Chapter 12. My panties ripped.

**Shawn's POV**

Fuck!

I beat myself mentally because I still can’t believe I just bid ten million dollars for an omega who might be Victor’s daughter… or might be absolutely nobody.

Marcus would’ve called this reckless as hell. He’d say I’m letting emotion cloud my judgment, making decisions based on hope instead of evidence.

'But Marcus is dead because you made a bad call five years ago... Maybe you’re trying to make up for it,' my wolf, Blaze, murmurs.

I ignore him. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

The auctioneer’s voice cracks while poking his finger in one of his ear. “Pardon me sir… are you sure you said ten million dollars?”

“You heard me.” I inhale slowly, letting the cigarette burn between my fingers. “Unless your ears don’t work.”

Suddenly, a ripple of shock, fear, and disbelief tears through the crowd...

“It can’t be—”

“Who?!”

“Shawn Black—”

“Victor Ace’s right hand—”

“—took down a hundred rogues in Berlin alone—”

“—they say he never left any witnesses—”

“Then why the hell would he want some weak omega?”

They all murmur with fear in their voices. I smirk because fear make people predictable—and I like predictable prey.

The auctioneer’s face drains of color. His hands shake around his tablet. “M-Mr. Black, we… we didn’t realize you were in attendance. If we’d known—”

“If you’d known what?” I cut in, voice flat. “That you’d clean up this dump?”

A few nervous chuckles spark and die just as quickly when I don’t bother to smile.

The auctioneer swallows hard, steps forward, and raises his voice:

“I know I just said sold but d-do we have any counterbids against Mr. Black’s offer of ten million?”

Silence responds to him. He tries again, louder,e more desperate while scanning the room like a trapped animal.

“Anyone? Ten million—do I hear ten-one? Ten-five? Anyone?”

Chairs creak. Eyes drop. No one even pretends to lift a hand.

The rogues who were clawing over each other to bid two minutes ago can’t look in my direction now probably because of my reputation.

The auctioneer’s voice cracks a final time. “No… no counterbids.”

I smirk triumphantly because these fucking pigs are so predictable.

"Sold!" The auctioneer's voice is too loud. "To Mr Black in booth seven for ten million dollars!"

Applaud erupt in the room and everything goes back to normal.

I zero in on the girl I just bought.

She’s shivering in that pathetic scrap of red lingerie—which is more of an insult than clothing. Rage flares hot in my chest. These fucking pigs could at least pretend to have decency and dress their merchandise like humans, not disposable trash.

I grind my cigarette out beneath my boot, the ember dying with a hiss and stand up.

Enough watching.

Time to find out whether I just spent ten million dollars on Victor’s daughter…

or on the most expensive mistake of my life.

The crowd parts as I walk toward the stage.

It’s instinct—wolves always recognize a predator. And I’ve killed enough of them that my reputation walks ahead of me like a shadow.

Rogues flatten themselves against the walls. Betas and even a few Alphas drop their gazes. The bigger males shrink back, instinctively making room. Victor Ace didn’t just train me—he carved a cold-hearted killer out of whatever I used to be.

I stop at the edge of the stage and look up at her.

She hasn't moved. Still on her knees, head down, dark hair falling forward to hide her face. Bruises bloom across her arms in finger-shaped patterns. There's dried blood under her nose.

I know someone put their hands on her.

My jaw tightens, but I keep my face blank.

"Stand up," I order.

"No," She flinches like a small pup, it irritates me.

"I said stand up."

"I can't." Her voice is barely audible. "My panties ripped—"