Chapter 3 Laura

I was hurled to the ground by the soldiers and ended up on my hands and knees in front of the most dangerous man I had ever known. The man I'd spent the last four years of my life being afraid of. Mikhailov Rasputa.

My breath was rough and erratic, and I could hear my heart pounding erratically. I shivered, dreading what he'd do to me. Never commit an offense that would provoke the Pakhan's wrath. Death, or anything that would still result in death, was the usual punishment he meted out.

After blowing a wreath of smoke at me, he leaned down, stuck his large hand in my hair, and tilted my head upward so I could meet his deadly, bloodshot eyes.

"Котенок. You spent a whole three years crying and trying to escape. I thought you gave up on that plan. I thought my discipline was enough to make you a good girl." He'd stressed the 'good girl', pronouncing the good starkly as if emphasizing it.

Shrugging his shoulders, he narrowed his red eyes, which were discolored from constant smoking. "What is this you did again tonight, on my special day?"

He sighed in resignation and retired to lean back in his seat.

"Our training wasn't sufficient enough to change you, eh?"

"Нет, хозяин, it was." Tears formed beads and fell from my eyes to the ground. I shouldn't have done what I did. I should've just been a good girl, even if I didn't like this hell.

He sucked his teeth, then sighed deeply. "What should I do to you, eh? Kill you for trying to repay me with evil?"

He then leaned down with one of his hands on his lap, and cupped my jaw with the other hand, lifting my face so that I maintained eye contact with him. "When I bought you, Котенок, you were disabled, sick, frail, a poor little girl with no family, no memory. Well, still no memory. I repaired the broken parts of you, sheltered you, gave you back your walking abilities, and gave you everything no master will give to a slave. And this is how you repay me."

His countenance changed to one of rage and anger played across his eyes as he growled his latter words, chilling me to the bone. I couldn't avoid shuddering.

"Here's what will happen, Kitten. You'll get me nothing less than twenty million dollars at the auction tonight. Anything less and I won't only kill your new master, I'll kill you together with him."

Having been the first on the lot, I stood behind the curtains. I was afraid, tensed like an elastic band about to snap, my hands cold and clammy.

Around my neck was a red collar with a leash attached to the ring at the foremost of the collar. Beside me stood a severe-looking blonde, who I estimated to be in her forties. The heavy make-up she wore did nothing to improve her cold appearance. She resembled the representation of evil. Something about the way she held the leash reminded me of the times the soldiers came around with their dogs in leashes. I felt like one of those dogs now.

"As y'all know, here in the Pakhan's auction, we sell slaves and items you won't regret buying. Tonight, we have mouthwatering slaves we'd love, love to offer. Speaking of which, I mean, high-quality slaves. Slaves who'd acquired a lot of slave training. Innocent, beautiful submissive slaves. Virgins. Disease-free and infection-free. Ladies and gents, allow me to introduce... the number one in the lot."

Without a warning, the lady pulled on the strap as she started sailing to the stag, dragging me along with the leash. I choked, nearly tripping over on my heels but I caught my balance and fell in steps with her.

Shame and fright hit me like a tsunami the moment I stepped onto the stage. The crowd of bidders wearing all kinds of masquerade masks to shield their identities unnerved me. The fact their eyes were fixed on my half-naked body sent shame meeting me with a great rush.

I didn't like being Mikhailov's captive, and I wanted out of this place. At the same time, I feared was afraid of leaving this place as a slave to someone who'd make me regret leaving this place. Just like other slaves, I prayed to be bought by a good master.

The auctioneer declared, "Just so you all know, this one here is the Pakhan's biggest deal," with an enthusiastic gesture and expression.

The lady held my shoulders and made me turn around, showing off my curves, and after that, she held the leash again like I'd flee if she were to leave it for long. I looked down at my feet. It was the punishment I got for trying to flee tonight.

The truth was, I wasn't Mikhailov's biggest asset because of my beauty, curves, or whatever the bidders saw. Though the auctioneer mentioned I was the Pakhan's biggest deal to attract bidders, it was also because the Pakhan spent a lot to keep me alive and fit. My duty was to fetch his money back in plenty.

The auctioneer began the auction cry, my offer price starting from ten million dollars. Half the bidders raised their bidding paddles. My heart, once thumping in the fear of having no one bid on me, went calm. Not completely relaxed.

More and more bidders raised their paddles as the cattle rattle continued to increase from price to price until it got to seventeen million dollars and attracted the wrong bidder.

Yes, the wrong bidder. I could tell the bidder was an old man just by looking through the opening in his Baphomet mask-his gray beard was visible. He, together with his mask and his victorious, patronizing, and amorous smile made my stomach churn with fear and distaste.

"Will ya gimme eighteen million? Do we have eighteen?" the auctioneer repeated the calling over again. No one was raising their paddle, and they all seemed relaxed and unwilling to raise their paddles.

I could no longer contain my fear as I became extremely tense. I bit my lower lip, clenching my fists. Could someone raise their paddle, please? Just a few more million dollars to save my life.

"Item one gone to bidder 304 for seventeen... we have eighteen million, now nineteen. Will ya gimme nineteen million dollars?" the auctioneer echoed in excitement.

All bidders, myself included, turned to look at the bidder who had just placed the eighteen million dollar bid.

A lady? How could a woman be so wealthy?

With a dejected expression, the old man lifted his paddle to bid nineteen million, but the lady bid twenty, which made Oldie's lip sneer in anger and scorn.

I could breathe again thanks to the lady. No worry, no fear. I got Mikhailov the money he wanted from me. Delight rushed through me like a flash and quickly faded.

The auction cry continued until twenty-six million. The lady challenged Oldie again at twenty-seven million.

"Item one gone to bidder 105 for twenty... We have twenty-nine million dollars!"

My eyes traveled to the bidder who had his paddle raised. Familiarity hit me but I kept the effect out of my face. That hand. Did I know the bidder? His attire wasn't familiar. His face was hidden behind his golden mask, which had openings for his mouth and eyes. Then his hair was combed back, some strands parted to one side. Those were unfamiliar features.

But the wristwatch. Blue and silver. Could he be the stranger from earlier?

My heart fluttered at the thought of the bidder being the stranger. Fear and a weird craving entangled. I hoped for our paths never to cross... well, for that, I wasn't sure about my desire not to see him again. So crazy how my insides screamed in excitement for someone I'd wished against crossing paths with.

Was that even him? Any wealthy person could have that wristwatch. Even Mikhailov had one.

The thought of it being someone else wearing the same kind of wristwatch made my mood close down. It was foolish how I started rooting for the golden mask bidder.

At thirty million, Oldie lifted his paddle. When someone else put in a bid of thirty-one million, Oldie had come dangerously close to winning the lotto. An enraged Oldie took this as a competition when he raised his paddle at thirty-two million. I felt a rush of fear and excitement in my chest as the golden mask bidder raised his paddle to place a thirty-three million dollar bid. I wanted him to lose to Oldie and at the same time, I wanted him to place the highest bid. Crazy me.

A part of me supported the golden mask bidder, while the other part of me, fearing the golden mask bidder was the stranger from earlier, supported Oldie.

My eyes shifted from the golden mask bidder to Oldie as they carried on with their bidding competition.

"Do we have forty-nine million?" the auctioneer repeated his filler words more times. "Item one gone to bidder 203 for forty-eight million dollars!" the auctioneer declared enthusiastically.

At the auctioneer's proclamation, my heart fluttered in fear and something that felt like excitement. Was I excited about his winning, or I was terrified of him being my new master because I thought he was a weird stranger? Well, a bit of both.

I saw a frown etch on Oldie's lips. His nose flared as he raised the side of his upper lip, disappointment and anger were evident in his demeanor.

Bidder 203. My buyer, my master from this moment onwards. I stared at him for long enough, and I knew behind the holes in his golden mask that his eyes were watching me, his property forever.