The Empire of Sin

ing into the front row, at the one whose brutish feature and whose eyes burns like flame chips of flint. That man held in the sky his paddle with a triumphant, approaching-of-ownership t

his eyes around the room: "I have one million dollars. A fi

s forged around me. One-point-two became one-point-five. One-point-five became two. I felt disassociated from my own body, a spectator watching a play about a girl who looked just like me. Of course, my mind did try escape, ret

over his competitor with a dramatic slam of his paddle down onto the arm on his chair. But Valenti did not just want to win; he wanted to dominate. His

he serious players from other, fewer serious contenders. For a terrifying, horrific moment, I thought it had

gainst my ribs. No

ing tw

ck of the room spoke. The voice was not loud, but it carried with the chilli

mill

. The sheer arrogance of it, the doubling of the price in a single, quiet phrase, was a display of power more profound than any shout. The auctioneer's cool professionali

a mask of furious rage. He glared into the shadows as if he were trying to work out jus

ant, as quiet and ed

e; he looked as if the pressure might make his head explode as his fists choked, unclenched, clenched again. And he was completely, utterly humiliated. The bid wasn't just a

shaking finger toward the far end of

llenging a man who could throw away ten million dollars without raising his voice was among them. "Do I have any other bids? Going once?" He didn't even look at the fu

g twi

fening, heavy with

decay it enacted. The impact of the hammer sounded like thunder in the empty air

f the beast lying in darkness. Who could he be? Who could afford to buy a man? The murmuring started again, bu

in their chairs: all the former arrogance evaporated, paving way for him as a king would. The man moved like liquid grace, a predator at home. He wore a black suit-knitt

g intensity. My stomach tied a hard knot at the lack of heat or lust that I had seen as sexually charged in mine. Instead, that kind of possessive ownership looked like it belonged to a collector measuring his newest, most expensive acquisition. It was ownership. He didn't stop until he was standing at the foot of the platform, looking up at me. He was close enough n