Spiders in the Grove (In the Company of Killers #7)(24)

She looks scared. She should be. Frances Julietta Lockhart’s ‘daddy’ is a murderous piece of shit who likes to dip his shriveled-up dick in women he terrifies into submission.

He looks to me again, though always aware of the gun in my hand.

“Two more days,” I tell him. “I hope you have beer; I like to have a beer on the weekend.”

He shoots me with the most indignant look, and I puff on my cigarette.





Fredrik


“I haven’t seen her, boss,” Dante says into the phone. “There were a couple girls who kinda looked like her, but she wasn’t one of them—no scar on the neck.”

Damn. I thought for sure if she was going to be sold at this particular auction, it would’ve been on the first day; her scars make her damaged goods to these people, but she’s still a beautiful woman. And I know Izabel: if she wants into a place, she’ll get into it; if she wants to be worthy enough to sell despite her scars, then she’ll make them believe she’s worthy.

I pace the floor. Maybe she’s not there; maybe I had it all wrong and she’s nowhere near this auction. Or…maybe she didn’t make it that far. I shake the thought off quickly, and pace again.

And then it hits me.

I stop. “Dante,” I say eagerly, “what about everybody else? Did you pay attention to the buyers, and the masters?”

“Uhh, a little,” he says, “like you told me to, but mostly I watched the slave girls.”

“OK,” I tell him, “slight change of plan. Tomorrow night, I want you to start looking at the women in the crowd. How many people attended?”

“A lot,” he answers. “I don’t know, over a hundred; that doesn’t include the slaves a lot of the attendees brought with them, had them sitting on the floor—boss, this is some weird, freakish shit.”

“Dante, you used to sell heroin,” I remind him, “and get blowjobs from men to pay for it—your hypocrite is showing.”

“Oh, y-yeah, right—sorry.”

“Now listen closely,” I go on. “You may have to do some mingling, just so you can get a better look at everyone—”

“But I’m not so good at that sort of thing,” he says. “What if I blow it?”

“You won’t,” I encourage him. “Remember what I told you: confidence; be someone you’ve always wanted to be; you can pull this off. But you’re going to have to socialize with the buyers more, or you may never see her. You can do it.”

“All right, boss. I’ll get it done.”

Before we end the call, I say, “Dante—no drugs. Understood? Mingling doesn’t include taking anybody up on their offer.”

“I know, boss,” he says. “I remember what you told me.”

He remembers, and I believe he wants to a good job and not screw this up, but I also know Dante used to be an addict, and no matter how long an addict has been clean, or how much his life is looking up, one look at a free line of coke and it’s all over.

“Don’t use this job as an excuse,” I warn. “You do any drugs, and you’ll end up in my chair again.”

“A-All right, boss; y-you have my word.”

I drop the cell phone in my jacket pocket.

“When is she gonna be back?” Apollo asks, still strapped to the hospital bed.

“Do you need to go to the restroom?” I ask, ignoring talk of Izabel.

“Fuck no, man—keep that needle to yourself.”

I know he’s lying; he’s been squirming in his bonds for the past thirty minutes, trying not to piss himself. But I’m guarding him alone, and I don’t trust him to use the restroom alone, so when he has to go, I drug him first; that way he can’t focus enough to escape, and he’s not strong enough to attack me. I don’t like to fight—always gets my suits dirty.

“I can’t have you soiling yourself,” I tell him, and get the needle ready.

“Fuck you, man!”—he struggles in his bonds, his fists tightening; his teeth gritting—“Why do you care, anyway?”

“Because it smells,” I say. “And it disgusts me.”

Apollo laughs. “That disgusts you, but the weird shit you do—" His eyes flutter into the back of his head, and his fists relax.

I give him five minutes before unstrapping him, and I take him upstairs to wait for the nurse I hired to deal with all this stuff: restroom, bathing, and the like. She thinks Apollo is my drug-addicted friend whom I’m going out of my way to help; she thinks I’m a “great friend, and a great man” to be doing this; she thinks there should be more men in the world like me.

No, Nurse Karlee, there certainly shouldn’t be more men in the world like me…





Izabel


Auction - Day Two

Still no sign of Naeva, and it’s getting to the point I feel desperate enough to flat-out ask about her. But I know I can’t do that, especially since I gambled and waited too long. If I’d asked about her earlier, in an offhanded way, it might’ve been believable. But now that it’s been three weeks, ‘offhanded’ doesn’t apply, and questions about the girl I was brought here with but pretended to have no feelings for, would indicate just that—feelings for her.