Sold for $1 To The Hawthorne Brothers

Alina's POV

The man holding my arm doesn't loosen his grip even when I stumble on the marble step.

"Walk," he mutters under his breath, giving me a shove toward the stage.

My heels scrape awkwardly against the polished floor, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the low hum of voices filling the underground hall.

The room smells faintly of expensive whiskey and cigar smoke, the kind my stepfather used to brag about being able to afford.

I swallow hard, forcing my shoulders back even as humiliation crawls up my spine.

Rows of people sit in shadowed booths, their faces half-hidden by dim golden lights. Everyone looks relaxed and entertained.

Like they're watching a show.

And I'm the entertainment.

The auctioneer stands behind a podium at the center of the stage. He's older, silver-haired, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo that probably costs more than everything I've ever owned combined.

His eyes flick over me. "Next item," he announces smoothly.

My stomach twists.

I search the room instinctively until my gaze lands on the only person I know here.

My stepfather sits near the front, a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. He looks away when I catch his gaze, grabbing his drink.

His hand trembles as he brings it to his lips. Coward.

Two hours ago, he told me we were attending a business party. He told me that he needed me. That I was going to play a huge role in helping out our small family.

I was foolish enough to buy his lie.

Now I'm standing on a stage while strangers look at me like livestock.

The auctioneer clears his throat lightly. "Twenty-one years old," he continues casually. "Healthy. Educated. No criminal record."

Someone chuckles and heat floods my face.

My stepfather finally looks up, his face red with shame. He should be. He squandered the money my mother left behind when she died and gambled her company away.

The auctioneer taps the gavel lightly against the podium.

"Opening bid," he says, voice carrying easily through the room, "ten thousand dollars."

My head hangs low as I wait for someone to speak.

But there's only silence. I dare to raise my head and my stomach drops, catching the amused glances in the audience. Someone in the back snorts softly.

***

Ten seconds pass.

Then twenty.

My throat tightens. No one's bidding. Am I that undesirable?

The auctioneer shifts slightly, clearing his throat. "Five thousand," he amends.

Still nothing. My face feels like it's about to explode from the embarrassment. The humiliation is worse than I imagined.

Worse than anything.

Even as a debt payment, I'm apparently not worth the trouble.

The auctioneer sighs quietly, tapping the gavel again."Very well," he says. "One dollar."

One dollar? I turn to him, my eyes wide as saucers as laughter ripples across my room. He shrugs, nonchalantly. One dollar. From five thousand to the lowest currency.

My stepfather looks shocked when I find him in the crowd, but he says nothing. He rubs the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath.

I'm not sure what he thought-that selling his daughter would make him a fortune. I was never worth much to him anyway.

I stare at the floor, wishing it would open and swallow me whole.

"One dollar," the auctioneer repeats lazily. "Do I hear any bids?"

A long moment passes.

Then a low voice cuts cleanly through the air.

"One dollar and one cent."

The room goes silent. My head snaps up and I scan the room frantically, searching for the buyer. I see a paddle towards the back, raised high.

Three men sit around a shadowed table near the back of the hall. They're dressed in suits, leaning back into their chairs. An uneasy ripple race down my spine.

Are they friends? Brothers? The one at the right lowers his paddle, but I can feel him looking straight at me. My pulse skitters in warning.

I squint, but it's hard to make out their faces from where I stand. Any of them at all.

I feel the auctioneer goes stiff beside me. My gaze strays over and he's gone a shade lighter. He clears his throat; smiling tensely. "Sold to the Hawthorne Brothers for one dollar and one cent!"

The room erupts in a scatter of applause and more laughter, but my thoughts are racing faster.

Hawthorne.

I've heard the name before...somewhere. The man to the right moves slightly and I catch a glimpse of his face when it catches the light.

My blood turns ice cold. Adrian Hawthorn.

The Hawthorne brothers-Adrian, Julian, and Lucien. The ruthless owners of Hawthorne Holdings, the same company that swallowed my stepfather's business whole two months ago.

A sharp, hollow laugh bubbles up in my chest before I can stop it.

Of course it's them.

My stepfather didn't just sell me tonight. He sold me to the men who ruined him.

For one dollar. And a cent.

The laughter in the room slowly fades, but the sound of the auctioneer's gavel still echoes in my ears.

Sold.

My hands curl into fists at my sides as the reality settles over me like a suffocating weight. One dollar. That's what my life is worth.

I glare at my stepfather, but he's slumped over his chair. His glass is empty.

Typical. I should've known he was going to get drunk. The only time I ever saw him sober was during his anniversary with my mom.

And even then, he couldn't be a good husband for one day.

The sound of movement at the back of the room draws my attention. I flinch inwardly as the three men rise from their table.

The shift in the room is immediate. Everyone turns, watching the Hawthorne brothers walk toward the stage.

They move slowly and unhurried, like men who know the entire room belongs to them.

Adrian Hawthorne leads the way.

Up close, he's even more intimidating than I expected. He's taller than the other two, broad-shouldered, dressed in a perfectly tailored blue suit with one hand tucked into his pocket. His dark eyes settle on my face, before slowly roaming over my body.

I stifle the urge to shrink into thin air.

Julian follows a step behind him, his expression far more relaxed and his arms loosely folded across his chest. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looks at me over, like he's enjoying the situation far more than he should.

Lucien walks beside Adrian, his hands behind his back. His expression is unreadable, but it doesn't stop the goosebumps that rise on my arms. The three of them stop at the foot of the stage. For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Adrian looks up at me and says calmly, "Come down."

My chest tightens and my feet feel glued to the floor. I don't move. I can't move.

These men ruined my family. They stole my mom's company, bought it for next to nothing from my step-father.

His gaze sharpens slightly. "I won't repeat myself."

Perhaps we should carry her down, brother," Lucien drawls. "She looks like she might crumble anytime soon."

His eyes roam over my body unhurriedly, lingering on my chest. He clicks his tongue. "Do you make your fashion choices yourself?"

A lump rises in my throat. I know how I look-with my cheap tee shirt and faded jeans.

Between working two jobs to put myself through college and bailing my stepfather out of trouble, there's barely enough money left to get new clothes.

Or eat good food, either.

"I can walk," I snap, stepping towards the edge of the stage.

Adrian lifts an eyebrow, studying me for a moment. "Good."

I feel his eyes on me-their eyes-as I take the marble steps one at a time. Julian walks up to me, holding out his palm. He tilts his head towards it.

"I'm fine," I say, harsher than intended. As the words leave my mouth, I remember. I belong to them now. They can treat me anyway and nobody'll say a thing. "I'm sorry," I apologize immediately, lowering my gaze.

He laughs. The sound is a soft, lazy rumble. "I was merely offering. You had every right to refuse."

I glimpse Adrian from the corner of my eye. His eyes are narrowed as he stares at someone in the middle of the crowd, his mouth pulled into a hard line.

If looks could burn, my stepfather would already be ash.

Julian follows my gaze and chuckles under his breath. "My brother finds it hard to let go when he's been wronged."

He leans closer. "What about you?"

I blink at him. "What?"

He studies me for a moment, then shakes his head lightly.

"Nothing."

He straightens and holds out his hand. "We should go."

I hesitate, staring at his outstretched palm. The only thing I know about the Hawthorne brothers is what my stepfather used to rant about whenever I found him slumped at the end of a bottle.

Ruthless. Evil. Monsters. He said they had more money than they knew what to do with it. And egos too big for their own good.

"Ah." Julian clears his throat and lowers his hand. "Okay, then." He gestures toward the exit. "You can keep up, though, can't you?"

I follow him through the crowd of onlookers and out of the underground hall. The sudden night air hits me like ice, sending a shiver through my body as I wrap my arms around myself.

"Here."

Something warm settles over my shoulders, chasing the chill away. I turn. Lucien stands behind me, already stepping away after draping his coat around me. He gives me a short nod before walking toward the row of sleek black cars waiting along the curb.

Julian watches him go and smirks. "He's the gentleman of the family," he says. Then he places a hand dramatically against his chest. "But I apologize. I should've been the one to rescue you from the cold."

I say nothing.

His gaze shifts past me, and his expression changes slightly. "Looks like that's my cue to leave."

He steps back toward the second car. "Lucien and I came together tonight."

His eyes flick toward the tall figure standing beside the other vehicle. My eyes widen and my breath catches. How did he get there? "Which means you'll be riding home with my brother."

Adrian.

"See ya!" Julian waves me off, skipping over to the car Lucien slipped into moments ago.

I remain rooted to the spot, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. The jacket on my shoulders suddenly feels far too light.

Adrian makes no move to come closer. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest. Even standing in the shadows, I can feel his eyes on me.

I stumble back instinctively, Lucien's coat slipping from my shoulders and falling to the pavement with a soft whisper.

A warm flush runs down my spine.

I draw in a slow breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Adrian closes the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. When he reaches the streetlight along the curb, the glow catches his face.

I see the faint frown tugging at his lips as his gaze drops briefly to the coat on the pavement. He looks back at me. "You dropped something."

His voice is low and even, as if nothing bothers him. But I still can recall the look on his face when he stared at my father. He looked like he wanted to strangle him.

I swallow, glancing down at Lucien's coat lying between us.

"I-" The words die in my throat when he suddenly leans in. I hold my breath instinctively, shaking on the inside.

But he merely bends, picking it up with one smooth motion. He holds it in his hand for a moment, studying the dark fabric with mild curiosity. His gaze shifts back to me. "You're trembling."

Heat crawls up my neck. I wrap my arms around my waist. "It's cold," I bite, harder than intended. Something about this man who hasn't said more than a couple words to me makes me want to defend myself at every turn.

Maybe it's the fact that he bought me? For a freaking dollar and a single cent?

Adrian's gaze roams idly over my body, lingering at my sneakers. I press my legs together and push my right foot away, as if to hide them from him. "It's the only good pair I have," I say, tilting my chin slightly.

I push my arms around my chest. "I didn't think I had to wear my best dress to be auctioned off."

He stares at me for a long minute, his gaze unblinking. I last mere seconds before my cheeks grow hot. I glance away, staring elsewhere. "I'm supposed to go with you," I mumble.

"Put it on." He stretches the coat towards me. The command in his voice is quiet and unmistakable. I take the coat slowly, my fingers brushing the sleeve as I pull it around my shoulders again.

Adrian watches me. When I finish, he nods once toward the car across the curb. "Let's go."

He turns, walking away without another word. I take a first step, my pulse roaring through my ears. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what they want me for.

What do you do when you buy a person?

I stare at Adrian's departing figure-his broad shoulders, muscled arms twice my size and his...back. "I bet he works out all the time," I mutter under my breath without thinking. Or has good genes.

He's handsome too. The sophisticated kind of handsome that women fall for.

I bet he has his fair pick of partners too. Tall, perfect woman with little fat and curves in all the right places. The 1%.

Me?

I glance down at my baggy tee with a dejected sigh. I unfortunately carried my dead-beat father's genes. The one I never met.

Unfortunately, my mother didn't have good instincts when it came to picking her lovers.

I'm neither curvy nor slim. I'm somewhere between needing to lose weight and pretending I don't care.

My stomach is soft, my hips a little too wide for the kind of dresses the women around Adrian Hawthorne probably wear. I tug Lucien's coat tighter around myself.

Adrian is already halfway to the car.

With a quiet sigh, I hurry after him.

His eyes narrow slightly when I appear beside him. He spares me a glance before opening the back door.

I peer into it, into the semi-darkness.

And then it hits me, fully. I don't know where I'm going. Two days ago, I was a senior college student trying to make ends meet.

Now, I'm...

"What do you want with me?" I ask. "I don't see how useful I can be to you. I don't have a degree yet, I can barely cook. I-"

I trail off, a loud gasp slipping past my lips as a terrible thought slip into my head. I stare at Adrian in horror. "A sex slave?!" I shriek. "Is that what I am?"

"You-" I point an accusing finger at him. "Your brothers. You bought me to be your sex slave?"

A crease appears between his brows. "What are you talking about?"

Why didn't I think about it? An underground hall. A human auction, with filthy wealthy people bored out of their minds. "No," I shake my head vehemently. "If this is some kind of reverse harem, I'm not interested."

"Get in the car, Alina," Adrian cuts me off.

"Unless," he says calmly, "you'd prefer to go back inside and ask your stepfather to buy you back. I'm sure he must've gotten the dollar already."

"That is," he adds coldly, "if he hasn't gambled it yet."

The words hit like a slap.

"Get in," he repeats, before walking away to the other side.

I drag myself into the car as a limo gathers into my throat. I curl up in a corner, staring through the window as my eyes turn watery.

Not here.

The last thing I want is for Adrian Hawthorne to see my tears.

He'll probably tell me to get rid of my tear glands. After all, I'm merely a tax write-off.

***

A hand shakes my shoulder repeatedly, ignoring my mumbled protests as I try to bury myself deeper into the warm leather chair.

"Miss? Miss?"

Miss?

I peek out of one eye, fully ready to tell them off-only to see an unfamiliar face staring back at me. I jump back in fright, knocking myself off the backseat and to the floor.

My back takes the brunt of it, pain shooting up my spine.

"F-" I bite my tongue.

"Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside." I rub my eyes, blinking twice to focus. A man. He's leaning over the door with a thin frown on his face.

I stare at him, tucking my tongue into my cheek. Who is he? What am I doing here? Who's Mr. Haw-

Everything comes flooding back again, like a terrible nightmare. The auction. The humiliation bid. Adrian's mean comment.

Right.

"Do you need some help?" The man asks.

I shake my head, mumbling quietly. "I'm fine."

He nods, stepping aside. I gingerly get down, clearing my throat as my face turns red in embarrassment. How did I manage to fall asleep in the back of a stranger's car?

"Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside."

I notice the tag on his jacket, but he's already walking away before I can ask questions. I take a deep breath as I turn.

It's huge.

No. Massive.

The Hawthorne's mansion looks like something from the front page of the Exclusive magazines my step-father piled up in his office. He always bragged about owning one of the fancy houses one day.

I had no idea where he expected the money to come from.

It's a fortress with so many windows I go dizzy trying to count them.

"Miss?"

The man turns, waving his hand impatiently. Crap. I break into a jog, heading to him.

"He's in his office. Follow me," he says, without preamble.

I try to keep up, walking through the grand foyer...into a living room ten times the size of the shoebox I rented in college and down a hallway.

He stops outside a door.

"He's expecting you."

Just like that, I'm left all alone. I take a deep breath and knock once.

"Come in."

I walk in.

Adrian's seated behind his desk. He's ditched his suit jacket, but his shirt is still on. I try to not stare too hard at the sleeves rolled to his upper arms-at the firm biceps that budge as he taps his fingers on his desk.

Or his chest either, with the three top buttons gaping open.

Heavens.

"You'll live here. With me," he says. "My brothers will come over from time to time, and might sleep over occasionally."

I nod.

"As for your sleeping arrangement..." I find myself holding my breath. "We will be sharing the same bedroom."

I'm sure I heard him wrong. I blink several times. "What?"

His expression doesn't change. "You heard me."

My brain struggles to process the words. "You bought me," I say slowly, "not a roommate."

Adrian leans back in his chair. "No," he says. "I bought you. And tonight," His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.

"You're sleeping in my bed."