Chapter 14

The rest of the evaluation proceeded in oppressive silence. Inside the cages, the girls trembled, their fear almost palpable. Those whose blood had already been examined whispered desperate prayers, hoping they had proven "worthy" to avoid whatever horrors awaited the unchosen.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, fury burning in every cell of my body. This is wrong! We are not merchandise—not objects they can sell or discard if we don’t meet their twisted expectations! The words screamed inside my head, a futile rebellion.

The metallic tang of drying blood hung heavy in the air, nauseating and oppressive. The sight of it, the smell of it, made me sick, but my mind wouldn’t let go of the girl’s last words. Her daughter—she’d never see her mother again. She had wanted to live, deserved to live! Illness or not, she could have had more time. What kind of monsters could do this? Even wolves were never this calculated, this cruel.

Inside, I was a storm of rage, but outwardly, I forced myself to stay sharp, to observe. Leaning forward, I peered through the bars of my cage, desperate to understand what was happening. Four of us remained. Four still waiting to be priced.

The so-called expert had just finished assessing girl number sixteen. After sniffing a single drop of her blood, he announced her value with detached indifference: ten thousand dollars. And then came the next in line—Amara.

Mr. Crowell’s cold, calculating gaze swept over her, a predator appraising prey. His smirk deepened. Slowly, hesitantly, Amara stretched out her trembling hand. She was visibly more terrified than the others before her. My stomach twisted. Could she be sick, like the girl with leukemia?

"No..." I whispered, a plea to no one, praying I was wrong.

Mr. Crowell pricked her finger, and Amara flinched, her eyes clamping shut. The blood began to flow—not a drop, but a steady, unending stream. I knew immediately why she was so afraid.

"Hemophilia," Crowell declared, his voice cold and final, like a judge pronouncing a death sentence.

The room plunged into silence, the unspoken weight of his words settling over us. No one dared to react. The other girls huddled in their cages, too frightened to move or speak.

"What a waste," Theron sneered, his tongue clicking in mock pity before he erupted into laughter.

“She’s just a one-time snack!” he jeered, prompting the other men to join in with their cruel, mocking laughter. The sound was unbearable, cutting through the room like broken glass. Amara shrank back into her cage, her wide eyes darting between the men, pleading silently.

Theron’s laughter abruptly ceased. His eyes glinted as he turned to Isidore. “You know what to do.”

Isidore’s nod was mechanical, his movements practiced and unfeeling as he pulled a gun from his holster.

"No! Don’t kill her! Please!" The words tore from my throat, the only sound breaking the suffocating silence.

Theron’s lip curled as he turned toward me, his disdain palpable. Isidore stepped toward Amara’s cage, the weapon steady in his hand. Amara fell to her knees, her eyes squeezing shut. A surge of rage unlike anything I’d ever felt consumed me. My hands gripped the cold bars of my cage, every muscle straining against them.

"I’ll kill you!" I roared, my voice trembling with unbridled fury. "I swear, I’ll get out of here and tear you apart!"

Theron raised a hand, halting Isidore’s actions. The gun lowered. My chest heaved, my glare locked on Theron. He sauntered toward my cage, a venomous grin spreading across his face.

“You’ve got spirit,” he said, his voice a mockery of admiration. “You must be the little fighter they’ve been whispering about. The Queen of Hearts.”

I glared at him, refusing to cower. “Yes. That was me. So what?”

His grin twisted into something more sinister. “Let’s make a wager, then. If your blood proves to be more valuable than the rest, we’ll spare your friend—for now. We’ll even throw her in as a bonus for the lucky bidder who claims you.”

"And if I’m not worth much?" I demanded, venom lacing my voice.

Theron shrugged, feigning indifference. “Then both of you die.”

I didn’t hesitate. Extending my hand through the bars, I felt the cold metal bite into my skin. In my mind, I wasn’t offering it for testing; I was imagining it wrapping around his throat. But reality was crueler.

Crowell stepped forward, his tools gleaming. He pricked my finger, and when the blood surfaced, his reaction was immediate. His hands trembled as he stared, his expression shifting from skepticism to astonishment.

"T-this can’t be..." he muttered, his voice barely audible. He touched the drop with his fingers, as though confirming it was real. Then he began to laugh—a wild, unhinged sound that sent chills down my spine.

“Crowell!” Theron snapped, his patience wearing thin. “The price?”

Crowell’s voice rose in manic glee. “At least five hundred thousand! She’s a treasure beyond comparison!”

Theron’s grin widened, a wicked satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Looks like your friend gets to live a little longer,” he said, leaning closer. “Make sure you’re worth every penny, or I’ll regret my mercy.”

“Her life isn’t meaningless,” I spat, my voice low and seething.

Theron snorted, ignoring me as he signaled his men. Chains clinked as they attached them to the tops of the cages, preparing to hoist us one by one onto the platform.

My heart sank further with each girl taken. Their cries, faint and despairing, were drowned out by the guards’ taunts.

“Congratulations!” they jeered. “Serve your new masters well. Don’t let them suck you dry on the first night!”

Amara was dragged away soon after, a mere “bonus” for the auction house.

"Where are you taking her?!" I shouted, my voice cracking as I watched her disappear behind a heavy metal door.

One of the guards sneered. “To the waiting room. Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Finally, it was my turn. The chains groaned as my cage was lifted onto the platform. The hatch above opened, and the platform rose, carrying me into the blinding lights of a grand stage. My heart pounded violently as I took in the scene.

The theatre was full. Masked figures filled the audience, their laughter a grotesque symphony of amusement. They were the same people from the banquet, their faces hidden but their cruelty unmistakable. They chuckled and whispered, relishing the sight of us—helpless and afraid.

The auctioneer approached, his mask gleaming under the lights. He leaned over my cage, studying me like a prized possession.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with a theatrical flourish, “as our grand finale, we present a true rarity. Even I can barely resist her allure! Our expert claims she’s one in a billion.”

The crowd murmured in excitement as he continued. “We’ll start the bidding at five hundred thousand dollars.”

My breath caught in my throat as the bidding began, the sound of their voices a haunting melody of greed and depravity.