Return of the Northern War God

#4

Chapter 4

The underground auction hall was built like a theater — rows of plush red seats descending toward a circular stage lit by harsh spotlights. 

Men in tailored suits filled the seats, their faces hidden in shadow beyond the stage lights. They murmured to each other, drinks in hand, waiting for the next item.

On the platform, inside a steel cage barely four feet tall, Celeste Lancaster — Adrian’s sister huddled in the corner.

They'd dressed her in something that wasn't even clothing — scraps of red fabric that left almost nothing to the imagination. Her hair was matted. Bruises mottled her arms. And around her neck, an angry red mark cut across her throat like someone had tried to strangle her.

The auctioneer — a woman in a white dress with slicked-back hair and a microphone headset — smiled like a game show host.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Her voice boomed through speakers. "Our final item tonight is truly special. Look at her. Young. Unspoiled. And with a fascinating story."

She gestured, and a large screen behind the cage flickered to life.

"This particular item came to us wearing this." She held up a silver necklace with a small locket. "Inside was this photograph."

The screen showed the image of two children at a park. A boy with his arm around a little girl who was missing her front teeth. Both were smiling, looking happy. 

"When our staff tried to remove it during processing, she went absolutely berserk." The auctioneer chuckled. "Nearly choked herself to death trying to keep it. We had no choice but to tear it off by force. See that mark on her neck? That's from the chain."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

The auctioneer crouched in front of the cage, tilting her head with mock sympathy. "Tell me, sweetheart. You're about to be sold as a sex slave to one of these fine gentlemen. Are you still thinking about your childhood sweetheart?"

Celeste's voice was barely audible. "He's not... he's my brother."

"Your brother?" The auctioneer's face fell in exaggerated disappointment. She stood, turning to the crowd. "Just her brother, gentlemen. How boring."

"My brother," Celeste said louder, her voice shaking but defiant, "is a good person. You're all trash."

The auction hall went silent for one heartbeat.

Then it exploded.

"Fifty thousand!" someone shouted.

"Sixty!"

"Seventy-five!"

"I like the feisty ones!" A man in the third row stood up, waving his paddle. "One hundred thousand!"

The bids came faster. The numbers climbed. The men leaned forward in their seats like wolves that had scented blood.

...

Three floors above the main auction hall, a luxury suite overlooked the stage through one-way glass. The room was decorated like a five-star hotel—leather furniture, a full bar, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the auction below.

Jasmine Christian-Grey — Natasha’s cousin —  lounged on a cream-colored sofa, legs crossed, swirling a glass of wine. Her beauty lay in its severity: defined features, hard edges, and an unmistakable chill.

Beside her, the patriarch of the Rodrigez family — Trevor’s father — a man in his sixties with silver hair and a face like weathered stone, watched the auction with hooded eyes.

"She's a fool," Jasmine said, taking a sip of wine. "Talking back like that. They're really going to torture her to death now."

"Spirited ones fetch higher prices," the patriarch said. His voice was rough, like gravel. "The buyers like breaking them."

Jasmine smiled. "I suppose."

"I'm surprised Natasha didn't come herself."

"For this?" Jasmine waved dismissively at the window. "Natasha has more important things to do than watch some girl get auctioned. This is just cleaning up loose ends from Frederick Lancaster's mess. Besides..." She leaned back, examining her nails. "Natasha is meeting with representatives from the War God's command tonight. If that alliance goes through, the Christian-Grey family will be untouchable."

The patriarch nodded slowly. 

"Speaking of loose ends. When will that fucking Betty reveal Adrian Lancaster's location?"

"My son Trevor is handling it as we speak." The patriarch checked his watch. "He even had a tracking device implanted in Betty’s body years ago. He should have results by now."

"Betty hid for so long," Jasmine mused. "Protected those children. Gave up everything. Only to be harmed by the man she loved — truly not worth it.”

"Weak men make convenient tools."

Jasmine pulled out her phone, tapping the screen. "Trevor sent you access to the tracker, didn't he? I want to see where this pitiful woman ended up."

The patriarch handed her his phone. Jasmine opened the tracking app, watching the blinking red dot that represented Aunt Betty's location.

Her smile faded.

"That's strange."

"What?"

"The tracker." Jasmine zoomed in on the map. "It's moving fast." She looked up at the patriarch, confusion crossing her features. "Why is it heading toward us?"

...

Down in the auction hall, the bidding had reached a fever pitch.

"Three hundred thousand!"

"Three-fifty!"

"Four hundred!"

The auctioneer's eyes gleamed. "Four hundred thousand! Do I hear four-fifty?"

A portly man in the front row — Orthon Castellan, stood up slowly. His face was red, sweating. He raised his paddle with a trembling hand.

"One million."

The hall went silent.

The auctioneer's smile widened. "One million dollars! Going once... going twice..." She raised her gavel. "SOLD! To Mr. Castellan!"

Applause erupted. Men whistled and cheered.

Orthon waddled onto the stage, breathing heavily. Staff members unlocked the cage. Celeste pressed herself into the corner, but rough hands grabbed her arms and dragged her out.

"Let me go!" She struggled, kicking. "Get off me!"

Orthon grabbed her chin, his fat fingers digging into her face. "You're mine now, little girl. We're going to have so much fun together."

Celeste spat in his face.

Orthon's expression went from lecherous to furious in an instant. He raised his hand to slap her…

The auction house doors exploded inward.

The sound was deafening. Wood and steel tore apart like paper. Smoke billowed into the hall. Men screamed, diving out of their seats.

And through the smoke, Adrian Lancaster walked in.

He was still in his combat uniform, covered in dust and blood that wasn't his. In one hand, he carried a sidearm. 

Behind him was soldiers in tactical gear fanned out along the walls, weapons raised, red laser sights painting dots across the panicked crowd.

The auction hall went from chaos to frozen silence in seconds.

Adrian's eyes swept the room once. Then they locked on the stage.

On Celeste and on Orthon who was holding her, a little taken aback by Adrian’s presence.

"The woman on that platform is mine."