Swallow it Down - Addison Cain Page 0,4
tower. Yet no morsel ever served with any sort of utensil—heaven forbid she try to make a weapon out of a freaking spoon. Only a bit of crusty bread that, in itself, was so rare she gobbled it down despite the brick in her stomach.
They had ovens. They had stoves. They made bread.
No one, save Joan, entered her room. No men came jeering at the door. There were no squabbles in the halls over who got to fuck her first.
When she yelled for answers or threw her weight against the door, no soul took her bait.
Another stark reminder that this was very different compared to all her other situations of capture in the past.
Two days turned to three before her solitude was broken by more than a tray and congenial older woman. Joan arrived with orders.
First, a shower overseen by Eugenia’s overpolite taskmaster. Joan, standing over her, making certain every inch was scrubbed clean of filth, that stray body hair was removed. Joan scrubbing caked mud from red curls when Eugenia’s shampooing skills were apparently under par. Joan slathering her locks with conditioner to take out the snarls, pulling a comb through Eugenia’s wet mane until it felt like half her hair had been ripped from her skull.
Tsking, shaking her head at another errant tangle, Joan complained, “Young lady… you had three days to wash, and I have to be the one to come in and make you? Do you have any idea how you smelled?”
Well excuse the fuck out of her. “How was I supposed to know that water was safe?”
And why on earth would Eugenia want to wash off her filth and potentially grow appealing to the things that crept around this place?
Under her breath, the older woman continued to fight a knot that would probably need to be cut out of her hair. “Can’t have washed this mop in years.”
It was less that she was naked in front of a stranger, and more that the stranger’s snark was really getting on Eugenia’s nerves. “Oh yeah, every chance I get, I trot right up to the Four Seasons and book the presidential suite, followed by a day at the spa. How long has it been since you’ve been out there, lady? Let someone get a glimpse of the goods and you’ll end up on a whore ship, shaving your legs and armpits in front of a stranger. Oh, and there will be a man with his back to you, two feet away in case you try to use the safety razor to attack Madame Joan, wrangler of unwilling women who’d would really like off this boat.”
That earned a smirk, Joan’s silver bob better suited to a business meeting than stranger scrubbing. “But you owe a debt now. Food, water, two nights’ board. Oh, and those clothes you so kindly refused to wear. Don’t get me wrong; the men would love to see the new girl naked on her first day, but let’s take things one step at a time.”
“How the hell did you even come by clothes like that out here?” Lacy panties. A plaid, pleated mini skirt. A shirt designed to tie under her breasts and leave her belly exposed. “This is a stripper’s version of naughty Catholic schoolgirl outfit… and I’m not a whore.”
“No, you’re not. They won’t be paying you.” Joan didn’t mince words, which Eugenia had to admit was somewhat appreciated, considering the circumstances. “They won’t be paying you for your time. You, young lady, are an indentured guest.”
Fancy language was a tool smart people used to confuse stupid ones. Leaving Eugenia with a don’t even try it smirk as she said, “My mom used to call me ‘young lady,’ but only when I was in trouble.”
“You have been a bit of trouble, but that’s nothing a few weeks’ hard labor won’t wear out of you.”
“Or, and hear me out.” Raising her hands and not at all concerned that the bodyguard was listening, Eugenia gave her most winning smile. “All the women can mutiny, poison the men, and take over the boat. We could christen this ship New Amazonia. Eh? Good idea, right?”
“It takes a crew of three-hundred strong men to keep this ship running, to gather food, to manage maintenance and power, to make repairs, to fight off invaders, and run trade. Sorry, young lady, but I’m comfortable… and you will be too once you accept the world isn’t what it was.”
“It’s not my fault all you older idiots voted for the wrong