So she described, in detail, how each sexually transmitted disease affected the body and mind. Puss, sores, sterility. All of it. The internet had been gone for six years, but in its place, human imagination had become vivid again. Enough, but not all of them, were scared away by graphic detail, so she didn’t start screaming.
No one raped her. Sex was taking place, for tickets, at the other tables. Where other young women dressed like pre-war strippers bent over with no foreplay and took it.
And then, after hours of conversation and fake smiles, every last bastard at the party walked past, dumping his food and beer on Eugenia’s head on their way out the door. Laughing at the uptight virgin with the big tits and puffy nipples you could see through her shirt if you splashed leftover beer just right.
As Brooke had warned her, every rule existed for a reason. And it didn’t take a would-be pediatric surgeon to figure it out. No woman would grow attached to a man who did this to her. No man would see her as a person in need of help. The nightly event was a show and nothing more. With no winners, and one massive loser.
Her.
She did cry that night in the shower, alone where no one could see.
Chapter Four
The routine was much easier to fall into than Eugenia would ever admit to herself. Wake up, alone, her room the perfect temperature, thanks to air conditioning.
And get to work.
Swab the deck, swab the toilets, swab her room, swab herself.
It grew painfully clear that Eugenia had no interest in tickets—three weeks having passed without her accepting a single one. Nor another morsel of food, a shiny bauble, nothing. She would sit on the designated lap, the opportunity to host her on a cookie sheet a privilege men paid extra tickets for in those first few days, until they saw the shrew who out-conversed them, outplayed them, and would never fuck them. Her novelty wore off and the other women warmed up.
She wasn’t a threat to their freedom or their favorites—though that was also on the list of rules. No favorites allowed. Though even Eugenia had them. Neil wasn’t so bad, and he really did just want to hold a woman when he got assigned to her table. But he absolutely fucked at the other tables, waiting in line with the other men, if the lady was willing to give him a ride.
Some of the men chose her because sex was not on offer. They wanted real snark, honest conversation, a female mind to connect with. And as she saw it, she hurt for them as much as they sickened her. For all of them. Everyone trapped on the boat, in a dead world, was living out a painful fantasy with no end in sight.
At first, she preferred the nights serving as waitress to the nights serving as hostess to lonely, horny men. But if she was not engaged, she was shadowed.
The captain had struck her that first day. There was no question he’d sexually assaulted her with no thought for her as a person. And now he lurked wherever she went.
After all, her threat to burn down his ship had not been made in vain.
If she was scrubbing dishes in the kitchens, her hair tied up, out of nowhere, a finger would trip down her nape. The first time, she screamed bloody murder, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard him coming. And dropped a dish, which shattered over the floor she just mopped.
All southern drawl, he smirked to see her so undone. “You should be more careful with my things. That’s another five-thousand tickets.”
Hand to her breasts, positive her heartrate was in the unsafe levels, she snarled, “Fuck your tickets, and fuck you too!”
“Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Yes, in fact. I was offered five-thousand tickets last night—the going rate, if I understand correctly—if only I’d bend over the table and take it from some guy named Amos.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she faced him, wet and sweaty, soap bubbles up her arms. “I’d like to think sex is worth more than a single plate. Not that I give a fuck about your ticket scale, but wouldn’t you consider your pricing a bit askew?”
“It was a very pretty plate.”
“You are an asshole.” One who liked to get her worked up each time he caught her alone. “Go away. I have chores. Also, I’m menstruating. According to your rules, I don’t have to be in the presence of men. Bye now.”
Rubbing his hand over the scruff on his cheek, the man’s eyes went down to her apron-covered belly. “Are you regular?”
“Keeping a calendar?” It could be exceptionally smart if he was. After all, when making the duties schedule, ovulation wouldn’t be the best time for his slaves to service the patrons. Pregnant whores were not as useful.
Reaching past her to grab an apple off the counter, it was like he could read her thoughts.
In her personal space. Much, much too close, a full head taller, he crunched that first bite of forbidden fruit and gave her a wink.
How the hell he even had apples was… something she didn’t want to know. How they had any of this bounty couldn’t be anything but bad.
“Are you really going to just stand there?” Inches away, so close she could smell him, all woodsy and leather. That she’d nudge him if she turned around and went back to scrubbing dishes.
He took a second bite of apple. Chewed and stared.