C7 - Soul-ed Mate

Uncle Yunhyuk looks furious, his face contorted by accusation. He’s already rising from his leather armchair, and I can’t help but take a small step back. I feel like I’ve been caught in the act, like a parent has found me making out in the basement.

But he isn’t my parent at all. He tried to marry me! He walks straight onto the platform, his features twisted into a snarl. His hand on my arm isn’t anything like the man with pale eyes.

I flinch at the pain, pulling away, failing.

“This was your loan? Your big plan? To become a whore?”

“Let go,” I whisper because I’m not innocent in this mess—but neither is he.

He would buy some virgin in auction like this to use, without me ever knowing. How many times would he have broken our wedding vows? They wouldn’t have been born of love, but if I said I do, I would honor it.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he says, his voice grim. “Your father would have a heart attack if he saw you like this.”

The whole room seems to can’t forward, delighted with the display of fresh drama. I feel myself shrinking, as if I’m getting smaller in the middle of the room.

Maybe I’ll disappear into a tiny speck.

And pop like a bubble.

Surviving the auction seemed difficult, nearly impossible, but facing Uncle Yunhyuk like this breaks me completely. He’s the closest person to my father, and even though I’m angry at him, I’m ashamed too.

Taehyung strolls closer, barely perturbed by the show of force.

“You don’t want to do that, Yun.”

“Why not?” he demands. “He’s mine. He’s my fcuking godson.”

One eyebrow lifts, mildly amused.

“Then you’ll want to stay and watch over him, won’t you? If you continue to disrupt the auction, I’ll be forced to remove you before the bidding even begins.”

Uncle Yunhyuk’s hands tighten on my arms, and I whimper. Taehyung sighs, sounding disappointed. He doesn’t seem surprised, but then he wouldn’t be.

Even if he didn’t know that Uncle Yunhyuk was my godfather, Kim Taehyung knew about his close friendship with my father.

“And you definitely won’t get a refund on your entrance fee.”

I’m trembling, caught between my future and my past.

I don’t really belong in either of them—I’m not cut out for this world of anger and sex, but I can never go back to my blissful naïveté either. Yoongi appears on the platform with his large and intimidating presence.

He seems to tower over all of us—Uncle Yunhyuk, me. Even Kim Taehyung looks smaller next to his fury.

“Release him,” Yoongi says in low tones. “Unless you want your arm broken. Security here is…formidable.”

Except I don’t see anyone else. No bouncers or guards. Even the pale- eyed man stayed behind the velvet curtain as if he’s some otherworldly creature who lurks in the dark. There’s only Yoongi, looking fierce like an angel of death.

For a breathless moment Yunhyuk looks as if he might defy him—though I can’t see how, when he would be crushed. There’s more at stake than my virginity, though.

Alpha pride.

A show of strength. An example, like the one Yoongi made of my father. This is what Jihyo was teaching me about. It’s what Mr. Park taught me, too.

About war.

About opposition.

About standing tall in a rain of bullets.

“The show really must go on,” Taehyung murmurs, slicing through the tension.

Uncle Yunhyuk releases me with a rough sound. “I’m glad I didn’t marry you, you fcuking little slut.”

My face flames with humiliation. The men circling the room couldn’t hear him, but Yoongi clearly did, judging by his raised eyebrow. He doesn’t wait for an explanation, though.

As soon as Yunhyuk steps off the platform, Yoongi melts back into the shadows. In minutes Taehyung recaptures control of the crowd’s attention.

“As you can see, he’s a pixie of some notoriety, due to no fault of his own. An innocent little cat, torn by circumstance, ruined by fate, et cetera, et cetera.”

There’s a smattering of laughter, and just like that, the drama is forgotten.

“We’re not here to talk about what brought him to this point, though. We’re here to talk about what you’ll be bidding on in just a matter of minutes.”

All the men stare at me, some dark gazes, some light.

One molten.

All of them filled with lust, with dangerous intent. They want to fcuk me. Do they want to hurt me? And if they do, is it because they’re bored with vanilla, as Taehyung seems to think?

Or because they want revenge against my father?

There are a few women in the audience. Would the women too bid on me, or are they just arm Jihyo? On the opposite side of Yunhyuk, I see Kang Daniel in a large wingback chair.

Jihyo is perched on his lap, her heels tipped over at his feet, her toes curled up on his leg. She looks like blue fairy with large blue eyes and fairy- tale hair.

Another woman just to his right sits with a gray haired man, her dress revealing more than it hides. I imagine her sitting in arms of the man like she would at some high-rollers casino, both glamorous and mercenary.

The other woman appears older, beautiful but hard. Almost cruel. She sits at one of the only small leather love seats with another man. Their sides touch intimately—husband and wife? Both of their gazes examine my body with mean promise. It wouldn’t only be the husband who hurt me; that much I know.

“One full month,” Taehyung says, circling behind me. “That’s how long you would have to train this lovely specimen in the erotic arts. Such thirsty…intellect, they said. What would you do with him?”

“Play chess,” Yoongi says from the back of the room, his voice droll.

The men in the room laugh, and I feel my stomach turn over. Apparently this is the cue Taehyung needs to stop pretending it’s my intellect they’re interested in.

He begins describing my physical characteristics with a bluntness that steals my breath.

“His skin is pale milky perfection, his hair’s a mix of gold and copper. He also has smoky hot…eyes, as you can see. And those plump lips looks like ripe cherries. And he narrows most delectably…on the bridge of his nose. Then flares again…on his wide mouth.”

He isn’t talking about my face. He’s talking about my body. My hands are clenched at my sides, my entire body strumming with the urge to flee. I can’t forget the rouge on my nipples. Everyone will see them before this auction ends.

“Take it off,” one of the men yells, his voice slurred.

“Do you want to see more?” Taehyung asks, his tone solicitous, as if this is a polite affair.

Instead it feels like a bullfight. I’m the animal, made to run and run while my body bleeds.

“Yes,” they shout, stomping their feet. It feels like a riot. “Take it off!”

Taehyung doesn’t look worried, though, merely pleased. He touches the small hidden clasp on my shoulder and the top of the dress falls from one side, revealing the downy contours of my body, the other white lace still intact.

“Almost there,” he murmurs.

Another flick of his fingers, and the dress slides off me. He nudges gently, moving to the other side and I get goosebumps on my skin. It feels like thousands of needles stabbed at my back, making me prick with shame.

My fists clench at the hem of the material as I force my eyes to shut. Painfully, almost against my will, I unclench my fists. The fabric falls to the floor, making a soft sound. My pink nipples tighten in the exposed air, and the crowd roars their approval.

“They feels like any men’s fantasy, don’t you think?” he calls over the crowd.

There’s more shouting, more salacious speculation about the rest of me. What color would my cock be? How tight is my asshole?

I stand very still, unable to glance at Uncle Yunhyuk—to see the condemnation in his eyes.

Or worse, the lust.

I can’t even look for Yoongi. Is he shouting with the rest of the men? Is his voice demanding that I be passed around for inspection?

I can’t bear to know, so I stare straight ahead, the yellow glow of the lamps blurring as my eyes sheen with tears. A deep breath.

I won’t cry in front of them. They paid for my body, not for my despair.

“Let’s start the bidding at twenty thousand,” Taehyung says, and almost every placard rises in the air.

The sea of red paddles, each with a black engraved number, makes my stomach churn. Taehyung turns into a master auctioneer, speaking faster and faster.

“Can I get twenty-five, twenty-five? I have twenty-five. Thirty! What about thirty-five? You’ll have this Agust Drplum for thirty days and thirty nights, yours to do as you please, surely that’s worth—thirty-five! Do I have forty-five?”

My gaze darts around the room, trying to keep up with the bids. The number goes higher and higher, and as if we’re climbing a mountain, the atmosphere seems to thin. I have to breathe twice as fast to get enough oxygen.

Fifty thousand dollars.

What will they expect me to do for that much money? What will I have to endure? I almost wish it had stopped lower.

I look at Jihyo, who has her hands curled up like a child, her head tucked under Daniel’s chin. He looks hard and foreboding above her, like he’s carved out of stone—but I know from her contentedness that she’s completely safe in his arms.

I’m longing for that security, standing on a pedestal, my pride ripped to shreds.

“Fifty,” Taehyung says sadly. “That’s all for this ripe peach?”

He grasps the fabric at my hips and pulls down, my ass cheeks in full display. I’m wearing white thongs in a roomful of people. I can’t help it—I cover myself, my hands cupping my bulge that is prominent now since the fabric is straining between the line of my ass.

This seems to delight Taehyung, who laughs. The rest of the room stomps their approval, raising their glasses and toasting one another.

Beautiful find,

one of them says, like I’m an archaeological dig.

Perfect rack. Look at those hips.

I’m too busy looking at his mouth.

I’d keep those lips busy, that’s for fcuking sure.

More laughter. My gaze snaps to Min Yoongi. He leans against the back of the wall, arms crossed. He isn’t even holding a placard, but that doesn’t surprise me. He’s here to see me humiliated, not because he wants me.

No, the surprising part is the faint whisper of disappointment. I should know better than that, because if anyone would take my father’s debt out of my skin, it would be him.

“Imagine him on his knees,” Taehyung says. “Imagine those plump lips on your cock working wonders.”

There are a few men in the audience who haven’t raised their placards yet. Maybe they don’t like what they see—my body or my family name. Or maybe they only paid the entrance fee to watch the spectacle.

But now they lean forward and begin bidding. I realize that they were waiting for the preliminary bids to get out of the way. These are the serious bidders. They mean to win.

“Do I have seventy-five, seventy-five, seventy-five?”

Uncle Yunhyuk raises his placard, his eyes coldly trained on me.

A gasp escapes me.

“No,” I whisper.

Not when I turned down his marriage proposal and the security that would have come with it. Not when he reminds me of my father.

Not when he really wants my mother.

Part of me hopes that he’s bidding to save me. Maybe he’ll send me home without making me fulfill my end of the bargain. But his gaze rakes my body, leaving no doubt about his plans.

And part of me burns in anger because my father considered him a friend—and when my father most needed help, Uncle Yunhyuk turned his back. Oh, he helped me spend the last of the money. He explained the limitations of my trust.

But if he could spend seventy-five thousand dollars on my virginity, he could have saved our house himself. The man with the beautiful blonde on his arm outbids him. If I were to guess, I’d say he purchased her as well.

Probably the terms were more subtle than an auction.

Gifts. An allowance. The principle is the same. Why does he need another man? How many does he own? Uncle Yunhyuk outbids him, leaning forward in his seat.

Eighty thousand.

Ninety.

One hundred twenty.

One hundred twenty-five.

My stomach clenches and unclenches in rapid succession, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurl even without having eaten. Maybe I’ll just make horrible, unsexy sounds as I heave, causing everyone to give up on the auction and go home.

Taehyung drives the bidding higher. The gray-haired man and Uncle Yunhyuk continue to fight each other, pushing the number up, locked in a stalemate like bucks fighting with their horns.

One hundred eighty-five.

One hundred ninety.

Two hundred thousand dollars.

Uncle Yunhyuk’s placard stares back at me, unmoved by my horror. I want to pretend that I misunderstood the bidding, but Yunhyuk’s expression of gruesome triumph proves he won. I’m going home with him to spread my legs, to pretend to be my mother.

My mother that he could never had.

Everyone in the room turns to look at the gray-haired man. Even the beautiful blonde boy on his arm seems tense with anticipation, waiting to see if he’ll continue to bid.

“Do I have two hundred thousand and ten?” Taehyung says almost casually.

The gray-haired man studies my body with a clinical expression. He narrows on the space between my legs, the patch of white fabric.

“Let’s see him.”

Immediately the crowd erupts into expressions of agreement, demands to remove my panties. Taehyung seems to consider this request.

“You have to pay to play, my friend.”

The gray-haired man gives a European shrug.

“It won’t break his virginity just to look.”

A long pause where my legs press together, knees weak. Oh God, I can’t do this. Can’t pretend to be my mother, can’t bare everything for strangers. I can’t wake up, and the nightmare’s only just begun.

Taehyung turns to me in the silence. The entire room seems to hold its breath. I meet Taehyung’s eyes and see a glimmer of sympathy.

Nonono.

He’ll make me undress for them. And what next? Would they get to inspect me? To inspect my dick? To see if my asshole is tight enough for them? Tears burn my eyes, and I know I won’t be able to hold them back.

I pray for strength and find none. That feels like losing more than anything else— more than being naked, more than being sold. Letting them see how much it hurts.

When Taehyung’s index bends under the elastic of that meekly white fabric to be removed a voice booms in the ocean of hungry eyes.

“One million dollars.”

The room goes deathly silent.

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