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apart from that? There’s one guy who comes to these things that I’m hoping will bid on me.”
    “Who?” Elena asked curiously. She’d leaned forward in her chair.
    Susan sighed again for dramatic effect. “His name is Alexander,” she said. “He’s dreamy. I’ve seen him both times I’ve been here, but I guess I’m not his type.” She looked ruefully at her blonde hair which hung in lustrous, touchable waves down her back.  “He seems to go for the frail brunettes. Like Jenny.”
    That’s precisely why I’m a brunette, I thought. That’s why I’ve been starving myself for twelve weeks. To try and look more waif-like, so that Alexander would bid on me.
    Susan continued talking. She didn’t mention Alexander again and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to arouse any suspicion. I tried to ask her what the auction itself was like but she refused to tell me. “It should be a surprise,” she grinned. “I will tell you you’ll get a chance to talk to every Master or Mistress who wishes to bid on you and you can reject anyone you don’t get a good sense from.”
    “Does that happen very often?” I asked.
    Susan shrugged. “Not terribly often, but it does happen,” she replied. “Mostly, it tends to be around silly things. Some women want only young Masters, some women only want older Masters, some women only want a Mistress, that kind of thing. Things you should have already indicated on your check-list but didn’t. But,” she looked at both of us, very seriously, “if you get a bad vibe from anyone, you should trust your instincts. Always.”
    Elena nodded. “I know,” she assured us. “Same warnings as in the clubs. Better safe than sorry.”
    I kept silent until Susan fixed me with a curious look. “What’s your story, Jenny? Why did you decide to do this?”
    “My sister has leukemia,” I lied. “I need the money.”
    Elena turned to me with an expression of sympathy but Susan looked troubled. “Umm, Jenny, does Madame Lorraine know this?” she asked.
    “Of course,” I responded. “Why?”
    “Because money impacts consent,” Susan replied. “If you are desperate for the money, are you really likely to use your safe words when you need to?”
    Susan was wise and perceptive. Money did impact consent. As did a thirst for revenge. I knew that if Alexander won me, no matter what he wanted to do with me, I would allow it. I wouldn’t use my safe word. I wouldn’t say no. I would be the best slave-girl it was possible to be. I would do whatever it took to get him to take me to Hanoi with him. Hanoi, where Dylan McAllister lived in an impenetrable compound that we had tried to infiltrate three times in the last year and a half.
    I would do whatever Alexander wanted. I would do it willingly and obediently. Because this was only three months and I could endure it. I had endured so much more.
    ***
    My hair was sculpted into an elaborate, braided hairdo. I was made up skillfully, with eye liner and mascara and eyeshadow to draw out the green of my eyes. My lips were painted a crimson red. My pale skin was tinted with foundation that made it seem soft and dewy; my cheeks were highlighted with blush. I was draped in a black silk robe that could easily be untied so that my purchaser could inspect the goods before he or she bought me.
    When I looked in the mirror, I was unrecognizable.
    This morning, before I left my hotel room on Khao San Road, I had taped a Bowie knife to the underside of the toilet lid cover. I had killed with that knife.
    I could run twenty-five miles without stopping. I could kill a man with my bare hands. I could speak five languages with reasonable fluency. I could walk into a room and tell you instantly how many people were in it and who the most likely threats were. I was a trained warrior.
    When I looked in the mirror, I saw none of that. What I saw was a young woman with blushing cheeks and kohl-rimmed eyes, waiting to be purchased at an auction by her Master. I looked