Thomas kicked the blankets to the side, and with a loath descent onto the floor, he perpetuated the ruse. Any desire he had felt toward this woman and her coerced need to please him quickly evaporated, dissolving within the burst of perfume the woman just released from a tiny, heart-shaped bottle. She smiled, put the bottle down, and took some lotion from a plastic stand. She worked some of it into her hands. “How does this do you?” Her hands inches from Thomas’s face as she lay down beside him, both of them on their sides.
He inhaled, and not surprisingly, it smelled of lavender. “Fine.” Thomas forced a smile as she put the bottle back.
“Just fine?” She placed her hands upon his chest and ran them down his front, stopping at Thomas’s belt, using it to pull them together, her chest now heaving into his own. “Is this fine?”
A thin line of sunlight squeezed its way through a partially uncovered window. It fell across her face, highlighting her scar. His nerves began to get the best of him. This isn’t for you. She began to undo his belt, but his hands grasped the buckle. She released him, her eyebrows knitting as she did so.
“I told you I just wanted to talk.” He fed the belt back through its buckle. “I wasn’t lying.”
She shook her head with a confused look, dejected, but he sensed some relief in her eyes. “I’ve heard that before, but never… I’ve never had anyone actually stick to it.”
“It’s just been awhile for me.” She smiled from the explanation. And while that was the truth, it was far more complicated—Thomas couldn’t bring himself to subjecting these women into this form of slavery any further. Play the game. “I can’t jump into something like this without… I don’t know.”
“No, it’s okay.” She retrieved his hand once again, holding it within both of hers. “Believe me, it’s okay. I’m here to do what you want. If that’s all you want, then I’m good with it.”
Thomas exhaled. “Good.”
“Let’s just talk then. I’m Cindy.” Her finger traced the veins on the top of his hand as she brought it into her chest. She then kissed it lightly, leaving a smudge of pink lipstick. “And you are?”
“Can’t you stop for one second with this crap?” He jerked his hand away. “This isn’t you!”
The woman’s eyes went wide—her body wriggled away from him as swiftly as she could. Thomas raised his hand to reassure her, but she covered her face in defense. “Please!”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
A period of silence. She gradually removed her hands to see Thomas’s concerned face.
“I…” He stared at her. “This was a waste of time, I’m sorry.”
She rolled onto her back and followed him with her eyes as he moved toward the door. He took the rest of his chits and threw them across the tent. “This isn’t my thing.” He hated leaving her there, knowing within the remaining daylight another man would be here with no other purpose than to defile her. “It won’t always be like this. I promise. You’re worth more than these stupid pieces of metal.”
The woman said nothing, her fingers worked obsessively to scrape the coins from the floor. As Thomas had guessed, it seemed nothing he said matter. She got what she wanted. These women are lost.
Thomas curled back around the tent as he exited, his feet trudging through mud and toward a dense area of trees. The thick growth overhead exposed the ground to very little direct sunlight. Only a few scraggly weeds and the occasional run of ivy broke up the endless swaths of drying mud. Exposed roots seemed to grab at his boots as he continued, his head on a swivel. There has to be some other guards out here.
He did his best to appear lost in case someone stumbled across him. Still have my stupid badge. Good! He backtracked every so often. Occasional pauses—scratching the back of his head. Finally, he came upon a ridge. The western service road below him. A gradual drop beyond that which led to a gulley flowing underneath a small bridge.
Crouching down, partly hidden behind a tree while untying then retying his laces, he observed the service road for a moment. Both ends of the road were clear. He heard nothing—not even a bird calling. Down the face of the ridge, he took choppy steps, skiing slightly, creating slip marks on the steep hill. His boots were now heavy with mud stuck within their treads. He scraped them across the asphalt while crossing.
He rounded a bend and from a distance, he found himself observing two more guards posted at the western entrance into the park. It was the same basic setup as the other. A fortification—pallets that were covered with some metal sheets and appeared to be assembled for quick deployment. Some weapons that had been checked in by visitors leaned against the wall or were spread out across a table. That’s quite an arsenal by itself. By the looks of it this was not the main point of entry.
Even with these two guards, it seemed there were still a couple missing from the count the woman had given Blaine. Thomas would have to assume they were patrolling the woods or were in the crowd earlier, and he had missed them somehow.
There was no reason not to trust the woman. The camp was set up exactly as she said. The count on the guards was mostly right. The firepower was right. She had no reason to lie. This place was hell… her hell. If she was going to have a better life, this was the chance. No one else was coming.
A scrape across the pavement.
“Han— Hands!” The shaky command came from behind him.
Thomas smirked. There we go. Calmly, he put his hands out to his sides and steadily placed them on top of his head before turning to see who had found him. His eyes didn’t make it past the AK pointed directly at his chest. Shit! A guard stood twenty yards away. The sight of another high-powered rifle bent Thomas’s nerves. The barrel’s opening grew to the size of a train tunnel. “I have my pass. I just had to piss.”
“Not all the way out here you don’t.” The guard tried to hold together a stiff glare, but Thomas knew better than to fall for this wavering façade. He looked like a teenage boy—definitely wasn’t built for this type of work. Lanky and frail. Wide-eyed. The kid’s scar appeared fresh compared to many of the others Thomas had seen.
His finger was dangerously close to the trigger as the rifle jiggled within his grip. “Come on now!”—He jerked his rifle, ordering Thomas to the middle of the street—“This ain’t part of the attraction. Back to camp with you! Let’s go!”
Thomas followed the kid’s weak instructions and made it over to where he apparently needed to be. “That’s it!” The kid circled around him while maintaining his distance. The rifle remained at Thomas’s back, and although it never physically touched him, he knew it was there.
“I don’t have a weapon.” Thomas kept his voice calm and soft as he walked. Startling the kid was the last thing he wanted.
While the two of them marched down the white dashed line, Thomas gradually slowed his pace—the kid seemingly oblivious that his reactionary gap was dwindling. “You don’t have to point that at me, buddy.”
“I ain’t your buddy.” The sound of the kid’s sneakers scraping against the pavement continued toward Thomas.
He couldn’t help but feel that he should take the boy, strip him of his weapon, hustle off with him into the woods, so the Second Alliance could give him a life with some purpose. Children didn’t stand a chance on their own in this world. The kid was brainwashed and completely out of his comfort zone. Trained to do something he couldn’t possibly understand. Brought into the game at what point? Had he been here since the beginning? Joined up with family? Stolen, perhaps?