That’s wishful thinking, and I stopped with that sort of bullshit nine months ago. That man is dead, one way or another, and if I can’t find a way out of this fucked-up mess, I could be next.
For now, I lie here, my ears open, my heart thumping, waiting for some sign, any sign that a lurker has invaded camp. My pack is half open and I’m holding onto a lighter, forever prepared because I know I can take out a lurker.
One of these East Jersey men? Not a chance. Not unless I have Maverick’s gun, and since he snuffles and snorts and starts to wake up when I try to steal it, that’s out of the question.
Hours tick by, but with my phone long dead, there’s no way of knowing what time it is. These last few days with Maverick, I’ve grown used to making camp at dusk, then breaking it up at dawn. I know I should sleep. I’ll need my wits tomorrow, and my strength.
But I can’t. I don’t move, lying there stiff and still, the night growing darker before it eventually begins to lighten. My body aches from all of the tension. I’m exhausted, but not sleepy. I tell myself it’s the snoring and being in a stranger’s bed, but I’m not fooling myself even a little.
The night seems to drag by and yet, I’m surprised by the knock at the door when it comes the next morning. The locks turns, and the door is thrown open.
It’s time to get ready for the block.
CHAPTER 16
Igaze down at the bed in abject disbelief. There’s a two-piece bathing suit spread out on the quilt, a skimpy red and white-striped bikini that is little more than two bits of string and a couple of tiny triangles.
Jabbing my pointer finger at what could laughably be called a bathing suit, I snap, “I amnotfucking wearing that.”
One of Darryl’s wives is helping me get ready for the auction; she meekly tells me she’s the second one he ever picked out of the terrified women hiding in the neighborhood, shortly after the prison town was formed but months before the auctions were formalized. Chloe is probably about thirty, thirty-five, but there’s something almost motherly about her. She’s shorter than me by a couple of inches, and just a bit plump, which is more of a rarity these days when food is rationed so tightly.
Then again, that’s how we did things in the Grave. All I need to do is look down at the bathing suit to be reminded that East Jerseyisn’t like anything I’m used to.
With auburn hair cut in a messy bob, plus a pair of dinged-up cat’s eye glasses, Chloe looks like someone right out of the past. Like the other women I’ve seen here, she’s dressed in a neat blouse and a skirt that’s frayed at the edges. It’s too longfor her. I can see where, in the front, someone with a shaky hand had tried to hem it higher. She’s friendly and soft-spoken yet, from the few minutes I spent with her in the kitchen before she brought me back to the bedroom, I can tell that in the seven months she’s been with Darryl, he’s brainwashed her to believe this is the only way she can survive.
By catering to his every whim, fucking him when he wants, and setting up another woman for the same fate while her soft brown eyes scream for help behind her glasses…
“Oh, but you have to.” Her voice is soft. Light.Trained. “It’s Darryl’s rules. All the girls have to do it when they get their turn to find their husband.” She smiles. It sends a shiver down my spine. How can she even pretend to agree with this? I’m convinced Darryl has made her like this somehow; that, or she doesn’t want to be lurker chow next. “I promise, it’ll all be over before you know it, then you’ll have nothing to worry about ever again. That’ll be all on your new husband.”
I don’t want a husband. If I did, I could’ve had my pick of them back in the Grave. Hell, Chase would’ve been at the front of the line. That wasn’t my style, though. I’ve always used a guy for a little pleasure, then dumped him and moved on when I was bored. Alexandra Holden wasn’t the type of girl who was looking for a diamond ring and a white wedding, even before the Turning.
I sure as fuck don’t want some jailhouse wedding to an ex-con.
Chloe is a lost cause, though. I could try to convince her to help me get out of this, but when she seems to believe that this is the most a woman in East Jersey can hope for, I doubt that’ll work. I’ve purposely been separated from Maverick so he’s no help.
It’s just me and a bathing suit that I’m not even sure will fit me.
She tries to cajole me into changing. I refuse. She pleads. I pace around the room, looking for something that could be a weapon. Unless Darryl took it, Mav has my pack and Rory’s jacket; I wasn’t allowed to bring anything with me to breakfast or when she shoved me into a shower stall to rinse off all the dirt on me. It’s good to know that my antidote, dwindling supplies, and the jacket might be safe even if I’m not.
Chloe’s voice develops a more frantic edge. “If you don’t hurry, we’ll be late. Darryl hates it when we’re late.”
I snort. “I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”
She gasps, and for a second, I think it’s because I dared to defy her precious Darryl—and then I glance behind me, realize that he’s entered the bedroom, and I don’t have any idea how long he’s been standing there.
His expression is affable. The promise of pain in his eyes isn’t.
“What’s going on in here?” he asks. “Miss Alexandra. Why aren’t you in your suit?”
I shake my head.
He huffs. “Time’s wasting. Let’s make it easy so ya understand what I mean. It’s either the bathing suit or your birthday suit. Make your choice, girl. But make it quick. My boys are waiting for you.”
Anger surges through me. Hot anger, sharp as a knife, making me both wild and reckless.
I glare up at Darryl. “No.”
He cocks his head. “What was that?”
