At her back, he chuckled. “I’ll be thinking of your special skill while Chloe is sucking my cock later.”
Shouting down the hall, she countered, “I’ll give her some pointers before she comes up to your rooms.”
***
Up until it was her turn to service the captain overnight, the “trades” kept coming. One box outside her door even contained a live chicken.
What the fuck was she going to do with a chicken?
Not that she didn’t pick it up and pet it, finding the feathers soft and the animal willing.
Had it been a puppy, that man might have won the bets.
Human anatomy was one thing. Poultry was another. But they’d let her loose around knives in order to get chores done, and the pretty, cuddly bird was ended quickly.
A butcher’s knife to the neck.
And just like wild game she caught back when she’d been free, she sat on the deck, looked over the view of a dead forest, and pulled the feathers so they might fall like snow. So she might have some repetitive action to distract her while she looked upon a world that had failed everyone in a way.
The bird was roasted and served to her table, set down in a bed of potatoes and carrots. The head served alongside. She didn’t eat a bite.
“I really did think the chicken might have won you.” It was Malachi who laughed, patting his full belly. “Think of the eggs. You could have traded those for more tickets.”
“I live in a closet and have nothing to feed it.” And yeah, she did feel a bit bad for killing the poor, aromatic thing.
“Of course you do! The other girls live in multi-room suites. Much nicer than the bunks we share downstairs.” Nudging the guy at his side, he said, “Right, Verne? You and I both know Jessica’s room well.”
“How much does that cost?” Because this was fascinating information.
“Oh, twenty-five thousand tickets a night! But it’s a real bed, not a pallet. And there is a private toilet and a soft woman.”
Jessica was nice. Quiet, disassociated. Kept to herself. Wasn’t the kind to put broken glass in the new girl’s food.
Someone deserving of a fine room to rest in, considering the shit she had to put up with.
“I like her.” Which should be said. “Jessica’s cool.”
The men at the table toasted Jessica’s name. Clicked their glasses and shared a moment of comradery Eugenia knew better than to analyze.
And then she saw him watching her.
Because this was his night to “win” the bets. She’d be in his rooms for a week, and he wanted every man here to know it. So he’d hold the prize. So he’d run the money.
Dirtbag.
A dirtbag who came to collect her when the bell was rung and the men lined up to dump their food and drink on Scarlett and Kim.
Where everyone could hear, he said, “We struck a deal, siren. Come along now, and let’s discuss that deepthroat you claimed to be an expert at performing.”
He led her away by the hand, wrapping an arm around her middle, as she hissed, “I’d throw myself off the side of this boat before I’d take your sorry penis in my mouth.” She was tempted to do it at that moment. Which was precisely why he’
d put that covetous arm around her waist. “How many women have jumped overboard?”
His reply was easy. “I haven’t lost one yet. In fact, all those who leave always come back.”
“Bullshit.”
But Joan. Nice—as much as Eugenia hated to admit it—helpful, accommodating Joan had come back.