Light up the Night (Firehouse Three #2)(16)

As one of the last bachelors to go on, he’d watched everyone else get bid on. They’d raised a lot of money for the shelter. Everly should be really happy. But he’d watched as she had scooted out the back door of the building only halfway through the bachelors.

She still looked like someone had kicked a box of puppies. And that worried him.

“Two thousand!”

The shouted bid drew his attention back to the auction, and he laughed aloud. Hunter’s shocked expression quickly turned into an evil grin as he flexed and waved to the cheering crowd. The emcee smacked her sparkle-encrusted gavel on the podium, and Hunter officially got purchased for the highest price in the auction thus-far. The shit-eating grin was as full of surprise as it was pride, and he swaggered offstage.

As he passed Drake on his way into the crowd to meet his buyer, Hunter jacked up his pants.

“Top that, you bastard.”

“I intend to,” Drake gave his buddy a good-natured punch to the tattooed bicep. “Come on, Gossamer.”

Together, they mounted the steps as the emcee began her spiel. She smiled over at him as she gestured with one long, elegant hand filled with notecards.

“And here we have Drake Hammerfell. Take a good look at this one, ladies. He’s new to the area, and Dallas is forever grateful he’s ours now, right?”

The crowd shouted their agreement as the emcee looked down at her cards again.

“Drake loves rock climbing, fishing, and is an amateur chef. Who wants a home-cooked meal with this hottie?”

An audible “Oooo” went up from the crowd at that, and Drake took the opportunity to smile, letting his dimple take center stage as he flexed. He wasn’t ashamed to turn it on when he needed to. And right now, getting Everly as many donations as possible was his goal. Maybe if he could present Everly with enough money from the auction she’d look happy again. He hadn’t known her smile very long, but he was already feeling its absence all the way down to his core.

Whether or not this was a success, he was glad he was here. He just wished his past hadn’t followed him.

Gossamer, wings still in place, sat her pudgy ass down beside him as he mugged for the crowd.

“Drake is accompanied by Gossamer, a pug mix. Gossamer is a two-year-old spayed female who is ready for her forever home. Now ladies, a night with Drake would be simply magical, so let’s start the bidding at three hundred.” The emcee raised her hand to the crowd. “Do I have three?”

“Three,” a woman raised her hand in the second row. Drake gave her a thankful nod. Yeah, part of him had been worried that he wouldn’t sell. How much shit would the guys have given him if that happened?

“Four.”

“Five hundred.”

The bids were coming thick and fast now, and Drake couldn’t really tell who was who with the lights in his eyes. He did his best to model, turn, flex, ham it up for the crowd when the bidding slowed down.

But when she spoke up, he knew without any doubt who it was.

“Eight hundred.”

Her voice was clear, sure, no hint of the nervous quaver that had accompanied her welcome speech. And she had bid on him. He didn’t bother to hide the wide grin on his face.

“Eight hundred, going once…”

The second voice that sang through the crowd was more familiar, and twice as unwelcome. “One thousand!”

“Shit,” Drake said, not even caring that he’d just cursed in front of a crowd of two hundred people or more.

If he’d had a choice between being purchased by Belinda, or by Satan himself, Drake wasn’t certain who he’d have rooted for.

Oh wait, yeah he was. Satan. The pointy-tailed bastard would be a dream date next to Belinda, the grasping, conniving bitch.



Belinda glared toward the shelter director. The chick had been nervous as hell when giving that little welcome speech, but now she thought she was hot enough shit to buy Belinda’s man?

Oh, hell no.

She raised the number in her hand confidently, and the emcee nodded toward her.

“Okay, we’ve got one thousand. Do I hear eleven hundred?”

The shelter director nodded tightly. “Eleven.”

“Twelve,” Belinda snapped. Oh no. This bitch didn’t understand. Nobody stood in the way of what Belinda wanted. And Belinda wanted Drake.

“Thirteen.”

“Fifteen hundred!”

A normal person might have stopped to consider how they were going to pay fifteen hundred dollars. Belinda didn’t give a rat’s ass. If she had to plunk down 5K for a charity she didn’t give two shits about, she would.

Drake was worth it. He was handsome enough to look like her perfect match, and the bank account he’d have once his parents kicked it would be healthy enough to make up for his cranky attitude. She hadn’t wasted the past few years cultivating this relationship. It would work.

“Sixteen,” the shelter director said when the emcee pointed back at her.

A scream of pure rage began building in Belinda’s chest. That f*cking bitch. She opened her mouth to up the bid to two thousand, but a broad hand suddenly grabbed hers and dragged her toward the exit.

“Hey there, Bitcherella. Miss me?” Hunter bared his teeth at her. It wasn’t a smile and it wasn’t friendly.

“What the f*ck are you doing,” she hissed as he shoved her through the doors and out into the festival. “Let go of me, dick-for-brains!”