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BARGAIN

Author: DebbyWrites
last update Last Updated: 2025-03-10 18:30:30

Eleanor's POV

I didn’t go down without a fight. I kicked and screamed, struggling against the chains restraining my wrists as Vincent’s dogs dragged me down the shadowy hallway. The iron cuffs bruised my skin, the chains twisting with each step.

But that didn’t matter. They had taken everything from me. They would not break my spirit. Whatever lay ahead, they would pay for their actions, they would surely pay.

******

The dark and shabby underground chamber was filled with the scent of cigars and pricey cologne. Heavily furnished, with expensive curtains and caged chandeliers casting sinister shadows over the faces of influential men gathered to bid.

I had heard rumors of such place before, a place where humans are being sold. Where women were treated as mere objects, like pieces of trash.

Where predators in tailored suits drink expensive whiskey while bargaining on human lives. At the heart of it all stood Vincent Moreau, that bastard, the man who destroyed me.

He remained beside me, calm and collected, as though he was not auctioning off a human being like he hadn’t allowed his men to disgrace me before putting me onto this platform.

"This one," Vincent declared, his tone smooth and steady. "A rare gem. Once the cherished wife of Damian Blackwood." A murmur spread through the crowd.

Some men leaned in, curiosity shown on their faces. Others smirked, casually sipping their drinks, waiting for a more enticing offer from him.

Vincent grinned. "She’s been… well-conditioned. But," he turned to me, holding my chin with his fingers, "she’s got fire in her. Unbroken. That makes her invaluable." I jerked my face away, glaring at him. "Burn in hell."

Laughter rippled through the audience. Vincent merely smiled. "Now, let the bidding commence."

And then I saw him. In the dim corner of the room, partially filled in darkness. He radiated power. I sensed it from the way others shifted uneasily when his piercing blue gaze swept over them. His face was unreadable, yet there was a strong aura about him.

Then our eyes locked into each other. Recognition flickered across his features. His gaze swept over the scars on my arms, the nearly healed wounds.

And at that moment, I understood. He had witnessed suffering like mine before. Because he had survived the same torment.

*****

"Five million," a voice called out. "Seven," another quickly replied.

Vincent leaned back, reveling in the spectacle. "Gentlemen, let's not dilly-dally. Who among you is eager to possess something truly priceless as this?"

"Ten million." The room fell silent and void of noise.

That voice belonged to the man in the shadows. All eyes turned toward him, and for the first time, Vincent’s confident smile showed.

I watched, my heart racing unsteadily.

"Mr. Kieran Lancaster," Vincent responded cautiously, "you’ve caught me off guard." That name rang a bell.

Kieran Lancaster the dangerous billionaire who had built a big empire from scratch. Ruthless, feared, untouchable.

A phantom in the world of business. And now, the man who had just bought me. Vincent’s smirk faded, tension creeping into his demeanor. "Going once, going twice"

"No one will challenge me?" Kieran's tone was steady, yet an undercurrent of authority flowed through, he was indeed powerful and really feared.

Silence.

The air was filled with anticipation. "Sold," Vincent finally announced, but his amusement had vanished. Something had changed. And Vincent was clearly not pleased.

The instant they unshackled me, I lashed out. I moved and kicked one of Vincent’s guards, sending him staggering backward. Another seized me, but I elbowed him hard in the ribs and in the mouth, forcing him to gasp for breath.

I bolted and twisted. Or at least I tried to fight those bastards, those people who don't have human feelings.

Before I could reach the exit, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me back.

I screamed, kicking and thrashing, my nails digging into flesh.

"Let me go!"

"You belong to me now." The voice was deep and scary.

Not Vincent. The buyer. Kieran Lancaster. I fought fiercely. "I am not yours! I am not an object!"

"Then behave like it," he said, tightening his grip. "And I may allow you to live." Before I could reply, he carried me on his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.

I shouted curses, kicking wildly as he carried me past Vincent and the grinning vultures who had observed the auction.

I refused to stop fighting. Not now. Not ever.

****

The car ride was filled with tension. I sat in the backseat, my wrists tied again, my body paining from the struggle. Kieran Lancaster faced me across the seat, just observing me like it was an experiment to be tested. I wanted to break the silence and demand explanations, but I wouldn’t show weakness.

So I glared instead. He smirked. "You have quite a temper." I chose silence. "You’ll need to calm down if you want to survive."

A sharp laugh escaped me. "Why would I care about survival, huh?" His expression stayed unreadable, unmoved. "You should."

"Why?" I shot back. "You paid ten million for me. What are you after? A slave? A plaything? Go ahead and try. I dare you, bastard."

His eyes darkened. "You think I need to purchase women?"

I clenched my jaw. Then, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his calm voice concealed a dangerous edge.

"I don't desire your body, Eleanor Sinclair." My stomach twisted. He knew my real name.

Not the broken woman Vincent had attempted to market. I masked my surprise with indifference. "Then what do you want?"

He shook his head slightly. "I want a wife." Silence fell. I stared at him, expecting a punch line.

When none materialized, I laughed deliberately. "You’re delusional, dreaming." His lips curled into a faint smile. "Maybe." I narrowed my eyes. "Why me?"

His gaze pierced mine, unfazed. "Because I understand your desires." He replied slightly. "Revenge."

Chills ran down my body and soul. Kieran’s voice was smooth yet firm and strong. "You want to destroy Damian Blackwood. You yearn to destroy Vincent Moreau." His fingers drummed on the armrest. "And I can provide you with the means to do it."

I fought to maintain my blank expression, but my heart raced. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

Kieran assessed me before delivering the final blow.

"Play the role of my wife for one year, and I’ll help you take them both down." Air caught in my throat. My fists clenched so hard.

Many days of clawing my way back from hell. Days driven solely by revenge. And now, a man I hardly knew was offering me the one thing I had yearned for.

An opportunity to end them. But at what price? I met Kieran Lancaster’s cold, calculating gaze.

And for the first time since being thrust into this nightmare, I wasn't sure if I had escaped one monster…Only to walk directly into the arms of another….

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  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE END

    ELEANOR SINCLAIR She thought the phone would never be answered.The phone rang once, twice, and on the third ring, the voice, silky and smooth but with a cutting edge of malice, answered with a friendly tone. “I knew you'd call back, Eleanor.”“What do you want from us?” Eleanor's voice came out as a torn whisper, a shadow of her usual voice. Jenny watched curiously, holding the baby as she clenched the phone tighter in her hand, her knuckles white.“Oh, darling, that's the easiest question of all. I love that you are far smarter than your knucklehead husband and your foolish sister.”“What do you want?” Eleanor asked again.“I want what's mine.”“I don't know what you're talking about. What are you saying?”A low laugh, devoid of humor, flowed over the line. “Don't play smart, Eleanor. You should know perfectly well what I'm speaking about. If not, then you should probably be able to guess what it is that I want…”“No. I can't guess.”“I should be a bit more specific, then. Your h

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE PASSED MANTLE

    ELEANOR SINCLAIR Night had fallen when Eleanor at last settled into their bed. The house was so quiet that the only sounds were the soft rhythmic whir of the air conditioner and the quiet sucking sounds that told of feeding from her son. Again, she thought of Damian and how the last few hours had been a blur of taut phone calls and unsent texts to him. Her heart had the old, sick hurt, a sensation that had been her loyal companion since the day she'd met him. She had worried about him and the evil life he led, and now she was even more bothered that she pushed him back. As soon as he left the house that afternoon, she had felt it even without knowing that he had gone, and a shiver of ominous dread settled in her stomach. It was the feeling of everything going terribly awry for him. She called him immediately to ask him to come back home, but his phone went to voicemail. She called his men too—those of them she knew and long dreaded, but they did not know where he was. So had the

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   ONE LAST TOUCHE

    DAMIAN BLACKWOOD It was even darker when Damian opened his eyes. He woke up to a throbbing headache, while the rough texture of stone scraped against his cheek. Groaning, he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with a dull ache as he saw that he was in some kind of cellar or dungeon. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone, slimy with moisture, and the only source of light was a single, flickering bulb on the far wall. The light cast dancing shadows that made the cramped space feel even tighter. “So that bitch got me,” he growled to himself. His head swam with the memory of the prick of the needle, the burning sensation, and Cassandra's cruel, mocking laughter. He cursed himself for being a fool, for walking into her trap, alone. He had been arrogant, blinded by his rage and the need to protect his family. He should have listened to his instincts, brought his men, and come prepared for a war, not this pathetic little skirmish. Now, he was at her mercy, and alone. He stu

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE MEETING

    DAMIAN BLACKWOOD Damian didn't sleep a wink the previous night.But he was more rested this time. Eleanor's forceful treatment did the wonders, and now his eyes were not tired anymore. It was just that it was more difficult for him to sleep, so he remained awake, watching.It was already morning when one of his soldiers arrived with a drone that they had shot down, and the drone carried a letter with it:"I think the time has now come when you should understand what it is that I want.And I wish to see you and talk about it. But whatever you may do, take care of your wife and child, for if I am not well pleased, I shall take them in my charge also. If you wish to view me, then visit me at the garage at 5:30PM and with no men. There is no need for them.With love,—Lena.”Damian snarled and tore the paper apart in a rage of raw indignation, his teeth clashing so hard together he felt the stinging for the audacity of the woman. He had never even heard the name, and already she was thr

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE BLACKLIST

    CASSANDRA JACOBS So she had three targets.First was Ailean… whatever his surname was, and whether he could be called her stepson. No—she was never married to Vincent, and they never held each other to any bonds of exclusivity or marriage. They were just friends who liked to have sex and sex parties and sex orgies with each other until Vincent fell in love with her and wrote it in a final letter.She pitied the little boy, indeed.It was one thing to be born to a woman like his mother—foolish, poor, and willing to do anything for money (she was not an exemption, but from what she knew, Helen-Nora was the foolish kind that did anything for money, without cunning or smarts), and it was another thing to be so hated by his father that he would try to kill him, and not just on one try. He was now somewhere in one of Vincent's hiding places, clean shaven and emaciating next to his mother. Sometimes, she wondered how best to let them die—to kill them outright or to let their hunger finally

  • Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance   THE LETTER

    CASSANDRA JACOBS She had believed him.That was her mistake.She had done it so much that she waited, but he never returned. And no soothsayer needed to tell her something was wrong when she had not heard from him hours after their last phone call, not with how panicked his voice had sounded when he had not returned as he said he would that night. It was the first time she ever heard him talk like that. With fear. Then she heard of his death. It was from one of his men who had come to see her, sent by him. Cassandra did not cry. He had not been constant enough, and she never felt pain when she heard of another death. Yet, it had hurt her eyes and she had simply closed her eyes and let the rage consume her. The father of her child and the only man who knew who she was had now gone. Oh, how she had deceived herself to think it meant nothing. Vincent had been a ghost in life—her life— one who came and went, but his death, the one thing she was not prepared for, because she never im

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