"First things first," I force a smile. "Rose, let's get your cheek looked after. Is your tongue still bleeding?"
"I don't think tho," she manages with a wince.
Someone knocks on the door, loud and impatient. Opening it, I find our demon cruise director, changed out of her khaki pants into a decorous blue dress. That plastic smile is not in place this time, as if it's been an unendurable torment, keeping it on her face and now she's deeply relieved to let it drop. She's holding an ice bucket and some first aid supplies.
"From Mr. Ashford."
My lips stretch across my teeth in a way that is less congenial and more carnivorous. "Thank you." I force it out in my sweetest tone. "Please tell Mr. Ashford howdeeplyappreciative we are."
And then I shut the door in her face. It's the petty moments that will keep me going.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In which we learn that apparently, some women just never got the maternal instinct.
Violet…
I'm failing my sisters.
I lie awake most of the night, trying to find something I might be missing. A way out. Starting a fire. Stealing a car. But they aren't new to this and I am. Everything is locked down tight.
Fuck!I scream silently, biting a hole in the pillow.
We're startled awake as the sun is rising with a round of aggressive knocking before the door flies open.
"Your stylists are here."
Cruise Director bustles into the room, five women following her, along with a couple of guards. She puts down a tray holding three tall glasses filled with greenish sludge.
"Protein smoothies," she says. "You'll drink these while you're getting ready."
"Could I get some toast?" Rose asks.
The look of disgust Cruise Director gives her would be more appropriate if Rose had asked to cut out her liver and eat it raw."You don't want anything destroying the lines of these dresses. A bulging stomach would be inexcusable. You must look perfect."
"What are they paying you?" It spills from my lips, a torrent of fury. "Really, for you to be this loathsome, keeping girls and women captive. It's got to be a lot, right? Or do you just get off on the power of making other women suffer?"
Her thin lips curl, making her look like an opossum I'd seen by the side of the road once, rearing up with a hiss, its black, glittering eyes radiating malice.
"Stupid, entitled girl," she snarls. "You're not bright enough to see what anhonorthis is."
The stylists have been busy, setting up a rack of dresses and spreading cosmetics over the large table, adding a full-length mirror. They're pretending that they're not listening.
"She's the kind of woman," I tell Rose and Iris, "who doesn't mind having to sit in the back seat, as long as she knows there's other women stuffed in the trunk." They shake their heads, staring at her reddening face.
"I'm always amazed that women like you exist," I say quietly, watching her little black eyes glitter. "You disgust me even more than the men. When they're caught and their asses are sent to jail, I'm going to make sure your bony one is right there with them."
Her hand curls into a fist, the skin drawn tight on her cheekbones like a living skull.
"The gentleman will stay here to make sure you follow instructions." It takes a visible effort for her to get the words out before leaving the room.
Rose and Iris gaze at me uncertainly, they look so young, holding hands like they used to on the first day of school and they were worried about the unknown.
"Let's get ready." I force a smile.
I probe the stylists as much as I can with the two dickheads standing there, trying to see if I can find any pity or sympathy in them. Sadly, they're bulletproof. Any question that's not related to what shade of eyeshadow is good with cream silk bounces off them. They curl our hair, and slap on so much mascara that I can barely lift my eyelids.
It gets worse. They've made Iris and Rose look even younger with dewy, pale makeup and soft pink lips, and my stomach turns at the sight.
