longer I look, the sharper his smile gets, until it’s ready to draw blood. There’s no salvation there, either. He wants to own me, and while I’m pretty sure what the bikers want, I get the feeling sex is only a small part of this man’s desires.

“Motherfucker,” growls the biker, scanning the crowd, but I doubt he can see the guy in the suit. His friend, the wall of a man who caught me at the bar, is saying something, but the bidding biker shakes his head. “Thirteen!”

This is insane.

"Fifteen," the man in the suit responds coolly. His suit jacket has opened to reveal the dark hilt of a gun. Now I’m certain I don’t want him to win. He’s giving me ‘don’t let them take you to a second location’ vibes.

Crusher gives me a shake. My smile must’ve slipped. “Look alive, Sugar. The higher they go, the faster you can stop taking dick for cash.”

Ugh.

It’s all I can do to not wrinkle my nose when he leans in with his fetid breath. “Or maybe you’ll like it, huh? Some do. Maybe you’ll come back here for a ride once your new owner is done with you. I’d give you one hell of a fucking ride, I fucking promise you that.”

I force a fake smile back on my face to try to hide my disgust, then bite out, “Never.”

Now the blond biker is speaking, looking agitated. The three of them seem to be arguing. Probably they’re telling scarred guy that I’m not worth it. God, fifteen thousand? I’ve been told I’m cute, but I’m no supermodel. My pussy is virgin, not magic. I won’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Someone wake me from this nightmare.

I resign myself to being sold to the suited guy, praying I’m going to survive the night.

The scarred biker raises his hand, face set in hard determination. “Eighteen!”

“Twenty.”

My heart pounds like a drum. It's going to crash through my ribcage and beat its way across the room and out the door if I can't slow it somehow. This is madness.

"Twenty-five thousand fucking dollars," growls the biker in a tone that threatens bodily harm to anyone who tries to outbid him.

His dark eyes are back on me, burning hot. If he wins, I bet he’ll throw me across the table right here, damn the crowd around us.

Urges I didn’t know I had come rushing unbidden and I have to shake my head to clear them. My stomach drops. I’m probably reading him wrong. He’s pissed he’s had to spend so much. At me? It’s not like I forced him to bid so much. Or at all.

The cruel man curls his lips into a sardonic half grin, then shrugs. “Not worth it,” he says dismissively, but his expression looks pleased, not angry.

And then it hits me. I've just been sold for twenty-five thousand dollars.

Oh.

My.

Freaking.

God.

The crowd parts as my new owner and his friends come forward to claim their prize. The scary man in the suit gets up and slips away before they get to us.

Twenty-five thousand is a crap ton of money. Way more than one night of sex, even if it’s with all three of them. All three? My brain short circuits a little at the idea. “What did you mean when you said they could keep me and help pay off my debt?” I hiss to Crusher.

He shrugs. “What’s it matter to you who pimps you out? Less work for me if I don’t have to feed and water you. Why? You thinking of making trouble?” His expression hardens. “We had an agreement, you and me, and I don’t think you want to back out now.”

Chills run down my spine at the violent implication in his voice. No, I’ll take my chances with the bikers who just won me. I don’t know their plans, but I remember the easy way they flirted with me at the bar, and I’m going to trust my gut.