4 BILLION DOLLARS

I bellowed in anger. Of course my words got to him. I was studying psychology for a reason. Looking at the mark of ring on his finger and the scratches which were left by a female, I put two and two together.

The burly guard recovered from my words, his face purple with rage. He backhanded me across the face, the blow sending my head snapping to the side.

"Keep that mouth shut, or I'll give you a reason to scream that has nothing to do with electricity."

The two men exchanged a look, their eyes traveling slowly, lewdly down my body, lingering where my shirt had torn in the struggle.

"Millions for a virgin?" the burly one spat, wiping blood from his lip. "Seems like a waste. Maybe we should take a turn first, see if she's worth the hype. Who’s gonna know if we break the seal a little early?"

He reached out a calloused hand toward my collarbone, but a cold, sharp voice cut through the air.

"Touch her again and I'll have your hands mounted on my wall," a man in a sharp suit warned, stepping into the light. "The Boss was very clear. Do not damage the goods. Take her to the bath. Now."

They shoved me into a sterile, cold bathroom. "Wash," the guard commanded.

I stood defiant, my arms crossed, staring them down with a look that should have turned them to stone. The guard didn't argue. He simply pressed a button on a remote.

The shock shook me to my very core. I could feel it in the lobe of my kidney, the searing pain that tore through me.

My knees buckled, hitting the tile with a thud. The defiance broke, replaced by a hollow, crushing despair. I stepped into the water, the hot spray mingling with the salt of my tears.

I knew there were only two futures waiting for me, and both of them tasted like rot in my mouth.

Either I would be bought to satisfy the sick, lingering hunger of some old man who would look at me like meat left out too long, or I would be sold to a brothel, stripped of my name, my face, my humanity, until I was nothing but a body with no right to refuse.

A hole.

That was the word that kept echoing in my head, cruel and relentless. A hole for strangers to use, to enter, to leave behind without consequence. Every breath hurt, every thought crushed something fragile inside me, because I understood then that my life had been reduced to a price tag, and my pain meant nothing to anyone who could afford to own me.

A shrill scream escaped me, a sound of mourning for the life I had worked two jobs to build. I sank down to my knees, sobbing into my hands until a sharp knock rattled the door.

"Out. Now."

I was handed a dress of white linen so thin it was practically see-through. I didn't protest because I was nothing but a ghost now. I pulled it on and was led to a hallway where other girls stood in a grim, silent line.

On my wrist, they had stamped a number, 22.

I stared at it, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. I was twenty-two years old. Fate wasn't just cruel; it was mocking me. I watched as girls, some looking no older than eighteen were led out like livestock.

The buyers poked and prodded, discussing "quality" as if they were at a farmer's market.

"Number 22. Amelia. Upstage!"

The guards pulled me forward. As I stepped into the blinding glare of the auction lights, I heard a collective, sharp gasp from the crowd. My long hair, long and dark, flowed over the sheer white linen like a shadow on snow.

The auctioneer’s voice boomed over the microphone:

"OUR NO. 22. Twenty-two years. A sweet little virgin. Never even kissed. Pure as a lotus flower... and twice as rare."

Before he could even name a starting price, the room exploded.

"1 million!" a voice cried from the front. "5 million!"

"10 million!" "15 million!"

The numbers flew like bullets. I felt sick.

"100 million dollars!" a man in the back roared, standing up.

The room went silent. The auctioneer grinned, his eyes gleaming with greed. "100 million going once... 100 million going twice...."

"4 billion dollars.”