We survived the Culling, and we get fucking McDonald’s as a reward? It’s too stupid to be real.
Sydney saves me and jumps up and down excitedly. “My favorite!” she exclaims, nearly bursting my eardrum. I flinch from the pitch, flattening my lips and working to swallow down the venomous words.
I’m shaking.
“Sounds good, Francesca. Their fries are always the best,” Gloria says, her voice tight. One glance, and I can see she and Jillian are tense, struggling to keep their expressions pleasant.
“Wonderful, let’s go in and get you girls cleaned up. There will be celebrations tonight, and you’ll be expected to mingle with the guests. Make an impression and be respectful as they could be potential buyers.”
She turns on one foot and walks off with the standard unspoken expectation for us to follow. Sydney skips after her, but not before throwing a demented look over her shoulder, turning my blood into ice.
Whatever the fuck that look meant—it’s not good.
Nothing with Sydney is ever good.
“Suck it in tighter,” Francesca snaps from behind me.
“I’m trying,” I wheeze, right as she tugs on the strings for the thirtieth time. I ate the McDonald's. Of course, it didn't settle right because when has McDonald's ever made anyone feel better after eating it. And now, Francesca is intent on making it come right back up.
"I think it's tight enough," I groan.
Pretty sure I hear a rib crack in response. It feels cruel that I’m being forced to wear a corset with this dress, but men that operate within human trafficking rings are just as stereotypical as the men who blame sexual assault on the girls’ clothing. Tiny waists are revered, but probably not as much as not having a gag reflex when a dick is shoved down your throat.
Francesca ties the knot and then helps me slip the dress over my head, the same dress all of us are required to wear. A black, silky number that accentuates my curves—my now greatly exaggerated curves. The material ends right below my ass cheeks. A butterfly could flutter by, and my dress would fly up like it’s allergic to the winged creature.
If I pass gas, it’s over.
Francesca runs her hands through my cinnamon tresses, observing me through the mirror. We're in the beauty room, the other girls putting on their makeup, already having gone through the same torture.
“You need to do something with this hair. It’s beautiful but hides that elegant neck of yours. Don’t cover up your freckles when you put makeup on either. They accentuate your unusual eyes.”
I force a smile, scared that if I do anything more, my stomach will blow through the corset.
“I can figure something out with my hair, pin it up perhaps,” I say agreeably.
“I can do it,” Sydney chirps from behind me.
My smile drops, along with my heart. I don’t want the bitch to come a mile within my vicinity because I know damn well she’s going to pull something.
Just as I open my mouth to protest, Francesca turns to her and says dryly, “Fine, but if you do anything to her hair, I will personally see that you lose your hand.”
Sydney’s smile only grows, “Of course, I would never.”
Francesca scoffs as if she doesn’t believe her but walks away anyway.
If she doesn’t believe her… then why is she walking away?
Setting my jaw, I narrow my eyes and carefully watch Sydney approach me from behind. She meets my gaze through the mirror, her cold eyes churning with an indecipherable emotion.
A secretive smile pulls her red lips up higher as she begins to sift through my hair. My shoulders are hiked up to my ears, and the tension between us thickens.
“How long have you been in this house?” I ask after a few moments of silence.
Her deft fingers start separating pieces on the side of my head and then begins French braiding a small section.
“Four years,” she responds.
I raise an eyebrow. “You've avoided the auctions that long?”
She smirks. “I've worked hard to be too unstable to be sold but too valuable to be killed. I'm good at what I do,” she finishes with a wink.
I swallow, not entirely sure how to respond to that.
She glances slyly at me, “Rio has been treating me so good lately, though. He comes to my room every night now. Says my pussy is the tightest he’s ever had.”
I arch a brow. Rio has refused to touch us during lessons, and I've never seen him show any interest otherwise. I’m not surprised that he's fucking one of the girls if it's consensual, but I am surprised that she thinks I’d give a shit.