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.”
“Man,” Neil corrected, taking that perfect bite with a smile. Chewing with his mouth closed, clearly happy to enjoy the robust flavors, he swallowed before adding, “Half my steak for one kiss on the mouth.”
Boy did these idiots underestimate just how expensive survival off this ship had been. “I don’t know where you’ve been. And as tempting as your pretty steak is, I’d rather save my skin from herpes, syphilis, chlamydia, gonorrhea. This pit must be a cesspool of disease, all the cross contamination, the—”
“Stop right there, little lady. Fresh as you are, we’re taking a risk on you. Not the other way around. All men are required to wait six months before they can even petition to join this soiree. Secondly, each man, each night he earns the right to dine, goes through a pretty uncomfortable medical check.”
“With petri dishes and blood work? This ship doesn’t have a lab, a microbiologist, or a hood.” Why had the world grown so dumb? “Many STDs are invisible upon visual inspection, especially concerning men. So, pleasant southern accent and all, Neil, I do not want to trade a bite of food for my physical or mental wellbeing.”
“I like this one!” another man at the table—one who clearly had not earned a cookie sheet or a girl on his lap—said with a grin.
And what was there to say to that? Nothing.
Hearty, healthy men wanted to fuck. Lived in a society that set up the opportunity to earn tickets though labor or trade. Had women sit on their laps with only cookie sheets, scraps of clothing, and the barter of tickets or favors between them.
And, if Brooke had spoken the truth, these same charming men would dump their home-brew beer and leftover food over women’s heads while they walked out the door. As if they had not just fucked them or shared hours of cuddles.
It had been three days since Eugenia almost died from dehydration. She was weak and already tired just from bathing and sitting on the lap of the stranger palming her stomach.
But she was far from giving up.
Coquettish, batting her lashes, she said, “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. Take a big bite of my soup, and I’ll show you the best ride of your life.”
“Don’t!” Brooke shouted, reaching forward to knock the bowl over before Neil might grab the spoon.
And there they were, shards of glass, of clay, bits of jagged rock. Did these women not think she’d chew?
Probably not. Everyone must have been dumped on the ship starving.
“What happened here?” Joan, like the final judgement herself, landed at the table.
“I spilled my soup when I saw broken glass on the spoon. Brooke was kind enough to try to stop the mess.” A mess that was spilling into the laps of the scrambling guests Eugenia had been ordered to entertain. “Chain me and whip me, Madame. I’m too weak from hunger to satisfy these men. And though glass contains silica, it's nutrient deficient in all other ways.”