[His for a Week 01.0] Bought Read online

  “Thirty thousand. Do I have thirty-five?” asked the auctioneer.

  No one raised their cards.

  “Thirty thousand going once...twice...and sold to gentleman number fourteen.”

  Kimani did a quick calculation in her head. The women got to keep forty percent of the bid at the end of the week, so that meant she could pocket twelve thousand dollars, provided she didn’t violate the terms of the contract or NDA. That was pretty darn good money—equal to three months of work for Kimani. But even so, was it worth spending a week having sex with a stranger?

  She didn’t plan on having sex, though. She was here to get her story. She’d stick it out for as long as she could to get as much info as possible because Sam said the story would be worth infinitely more if she could get actual names, but they had agreed that if there was any danger to her person, she was to get out ASAP. As soon as the guy laid a finger on her, she’d explain she was chickening out and call it quits. The auction had made her put up two thousand dollars as a nonrefundable “processing fee,” paid in cash, which Sam had fronted for her. But the loss of money would be more than made up for by the story.

  At the end of the auction they were ushered backstage, where each woman was led away by a staff member.

  “Can you believe it?” squealed the blond. “I just made forty thousand dollars!”

  “You get to keep forty percent,” Kimani reminded her kindly.

  “I know!”

  “If the bid was eighty thousand, you get to keep thirty-two thousand.”

  “Oh. But that’s still amazing! I just saved myself years of work!” She held out her hand. “I’m Claire, by the way.”

  Kimani shook her hand, wondering if Claire was her real name. It had fallen from her lips, there was a good chance it was. “Nice to meet you.”

  Claire waited expectantly.

  “Oh, um, my name is...Montana,” Kimani said.

  “Ladies, your limo awaits,” said a female staffer. “Follow me.”

  “A limo!” Claire grinned from ear to ear.

  “Where are we going?” Kimani asked the staff member.

  “That’s up to your Master.”

  Kimani bristled at that last word. “But don’t we get to go home first? I was going to change out of this dress—”

  “Your week begins now.”

  “But—can I at least grab my bag?”

  “I have your belongings here with me.”

  The woman ushered them to the back of the theater where a stretch limo awaited. Claire eagerly bounced inside. Kimani eyed the limo driver, who held the door open, wondering if this was someone she could trust to help if things went awry, but she couldn’t tell. He didn’t meet her gaze. Her pulse quickened as she wondered if she should step into the limo.

  “Did the guy—” she began.

  “You mean your Master?” the staff member supplied.

  “Yes, did he mention where we’re going?”

  “That doesn’t really matter, does it? Your contract says that’s for him to decide.”

  Kimani hesitated. She didn’t have enough story material yet. When she had discovered the bruises Marissa had tried to keep hidden a month ago, Marissa had refused to admit anything at first. Kimani had persisted, but though Marissa had finally relented and told Kimani the truth, she had refused to say anything on the record. No amount of badgering, cajoling or bribing from Kimani could change her mind because she was convinced she would have to repay the twenty thousand dollars she had made from her participation in the Scarlet Auction.

  “I didn’t go through that for nothing,” Marissa had told Kimani angrily.

  At that, Kimani had backed off. It was obvious Marissa was in a lot of pain and just wanted to move on with her life.

  But Kimani couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that a man could beat Marissa up like that and get away with it. After a few more days of failing to convince Marissa to speak up, Kimani had decided that if Marissa wouldn’t come forth, she would find someone who would.

  Taking a deep breath, she got in the limo.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “You missed out, cuz,” Jason said over the phone. “The women at the auction were dope. I got myself a little Thai hottie. We’re heading up to Jake’s cabin in the morning. You wanna ride with?”

  Ben stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city from the bedroom of his penthouse in Pac Heights. “I’m not up to spending a week with Jake and Derek. I just spent a month overseeing the plans for our new luxury resort in Thailand and visiting our investments in Germany. I’ve got this political committee to set up for our uncle.”

  “Oh, right. What’s he running for again?”

  “Mayor of Oakland. I don’t have the patience to dick around with Jake and Derek.”

  “But Jake signed some amazing ballers, and if your dad is serious about recruiting foreign talent for the Golden Phoenix, Jake’s your best bet.”

  The Golden Phoenix basketball team was sponsored by the Lee Family Corporation, and Ben’s father was intent on building the team into a contender for the Chinese Basketball Association title.

  “And dicking around with them is fun.”

  “They’re overgrown teenagers,” Ben said. “You’re a Lee. You don’t have to hang out with dipshits like them.”

  “You’re starting to sound like an old fart.”

  Ben groaned. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Jason, who was almost six years younger and the closest thing to a brother to Ben.

  “Come on,” Jason urged. “It’s going to be a fun week, and if you’re tired from working, you need a vacay. If you don’t have a girl, maybe Jake will lend you one of his.”

  “Jake has more than one?”

  “Totally! I didn’t know you could bid on more than one. If I had known that, I would have gotten a second one. There was this pretty hot Korean...”

  Ben tried to ignore the tug at his groin. He needed a good fuck and had contemplated making a visit to the pretty blond who lived three floors below, but she reminded him a little too much of his mother, a German Russian his father had met on a diplomatic trip to Berlin.

  And Ben, who liked to spend most of the year in San Francisco, didn’t want complications with neighbors. He had that in common with Jake. Sometimes he just wanted a fuck for fuck’s sake and nothing else.

  Maybe he should have gone with them to the Scarlet Auction.

  Jason made a final pitch. “Besides, I rarely get to see you anymore, so it’d be great to hang together.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ben recalled what his uncle, Jason’s father, had said to him once:

  “You are the eldest of the number one son,” Uncle had said. “It is your duty to look after your siblings and cousins.”

  “I’ll go,” Ben decided, “but I’ll get myself up to this cabin.”

  “Awesome! See you soon.”

  Ben hung up and threw himself on his bed. Fuck. A week with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

  Unzipping his pants, he pulled out his cock and tugged. It wasn’t as good as pounding pussy, but it would have to do for now. Tomorrow morning, he’d call his security detail, Bataar, and arrange a sparring match. That would alleviate some of the pent-up energy and frustration. Fucking was more soothing, but like masturbating, sparring would have to do.

  KIMANI COULDN’T SHAKE the queasy feeling building inside her as the limo headed north on US 101. Marissa hadn’t mentioned being whisked away directly from the auction to her bidder’s place of choice. She talked about being locked up in a nice house and submitting to sexual acts she wasn’t comfortable with. Sex, and even BDSM sex, was part of the bargain, Marissa had explained, but there were no safe words, and even if there were, she doubted her ‘Master’ would have cared.

  It had made Kimani sick to hear it. At first, Marissa had played off her injuries like they were nothing. If Kimani hadn’t accidentally walked in on Marissa just as she was getting out of the show
er, she would have never known about the bruises, which Marissa kept hidden beneath layers of clothes.

  “They’re just old bruises from the BDSM club I go to now and then,” Marissa had said.

  But when Kimani had pressed for details, Marissa’s answers were increasingly suspicious.

  “I bet Master has a mansion in Marin County,” Claire prattled. “Or maybe he’s meeting us at some fancy restaurant like The French Laundry.”

  Kimani would have loved the destination to be the famed Michelin-starred restaurant in Napa Valley, but she suspected that wasn’t the case. She reached into her hobo handbag for her cell to text Sam what was happening.

  “Hey! Where’s my phone?”

  She rifled through her purse, pulling out her glasses, ChapStick, notepad, and pens that had built-in audio recorders. Her canister of mace was missing, too.

  Her heartbeat shot up. She turned to Claire, “Do you have your phone?”

  Claire looked into her sparkling clutch. “Mine’s missing, too. Oh, well, I don’t really need it. I told my friends I was going away to a spa for some ‘me’ time.”

  Kimani tried not to panic. She tapped on the window separating her and the driver.

  “Where is it we’re going?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible to the driver.

  “No hablo ingles,” he replied.

  Shit. Kimani willed herself to relax. Panicking wouldn’t help her out. Sam knew where she was and what she was doing. If he didn’t hear from her in some time, he’d get worried and do something.

  Focus on getting the story.

  “We are soooooo lucky,” Claire cooed. “We got the hottest bidder. At first, I was really scared that the fat old guy in the front row was going to win me. I mean, I was not going to lose my virginity to that guy. I’d rather forfeit the two thousand dollars I put up, and getting that money wasn’t easy. I’m still trying to pay off these girls.”

  Claire squeezed her boobs.

  “Finally decided to take a cash advance on my credit card.”

  Kimani winced. The interest on that couldn’t be pretty, but with over thirty thousand dollars coming her way, Claire shouldn’t have trouble paying back the cash advance and the boob job.

  “So what made you decide to do the Scarlet Auction?” Kimani asked as she settled in the leather upholstery across from Claire. She thought about clicking on one of her audio-recording pens, but she only had three of them with her and wanted to adhere to journalist ethics. She couldn’t record without the source’s permission unless lives were at stake, the information could not be obtained in any other way, or the story would suffer irrevocably without the information.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Claire responded. “How else can you make forty thousand in just one week? I mean, it’s tons more than Julia Roberts made in Pretty Woman!”

  “I don’t know that—” Kimani stopped herself from suggesting that movies didn’t necessarily make good examples for real life. “I bet lots of entrepreneurs can make that kind of money.”

  “I mean regular people, silly. It would take my older sister a whole year—maybe more—to make what I just did in one week!”

  In a good mood, Claire chattered on about how being a barista like her sister or taking some other equally boring job was “soooooo not my thing.” She talked about where she went to high school, how none of the classes at the local community colleges interested her, and that she had decided to go into modeling instead. But that career path was going slower than she would have liked as she worked more trade shows than she did photo shoots. She complained about the number of European women who came to the US to try their hand at modeling, and because foreigners were taking jobs away from Americans, she’d voted for Trump. She wanted to become a model and marry a billionaire like Melania.

  “But maybe I’ll get to marry a billionaire first,” Claire said with a smile.

  Kimani stared. Did Claire really think something was going to come out of a relationship—if it could even be called that—with a guy who paid for sex?

  “I’m actually a little nervous,” Kimani said as she noticed that they were long past Marin County and driving through Sonoma County. “We don’t know anything about this guy. What if he’s not that nice?”

  “Did you see how good-looking he was?”

  Kimani did a double-take, not understanding the response.

  “He had the sweetest-looking baby-blue eyes,” Claire sighed. “And we know he’s not racist ’cause, you know, he bid on you. That’s a good sign, right?”

  Kimani tapped on the window to the driver again. She wanted to get to a phone to call Sam with an update. “Can we make a bathroom stop?”

  “Lo siento, no hablo ingles,” the driver replied.

  Wishing she had paid more attention in her Spanish class, Kimani combed her memory and finally remembered. “Baño, por favor.”

  “Una hora.”

  “What did he say?” Claire asked.

  “I think he said in an hour,” Kimani replied. Where the hell were they being taken?

  “I hope we get something to eat. Honestly, I thought the limo would be stocked with champagne or something. Instead, there’s only bottled water.”

  At nearly four in the morning, they pulled into a refueling station somewhere north of Ukiah in Mendocino County. Kimani had never been this far north of San Francisco before. So much for dining at The French Laundry.

  After ducking out of view from the driver, Kimani found an old-fashioned pay phone. But it didn’t work. The place was deserted with no trucks in sight, so she couldn’t borrow a cell from anyone.

  “Chica! Vamanos!” the driver called to her.

  For a second, Kimani contemplated taking her chances with the empty truck stop, but her story wasn’t complete.

  “Coming,” she called.

  Claire napped while they continued their drive, but Kimani was too distracted to sleep. She told herself she was probably worrying about nothing. Not all the Scarlet Auction bidders were like Marissa’s. Still, she wanted to remain vigilant and at least keep track of where they were. She kicked herself for not keeping her cell with her, but who would have thought it would get taken? Notice was probably on page nineteen of the contract in eight-point font.

  Not long after leaving the truck stop, they pulled off US 101 and onto State Route 36. They passed towns Kimani had never heard of. All she knew was that they were likely in Trinity County, one of the least-populated counties in the state.

  We’re in the boonies.

  Kimani hadn’t noticed a single traffic light. It was doubtful the county even had a Starbucks. Getting off State Route 36, the limo drove along a heavily forested, winding road.

  What if our guy is worse than Marissa’s?

  She tried to shake the morbid thoughts from her head, but every nerve in her body was screaming that she had gotten herself into a heap of trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Holy shit,” Claire gasped when the limo pulled up in front of a two-story cabin sitting at the edge of a small, pristine lake. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

  Instead of awe, Kimani felt only dread. They were miles away from civilization, without their cellphones, with a driver who didn’t speak English.

  “I don’t understand why, if we were coming this far, we didn’t get to pack bags?” Kimani wondered, clutching her handbag close to her. She wanted to be able to switch on one of her recording pens when needed.

  “Probably because we have a closetful of fancy clothes just waiting for us!” Claire replied, clasping her hands together.

  Kimani raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Seriously, we have no idea where we are, who we’re dealing with...”

  That truck stop back in Mendocino County was looking like it would have been the wiser choice.

  “You don’t get it,” Claire responded. “We’re his for a week. We’re here because he wants us all to himself with no distractions. We can’t get away, and we’re tota
lly at his mercy. It’s sooooo sexy!”

  “Seriously, you don’t find this creepy at all?”

  Claire shook her head and followed the limo driver up the stone walkway to the cabin. Kimani took a bracing breath and trailed behind. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the guy was just planning a romantic weekend at his cabin. His remote cabin.

  “Oh! This is probably where we meet the kind old housekeeper or personal assistant that helps Master out with everything and helps us get dressed,” Claire said to Kimani. “She likes that he has a woman in his life.”

  Kimani stared in disbelief. Did Claire really think reality was going to unfold like some erotic romance story? Still too unsettled to appreciate the beautiful natural surroundings, Kimani focused on the cabin. At any other time, it would have taken her breath away with its seven gables, multiple balconies, and windows that took up ninety percent of the cabin’s facade. The place probably raked in a huge heating bill in winter. Kimani felt some relief to see that with all the balconies, there were many points of egress.

  A stern-looking man opened the double doors of oak and decorative glass with satin-nickel caming. With his height and bulk, the guy did not look like someone to mess with.

  “Las chicas,” the driver said.

  Mr. Stern-Face nodded. “This way, ladies.”

  Kimani decided she preferred the company of the non-English speaking driver, but the man was headed back to the limo. She and Claire followed Stern-Face into the cabin and downstairs to what was a third but lower level of the cabin. He opened the door to a large single room.

  “This is where you’ll sleep.”

  Claire walked in, ready to be impressed. Instead, her face fell. There was no beautiful four-post bed draped in romantic linen, no plush carpeting or shiny hardwood floors, no door to an amazing bathroom with granite counters and a Jacuzzi bathtub. There were no windows, and the only light came from a lightbulb at the top of the ceiling. The only furnishing comprised two queen-size mattresses resting directly on the floor without box springs.

  “You’re to stay in the room until he gets here,” Stern-Face said before shutting the door behind him.