Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
"The one who gets the drinks," I say, my tone gruff and expectant as I hold up my two plates of food.
"I can help you with that," she says, a half-smile on her face.
"I want the other girl," I demand, despite not changing the volume of my voice.
She swallows before looking back over her shoulder as if she needs help and knows she can't ask for it.
"Ruby is busy in the back. Let me see if she has a minute."
I stand there, holding enough food to feed three people, and wait. I feel Zayne's eyes on the side of my face, more than likely glaring at me for making such a demand. I know that he's probably worried I'm going to ruin our place here, but the alternative to what I would do has an even greater risk of doing that.
The swinging door opens, and instead of the girl I just spoke to coming out and making excuses for Regina, the girl in question comes out, her eyes swarming with fear as she approaches.
"Water, no ice," I grunt. "Please."
I don't wait for her to respond. I simply turn away and walk right to the place where I had breakfast, a side spot that lets me keep an eye on almost everyone in the room.
I dip my head in appreciation when she brings the drink, sliding it close to one of my plates.
"Thanks... Ruby," I say, not looking in her direction, but rather choosing to glare around the room.
I catch another guy looking at me, and I know just how low on the totem pole he is when he drops his eyes back down to his plate. Another guy in the corner holds my gaze, but I see more curiosity than challenge in his eyes, so I hold his gaze for a few more seconds before focusing on dinner.
I'm not a food snob. I'm not one to spend a lot of time researching places to eat. I was never impressed with the fancy shit my parents would have at dinner parties or one to brag that I had the best steak at whatever place in town. Hell, I'd be fine with an MRE most days, but there's something to be said for a little seasoning. It seems either the women preparing the meals have never heard of it, or someone else is dictating what everything tastes like.
It could very possibly be the fact that I'm guilty of eating something prepared by someone who doesn't even want to be here, much less serving men who have probably hurt her at some point. I look down at the food, wondering if, given the chance, would they poison people? Would they do it to just certain people, or try to wipe out all of us?
My fork is slow to lift to my mouth with that consideration.
I mean, I wouldn't blame them, but I'd also not like to be on the receiving end of their retribution.
After eating, I simply stand, hating that it's expected for me to leave my dishes on the table for someone else to clean up and resist the urge to leave a fucking tip. I never liked doing that, even growing up in a household that had paid staff. It just feels wrong to me.
I don't wait for Zayne this time. He seems to be in a serious conversation with the man who held my gaze earlier, so I just walk out of the dining hall.
The sound of music and laughter draws me to an area of the compound I haven't been to yet, and although we were given a map, we weren't instructed that there were off-limit areas. So I figure I'm in the perfect position to use the "I didn't know" excuse if I end up somewhere I'm not allowed.
I take the long way around toward the music and chatter, making sure I maintain a look of confused annoyance as I walk, in case anyone sees me on one of their many cameras.
The rows and rows of stacked, crushed cars are more than a little disorienting. They form the walls of the paths in a way, and it's reminiscent of that damn ghost movie I watched a million years ago.
But shit like that has never scared me. Knowing what real, living monsters are capable of, I don't have the energy to waste on the probability of paranormal bullshit.
I turn right at the end of yet another stack of rusty cars, hoping to have the chance to explore a little longer, but it puts me right at a burning fire pit surrounded by group members drinking beer, listening to music, and chatting.
I help myself to the cooler, once again risking that it belongs to someone specific and I'm about to catch shit for it, but no one speaks up when I pull a bottle out.