Rory turns to me. His eyes are dark, shark-like in the dim cockpit. Alarm cuts through me as I realize that he and Christian are now between me and the door.
They’re just nerds. Shipheads.
‘So how does a pretty girl like you end up in a job like this?’ Rory’s question sounds innocent enough. He’s smiling, his gaze roving over the ship’s interior. Christian is eyeing the dash with drawn-together brows. They’re not even looking at me. They’re interested in the ship.
‘She works her ass off,’ I reply, and too late I realize my tone is all wrong. Too defensive. I clear my throat. ‘It’s not ideal, but I’ll take what I can get.’
They share a fleeting glance. In that instant, the air in the cockpit changes. My stomach lurches like the first drop on a rollercoaster. I don’t know what it is, if it’s the twitch of an expression, or the subtle movement of bodies, that tells me I’m not safe here. It doesn’t matter how I know. But I know.
Christian leans against the wall. Rory’s gaze finally slides over to me, and it’s like the sickening turn of a key in a lock, trapping me on the wrong side of a door. He moves toward me casually, his smile easy and open. ‘How do you usually pass the time on these trips, Midonia?’
‘Not much to do on a little transport like this,’ Christian adds. And now he, too, is watching me. His body language is relaxed, his head cocked back as he looks down his nose at me. Yet I feel punctured by their eyes, a prey animal in the night, just before the predator springs.
‘Ah, well.’ My voice is hoarse. I swallow. ‘It can get boring. There are playing cards in the passenger bay, in one of the storage compartments. And chess. Do you play chess?’
They must hear it in my voice. They must smell it on me. The stench of fear.
Rory’s gaze drags from my face down to my feet, then back up again. He reaches out to pull playfully at the collar of my jacket. ‘Nah, not a fan of cards.’
‘Or chess,’ Christian adds, pushing off the wall.
They pen me in. I could easily get to the cockpit door, if they don’t stop me. There’s still a sheen of propriety here. Plausible deniability. If I had a gun on me and I pulled it right now, I’m the one who would look insane. All three of us know the crystallized truth that expands now through my veins, making my blood buzz with adrenaline – they are in control here.
They also know, just as I do, that everything in this cockpit is being recorded. I opened the door, I let them in. If I lash out now, I’ll be the attacker. They’ll sue me for all I’m worth, and I’ll be ruined. But if they work for it, if they terrify me into submission, they know it’ll just look like I allowed myself to be fucked by two strangers while on the clock.
My eyes flick up to the camera where it’s positioned in the upper corner of the cockpit. It’s old; itlooksold. It won’t pick up sound. The visuals are grainy. Theseassholes have probably already clocked it, and know that too.
‘Look,’ Rory says, an edge of impatience coloring his voice. ‘You don’t have to play coy, Midonia. We saw the way you looked at us when you picked us up.’
‘You were checking us out,’ Christian says. He moves toward me.
I back up, but my back hits the wall. I realize then that even if the vid depicts things just as they are, even if they force me right here against the wall, it won’t change a thing. Maybe I’ll get paid damages. Maybe they’ll go to prison.
My life is over either way.
‘C’mere.’ Rory holds out a hand. Christian is looming over me now, almost leering. He licks his lips and I suppress a gag. In this instant, Rory’s extended hand is a lifeboat. Maybe Rory is the rational one. Maybe he’ll control his friend.
I take Rory’s hand.
His skin is warm. He pulls me toward him, almost into an embrace. One hand is on my shoulder, the other on my pilot’s chair. He spins the chair to face us. ‘Sit down, Midonia.’
This is the moment when I realize that I’ve done it to myself. I knew I should not have taken this fare. The second I saw their IDs come up on the viewscreen, my gut told me not to take them. But I did. And here I am.
Who is coming to save me? Who is going to put a stop to this?
I sit in the chair.
‘Good girl,’ Rory says. ‘Let’s have some fun.’
Christian sidles over to join his friend. They stand over me and I can practically see the gears in their sick heads turning, deciding what to do to me.
I could shove my boot hard into Rory’s groin. I could jab my fingers into his eye. I could leverage the limited self-defense moves I’ve learned over the years. But if I strike first, the video will say I was the aggressor.
The blood rushes from my face. Terror drags a blade down my spine, tightens a fist around my lungs.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rory asks, leaning forward. He braces one hand on the chair armrest, and with the other, he starts undoing his belt. The sound of jangling metal, his belt falling open, triggers my adrenaline like a gunshot.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ I’m surprised at how aloof I sound, how detached. As if a version of Midonia, a faraway echo of myself, is speaking for me. ‘It’s just … that readout on the dash. Do you see it? You should go strap in. We’re about to have a rough ride.’
