You bite again...

In the dimly lit chamber of the underground warehouse, the air was thick with tension, and the smell of dampness hung in the atmosphere like a cloak. The bare bulb overhead flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows across the worn, concrete floors. This wasn’t a place for the faint-hearted. This was the heart of the underworld, a place where people became commodities, and money changed hands in exchange for flesh.

Sherry stood in line with the other women, her wrists bound tightly behind her back, the coarse rope biting into her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her face remained expressionless. The others, terrified and broken, had already shed silent tears. Sherry had learned long ago that crying did no good in a world like this. She’d bite down her terror like she had bitten down on the filthy hand of the man who had dared to touch her. The memory of it sent a fresh wave of disgust through her, but she kept her gaze steady, her lips pressed into a hard line.

Across from her, the man in the dark suit—known only as Lyon to his colleagues—stood overseeing the event. Tall, with sharp cheekbones and a cruel smile, he watched his merchandise with an appraising eye. His eyes met Sherry's s briefly, cold and calculating. He enjoyed this game, the power he held over people’s lives. He could break them with a word, a gesture, or a flick of his hand.

Frank, one of the goons, was still smarting from where Sherry had bitten him earlier. He rubbed his hand, glowering at her, but kept his distance after the last warning from Lyons. Lyons rules were clear: no unnecessary damage to the goods. Sherry was far too valuable to be marred by a careless slap or punch.

Lyons stepped forward now, his voice commanding and dripping with authority. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special collection for you tonight.” His voice echoed in the silent room, reverberating off the walls. “The finest stock you can find. Trained, disciplined, and ready for use. We’ll start the bidding at fifty grand.”

Sherry's stomach churned, but she forced herself to remain still, her gaze fixed on the wall opposite. She knew what was coming. She had seen it before. Women paraded around like livestock, their worth determined by how much the highest bidder was willing to pay. In this world, your value wasn’t determined by your mind or your strength. It was all about appearance, how docile you seemed, how easily you could be molded to the whims of the men who would buy you.

Lyons signaled Frank to bring the first girl forward. Sherry watched as Mary a frail young woman with wide, terrified eyes, was dragged to the platform. Her wrists were bound like Sherry's, her thin body trembling as she stumbled under the harsh grip of Frank’s meaty hand.

“Lot number one,” Lyons began, his voice smooth, almost charming. “Eighteen years old. Pure, untouched. An excellent addition to anyone’s collection.”

The crowd stirred, eager eyes glinting in the dim light. Most were men—men with too much money and too little humanity. They didn’t see the terror in Mary's eyes or the way her knees buckled slightly as Frank shoved her forward. All they saw was the flesh, the potential for control and power.

Sherry's hands clenched into fists behind her back. She knew Mary was about to be humiliated. That was part of the process. They would strip her, reveal her vulnerability to the greedy eyes of the bidders, and then sell her to the highest one. Sherry's breath hitched as she saw Frank’s hand go to Mary's dress, ripping it down her shoulder, exposing her pale skin to the onlookers.

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as Lyons gave a wicked grin. “Let’s start the bidding, shall we? Fifty grand.”

“Seventy-five!” A voice from the back of the room called out immediately.

“One hundred!” came another, and the bidding war began.

Sherry's s heart hammered in her chest. The casual way these men tossed around money to own another human being made her stomach turn. As the bids climbed higher and higher, Sherry's eyes flickered to Mary's face. The girl’s eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing, lost in her own mind, trying to escape the horror of what was happening to her.

“One hundred fifty! Going once... going twice... Sold!” Lyons announced with satisfaction.

The crowd clapped lightly, a few murmurs of approval rippling through the room as a slick-looking man in a dark coat made his way to the front to collect his purchase. Sherry looked away, unable to stomach the sight of Mary being led away like property.

Before she could gather her thoughts, she saw a rough hand on the arm of a girl next to her , yanking her forward. It was the second girl's turn.

She saw how she stumbled as Frank shoved her toward the platform. The harsh lights bore down on her, the heat from them making her skin prickle. Her stomach twisted into knots, but the girl , just like Sherry forced her chin up, meeting Lyons gaze with defiance. She would not be broken. Not like this.

Lyons lips curled into a smirk. “Ah, Lot number two,” he said, circling her like a predator. “This one’s special, ladies and gentlemen. She’s got fire.” He leaned closer to the second girl, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You bite again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The girl didn't’t flinch, didn’t blink. She kept her face expressionless, though her blood boiled beneath the surface. She could see the weight of the crowd’s eyes on her, sizing her up, calculating her worth.

Lyons straightened and addressed the crowd. “This one is unbroken. Strong-willed. But I’m sure one of you gentlemen would enjoy the challenge of taming her.” His words were met with a low chuckle from the bidders, and Sherry felt a wave of nausea roll through her as she witnessed all that.

“Shall we start the bidding at fifty grand?”

“Fifty.”

“Seventy-five.”

“One hundred.”

The numbers climbed quickly, higher than they had for Mary. Sherry's pulse raced as she listened to the men throw out bids, their voices dispassionate as they decided her fate. She wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but her body remained frozen in place, her mind whirling with a thousand thoughts.

Finally, the bidding reached two hundred grand.

“Going once... going twice...”

“Three hundred.”

The room fell silent as the new voice cut through the air like a knife. Sherry's heart skipped a beat. She didn’t recognize the voice, but there was something in it that made her blood run cold.

Lyons raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Three hundred grand,” he repeated. “A generous offer. Do I hear any more?”

Silence. No one dared to outbid the mysterious man.

“Sold!” Lyons declared, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

The man who had made the final bid stepped forward, and Sherry's breath caught in her throat as she saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked out of place among the other bidders. There was an air of cold authority about him, a dangerous edge that made even Lyons usual smugness falter.

The man’s sharp, ice-blue eyes locked onto the second girl, and for a brief moment, Sherry thought she saw something flicker in them—something dark and possessive.

The girl was led off the platform, her heart pounded in her ears. She didn’t know who this man was or what he wanted with the girl, but one thing was certain: the girl's fate had just been unfortunately sealed.