Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Probably. So make the best of things. Lift up your skirt and just take it, as many as you can before they are bored of you.” And with that final proclamation, the doors opened, and the guests arrived.
Boisterous and loud, they poured in. The cleanest group of men Eugenia had seen since the bombs fell. Hair combed, shirts pressed. Scrubbed, smiling, and aware of the system, they found their seats with little trouble—their prize for saving and hard work achieved.
And though not every last one of them was staring right at Eugenia, the majority were.
At red curls that fell without frizzy tangles. At skin too fair to withstand sun. At defiance.
She met their intrigue with a sinister curl to her lip. Because fuck tickets.
That game was for the desperate. Which of course she was. But she was also smart. Top of her class. Knew where every last artery pulsed and the exact amount of time it would take a man to bleed out from a minor puncture wound.
And it burned to know that she would have made an amazing pediatric surgeon yet never would achieve that attainable goal. Not in this world where women shared a razor and the lord only knew how many STDs were spread each night at these parties.
A bony elbow nudged her ribs. “Smile, goddammit.”
No. There was nothing here to smile about. But Eugenia did it out of solidarity.
The smile of a stray warning off a pack of hungry wolves.
Chapter Three
Rules, rules, and more rules. Turns out there was more to the captain’s way of things than just winning the chance to be serviced by the ladies. There was rank in the order the men arrived. In seat placement. In the absolute absurdity of the baking sheets two men waved to signal they were the hosts to their hostesses.
Booths that sat five large men—men grown strong on regular feedings and hard labor—had no room for the women. So, where did the ladies go? On the cookie sheet, on the men’s laps. Preventing the inevitable erection from gaining purchase where it was not yet welcome.
Because rules.
“I’m supposed to sit on that?” It was all too silly to grasp. She wasn’t a pastry.
“Yes. You’re very pretty. My name is Neil.” Broad of shoulder and tall enough to be intimidating, a man in his early thirties patted the cookie sheet with a kind smile. “Come on now. I won’t bite.”
“To be clear”—because burly men were approaching and a scene would not help her cause, Eugenia bit down on her pride and hopped on that lap—“I’m not having sex with any of you.”
Neil seemed so gentile as he put a hand to her bare belly and spread his fingers. “It’s your first night. And you’re lucky you got placed with such an upstanding group of men. We don’t bend the rules. Unless you give us permission or take reward, your company is pleasure enough.”
Pulling her to rest against his chest, finding resistance, the hand on her stomach didn’t move up toward a breast or down to tuck into that insanely short skirt. Planted, it did nothing but be. Despite her tension, her wide eyes, her desire to elbow him right in his nose.
“No need to brace. We can touch what clothing doesn’t cover. I just want to hold a girl against me for a few hours.”
Which sounded so reasonable, like such a trick, that Eugenia wasn't falling for it.
Cleaned-up Cookie Sheet Guy wasn’t bad-looking. The opposite, in fact. Fair-haired, sun-darkened skin, polished, no rancid reek of sweat. He was even funny as he conversed with his comrades. One of whom had Brooke in a very different embrace. A familiar cuddle, a cuddle requiring he place tickets on the table to expose her breasts and palm her lace-clad rump.
Fucking carnival tickets. The red ones that came on a roll.
Women had all been reduced to a sideshow game prize.
Dinner was served. The men dined on mouthwatering grilled meat so fragrant Eugenia salivated. Steak? How in the hell did they have steak? Raising cattle required land, feed, a skill in animal husbandry. It required lots of water...
Her clay bowl of slop was nothing in comparison. And Brooke’s warning was, in fact, true. There were shards of glass buried in chunks of God only knew what.
Managing to eat with one hand, as if moving his digits from her belly might make her run out of reach, Neil held up a fork of perfectly cooked, dripping ribeye. “Would you like to share?”
Unsmiling, she kept her gaze forward. “No, thank you.”
“It’s just one bite. It won’t cost you much.”
Yeah, she was going to die on this ship. Probably from starvation and stubbornness.
“Treat me like a whore again and I’ll break your nose, Neil.” At that, she turned to meet his kinda-pretty blue eyes. “I might not know all the rules, but I know full well that when a boy says ‘it won’t cost you much,’ he’s full of shit.”