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 am not fucking 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 Jersey isn’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 long for 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?”
“I won’t do it. None of it. And you can’t make me.”
“Oh?” I hear the warning in his voice over the blood pumping in my veins. “I can’t?”
I swallow roughly. “No.”
Chloe flaps her hands, trying to get her husband’s attention. “Don’t listen to her, Darryl. She’s just nervous. You know that’s all it is. Come on, sweetie. Let’s get that suit on you.”
That’s when I make a mistake. Taking my eyes off the bigger threat, I turn to Chloe. “Weren’t you listening to me? I wo—”
Fuck me, but his fist comes out of nowhere. One minute I’m standing there, the next I’m crumpled in a pile on the floor. It’s that fast, and he hits that damn hard.
I see stars. My hand flies up to my face, the pain so sudden, so intense that I can’t tell where exactly he hit me.
In my face, yes, but the heat is overwhelming.
I probe at the flesh with my fingertips, the softest of oh’s escaping me when I find the point where the blood pounds underneath my skin.
My cheekbone isn’t broken—at least, I’m pretty sure it isn’t—but I can already feel the area right under my eye swelling. Tears spring up involuntarily. No matter how much it hurts, I blink them back. I absolutely refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Shit. If I don’t have a black eye come tomorrow, I’ll be super lucky.
Darryl shakes his fist out, and I’m irrationally glad that my hard head at least caused him some pain.
“You’ll do what you’re told,” he says hotly.
The tears are making it hard to see his sneer, but there’s no way I can miss the venomous authority in his voice.
“Wear the suit or head out onto the platform butt-ass-naked, I don’t give a fuck.
But you will give my boys an eyeful of what they’re bidding on or else I might just keep you for myself. Your choice.
“Chloe,” he says next, and I’m sure I don’t imagine the woman’s slight flinch, “you finish cleaning her up. Do her make-up all nice and pretty. And, while you’re at it, do something about that.” He gestures vaguely at the obvious burn scar on my left arm. “The boys don’t like damaged goods.”
I wait until he’s marched back out of the room before I climb to my feet.
Chloe starts fussing over me, murmuring how a little bit of ice will do the job in helping to keep the swelling on my face down, and I let her.
Something tells me that she’s been dealt a blow or two from those same fists.
By the time she comes back with some ice, a nearly empty tube of foundation, and some powder, I’ve already changed into the bathing suit.
Chloe tells me I look beautiful.
I want to throw up.
The auction is like something out of my worst nightmares.
Chloe is the one who brings me to the block in the center of the first apartment complex. But it turns out that women in East Jersey aren’t allowed to attend the auction, either, and she passes me off to a lanky man with hair like straw and a noticeable gap between his front teeth.
He cops a cheap feel as he helps me climb the wooden stairs, and though my face immediately starts heating up while my fingers curl into fists, I know better than to retaliate—no matter how much I want to.
I can’t even begin to guess how many men are gathered around the front of the stage.
So it’s not as many as last night when Darryl sentenced one of his men to death-by-lurker.
There’s still at least a hundred guys of varying ages watching me in the barely-there bikini, and more than half of them are wearing the same sort of coveralls as Darryl.
The prison town’s leader has already taken his place center-stage, a wolfish grin poking out from beneath his bushy beard when he sees that I’m in that damn bathing suit like he ordered me to. There’s a crate next to him, a bell and a hammer perched on top of it.
My eye is throbbing, the spot where he punched me pulsing as I purposely turn away from him.
Chloe did a wonderful job covering the blossoming bruise with as much foundation as she could get out of that tube. Even so, I’m sure Darryl can make out his handiwork from across the stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his grin widen.
I hold my head up as high as I dare, unwilling to give Darryl the satisfaction of thinking he’s broken me. So long as Maverick’s plan goes off without a hitch, we can get the hell out of here, and I can start plotting how I’m going to make that bastard pay for humiliating me like this.
But where is Maverick?
My breath catches in my throat as I cast my gaze over the crowd, trying to pick him out.
A soft exhale escapes me when, after a few seconds where the panic flooded my chest, I finally find him.
He’s stationed right at the front of the crowd.
He catches me looking for him and quickly raises one finger to his forehead in salute.
Some of my nerves melt away now that I know for sure that he’s here. A week ago he was a stranger. Now? All I can think is how good it is to have at least one familiar face out there.
Even if he’s the reason I’m in this situation in the first place. If he hadn’t veered so close to East Jersey…