Chapter 2

The noise of the crowd was a physical force, pressing in on me. Ryan's friends were the loudest, their voices cutting through the din.

"Look at that thing, Ryan!" one of them shouted, pointing at me. "She's a mess! Is this your bachelor party gift to us?"

"She looks like she's already been through a few rounds," another yelled, laughing.

Ryan, basking in the attention, swaggered closer to the stage. Chloe clung to his arm, her expression a perfect mix of adoration and feigned disgust for the spectacle. She was a therapist. She knew exactly how to manipulate emotions, and she was playing Ryan like a finely tuned instrument.

He looked up at me, his eyes clouded with alcohol and arrogance. There was still no flicker of recognition on his handsome face. All he saw was a disfigured woman, a "toy" for his amusement.

"Well, well," he slurred, his voice carrying over the music. "What do we have here?"

He turned to the crowd, a performer playing to his audience. "You know, my wedding is just a few weeks away. A man needs to blow off some steam before he settles down, right?"

The crowd roared its approval.

"And this..." he said, gesturing at me with a sweep of his hand, "this looks like the perfect way to do it. No strings attached. Just a good time."

My heart felt like a block of ice in my chest. No strings attached. That's what I was to him now. That's what our love, our future, our unborn child meant. Nothing.

The fight club host, a man with a greasy smile and dead eyes, stepped into the center of the ring.

"Alright, gentleman!" he boomed into a microphone. "You've seen the merchandise! A brand new, stress-relief toy, ready for a good home for the night! Who wants to start the bidding? Let's start at five hundred dollars!"

My body was a product. My pain was for sale. I was being auctioned off like a piece of meat.

I had to do something. My voice was gone, my face was unrecognizable. But he knew me. He knew my body, my hands. I balled my right hand into a fist, then slowly extended my index and pinky fingers, leaving the two middle fingers curled down, held by my thumb.

It was our sign. A stupid, silly gesture we'd made up years ago on a trip to the beach, pretending to be rock stars. You and me against the world, he used to say when he'd make the sign back to me.

I held it up, my arm trembling with the effort. My one good eye pleaded with him. See me. Ryan, please, see me.

He saw the gesture. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He turned to Chloe.

"What's that supposed to be?" he asked.

Chloe let out a tinkling laugh. "Oh, honey, they're trained to do little tricks like that. It's to make them seem more human, to make the game more interesting. She's probably just flipping you off."

His face hardened instantly. The brief moment of uncertainty was gone, replaced by anger.

"Flipping me off?" he snarled, looking back at me. "You think you can disrespect me?"

The host saw his chance. "The gentleman in the front looks angry! He looks like he wants to teach this toy a lesson! Do I hear a thousand dollars?"

"Five thousand," Ryan said, his voice cold and sharp.

A hush fell over the immediate crowd. Five thousand was a lot, even for this place.

"Ten thousand," he bit out, not taking his eyes off me. He was staring at me with pure hatred, fueled by a mistaken gesture and the lies of the woman beside him.

Chloe squealed with delight, kissing his cheek. "Oh, Ryan, you're so dominant! I love it!"

The host's jaw dropped. "Ten thousand dollars! Going once! Going twice! Sold! To the handsome gentleman who's ready to have some fun!"

The crowd exploded. Ryan, goaded on by their cheers and Chloe' s praise, pulled a platinum credit card from his wallet and handed it to one of the host's thugs. He had just bought the right to destroy the woman carrying his child. And he was proud of it.