Play Along(18)

My scared eyes hold hers and somehow I feel like this girl is not so bad.

“For some reason Mac is protecting you. Take it. I wish he protected me,” she adds.

“How did you get here, doing this?” I whisper so that the other two girls can’t hear us.

She shrugs. “A string of bad decisions.”

I watch her as we walk.

She shrugs. “I live on the ship most of the year. I’m safe here, the boys look after me.”

I swallow the taste of disgust in my mouth. “Do you sleep with all of them?” I ask without thinking.

“I sleep with two of them.” Her eyes drop to the floor. “I care about the two of them. It’s not conventional but the three of us are happy.”

My eyes hold hers. I can’t even get my head around this kind of lifestyle. “So the three of you have group sex?”

She shrugs. “Yes, and one on one.”

I look at her as my brain misfires. “Sorry.” I shake my head. “I’m just so not used to this.”

“I know.” She smiles and takes my hand in hers. “That’s why he—” she cuts off mid sentence.

I frown as we walk into the common room. “What do you mean?” I ask her softly. “That’s why he what?” I whisper.

“Mac is…” She pauses for a moment. “Different.”

For some reason I like this gangbanger. She has an honest quality about her.

I glance around. “What’s his story?” I ask.

“Who, Mac?”

I nod.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. He keeps to himself, but when he first arrived—”

“When was that?” I interrupt.

She narrows her eyes as she thinks. “I don’t know. Maybe eight months ago.” She pauses as if contemplating telling me the next piece of info. “There was talk that he was an AWOL marine.”

My eyes widen.

“But I don’t know if that’s true because it came from Chelsea.” She leans in to whisper so nobody hears.

I smirk. I like that she doesn’t trust Chelsea, either. “Go on,” I whisper.

“Apparently one of the men told her he knows too much to have had the job he claimed to have had before he was here. Something doesn’t add up.”

My eyes flicker to Chelsea as she walks up in front. “Does she…?” I don’t want to ask how often she sleeps with him, but she seems to understand what I am thinking anyway.

“Not often,” she replies as she sits at the table. “Only very rarely and when we have been out at sea a long time.”

I stand, unable to sit down. “Have you…?” I ask as my eyes flash to the other girls who are now at the bar.

She shakes her head. “No. My men don’t loan me out.”

Oh God. Loan me out. I feel sick. This is fucked up.

“Have they?” I ask as I point to the other girls with my chin.

She nods subtly. “Not for a while, though, I don’t think.”

I drop into the seat next to her. I can’t believe I am having this conversation with her. God, I bet he fucked one of them last night. “The sooner I am off this ship the better.” I sigh as my eyes stare out the large windows.

“It’s a couple of weeks before we hit land.”

“I know.” I sigh, deep in thought.

“Do you want a drink?” she asks as she stands.

I nod. “Yes, please. Diet Coke.” I watch her disappear to the bar.

The girls come back and we eat lunch in relative silence, my mind in overdrive. I don’t know what has rattled me more, the comment that he will let me go and just bide my time, the fact that he may be an AWOL marine, or it could be the whole he fucks them all comment. She’s right, he is different to the other men, but I can’t put my finger on why. I do know one thing for sure: I don’t like Chelsea. She is an outright rude bitch. The other four seem nice, but she is just… I don’t even know where to start with what I don’t like about her. She has this whole passive aggressive demeanour with the other girls and talks over them constantly. I walk over to the big windows that look out over the ship and I see Mac and three men standing on the deck deep in conversation about something, pointing over to the shipping containers. I watch them for a while. One man is holding flags and the other two have radio devices that they are talking through.

Mac is looking up into the air with his hand shielding his face from the sun. What’s he looking for? I look into the air and I see a helicopter hovering above the boat.

What the hell?

Help.

Help is here! My eyes dart around frantically. Help is here and I dash toward the door.

“Roshelle,” Angela calls out.