The Bid

Chapter Two

TW: violence and abuse

"Aisling." My fathers voice says my name again but this time I don't stop the flinch that happens.

The ringing in my ears becoming louder the longer he talks.

He turns back towards the crowd and continues on.

"Tonight you are all here to take part in something I have been orchestrating amongst you all for quite a while." He chuckles as if that will lighten the weight of his words.

"The deal of a lifetime for some of you but everything comes with a price. Tonight that price is up to you all."

I look up at him, the white spotlight illuminating around him as if he's some sort of angel and it's so blinding I have to look away.

My gaze focuses on the exit doors that are now closed and guarded. I stare at those doors and yearning to just run, willing myself to not vomit from my fathers words.

"To the highest bidder my daughter Aisling will become yours."

The room erupts in murmurs and all eyes are on me.

'To the highest bidder'

I repeat the words over and over. My own father is conducting a bidding war for one of these dangerous men to take me home.

But it can't be that simple. Not with him.

No this only scratches the surface, there's definitely more to it. It's not money he's after, it's something else entirely. He doesn't need money that's for sure.

He wants something far more valuable.

He wants a deal. A deal with one of the other true devils in this room and what that equates to I do not know.

I only know that I'm a factor of it. I'm a prize.

Without hesitation people in the crowd start raising their hand and announcing a number. A price.

A bid.

How much is a human life worth?

How much is MY life worth to these men?

The bidding starts out small at $500,000 but quickly climbs up and up much to my fathers pleasure. It's not the money he's after, it's the under the table deal he's going to strike.

Perhaps the value of the numbers being said are representations of something else. Not money but assets.

I am an asset to be traded as such.

"Five million." I hear a man from across the room say as my hearing comes back into focus. He's sat at the table with the head of the Russians, Arkadi Kovlov.

"Ten million." A French accented man interrupts.

It goes on like this, my stomach twisting further and further into a knot that I don't think will ever untie.

"200 million." From the Italians and I can see the smirk on Enzo Ricci's smug face.

He's wanted to touch me for a while, trying everything he could to get my attention. Unfortunate for him I was always instructed to never give in.

"300 million." I hear a voice I recognize instantly due to the thick accent. Lachlan Murdoch; Glasgow mafia.

No doubt he would be bidding for one of his evil sons to have me since he's had it out for my father since as long as I can remember.