The Auction

The Auction KINGS OF RUIN: BOOK ONE L KNIGHT Contents Preface Acknowledgments 1. Prologue: Lottie 2. 1: Lottie 3. 2: Linc 4. 3: Lottie 5. 4: Linc 6. 5: Lottie 7. 6: Linc 8. 7: Lottie 9. 8: Linc 10. 9: Lottie 11. 10: Linc 12. 11: Linc 13. 12: Lottie 14. 13: Linc 15. 14: Lottie 16. 15: Linc 17. 16: Lottie 18. 17: Linc 19. 18: Lottie 20. 19: Linc 21. 20: Lottie 22. 21: Linc 23. 22: Lottie 24. 23: Linc 25. 24: Lottie 26. 25: Linc 27. 26: Lottie 28. 27: Linc 29. 28: Lottie 30. 29: Linc 31. 30: Lottie 32. 31: Linc 33. 32: Linc 34. Epilogue: Lottie Books by L. Knight About the Author The Auction Kings of Ruin Book One By L Knight Published by L Knight Copyright © January 2023 Cover: Clem Parsons-Metatec Editing: Black Opal Editing Formatting: Black Opal Editing Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar This is a work of fiction. Names characters places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as fact. Any resemblance to actual events organisations or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on a screen. Except for use in reviews promotional posts or similar uses no part of this text may be reproduced transmitted downloaded decompiled reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means whether electronic or mechanical now known or hereafter invented without the express written permission of the author. First edition January 2023 © L Knight Acknowledgments I am so lucky to have such an amazing team around me without which I could never bring my books to life. I am so grateful to have you in my life, you are more than friends you are so essential to my life. My wonderful beta team, Greta, and Deanna who are brutally honest and beautifully kind. If it is rubbish you tell me, it is and if you love it you are effusive. Your support means so much to me. My editor—Linda at Black Opal Editing, who is so patient. She is so much more than an editor, she is a teacher and a friend. My UK PA Clem Parsons who listens to all my ramblings and helps me every single day. My ARC Team for not keeping me on edge too long while I wait for feedback. Lastly and most importantly thank you to my readers who have embraced my books so wholeheartedly and shown a love for the stories in my head. To hear you say that you see my characters as family makes me so humble and proud. I hope you enjoy Linc’s and Lottie’s love story as much as I did. Cover: Clem Parsons @Metatec Editing: Black Opal Editing Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar Prologue: Lottie I skid around the corner of the house, trying to find a hiding spot from my mom. My foot catches on a stone as my body goes airborne and I land with a grunt on the gravel of the drive. Pain stings the skin of my knees and hands from trying to save myself, and tears prick my eyes, but I shake it off and swallow down the pain as I jump to my feet and race off. I can’t be found here, I need to hide. I have homework to do and it’s stupid. I don’t want to do reading, it’s too hard and I hate it. I round the wall that leads to my favorite part of the grounds and sigh with relief. Everything about the rose garden makes me happy. The pretty colors, the sweet smell, even the harsh thorns fascinate me, but it’s the peace I get here that I love the most. Dipping beneath the arch of trailing roses, I head towards the back, where the potting sheds are, and slump down in the fragrant grass. It’s wet beneath my bottom, but I don’t care. I’m safe here, free to daydream, free to be me without having to prove anything. I examine my hands seeing the broken, scuffed skin and then tentatively glance at my knees. I hate blood, it makes me feel all funny inside, like I might be sick, and my head gets all funny, like my brain is trying to fall asleep. I abandon the idea of cleaning myself up after a glance and hope it will just scab over. My nose wrinkles and stings and my chest feels heavy as I think about what my teacher said today. That I was stupid and it was a waste of time trying to teach an idiot. I hate that school; it’s full of rich kids with fancy clothes and toys. Rich people can be mean and nasty. Mr. Coldwell is mean; he never says anything to me, but I see it in the way he looks at me, as if I’m a nuisance, as if I’m a fly he wishes he could swat away. Mrs. Coldwell is nice though, but she always seems sad, as if she might cry. Maybe her teacher was mean to her too. But she can read, I see her in the library sometimes and I envy her. She can see the words my mother insists are there in the books, but I’m dumb and the letters move every time I try. The gate that leads down to the lake on the other side of the rose garden creaks, and I tuck my body closer to the side of the wall, hoping whoever is there won’t see me. I listen as the steps get closer and closer and close my eyes. If I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see me. The sound moves closer until I know they are near to me, and I open one