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“Why does Martinez always get to go first?” a male voice whines. Three men pass by the small crack in our door, but none of them look our way.
“Because Martinez shows up for his watch on time,” an older man retorts, pushing a cigar between his lips and lighting it with a match.
“You always rough them up too much. No one else wants them after you,” another guy says and Mason’s arms tighten around me to the point that I think he might squeeze me to death.
They all snicker and the second man opens the door of the incinerator. Fire blazes from inside, filling the already hot room with heat. A bead of sweat travels down my neck, between my breasts, but still, I don’t move.
“What are they doing?” I breathe, when the guy who complained about Martinez moves toward the women on the tarp.
Mason presses his lips against my ear, his voice so low, even I can barely hear it. “She’s not here.”
Trembles rack through me and Mason takes my hand in his, holding it firmly against my stomach as I watch in horror while two of the men lift up one of the women and carry her over to the incinerator.
They can’t be . . .
“How much longer do we have to do this shit? This one stinks.”
“You’ve left her down here too long,” the older man says, still smoking his cigar and watching from a distance. “You’ve got to know when to throw your toys away.”
The other guy chuckles as they toss the woman into the flames. Just like she’s trash.
“Until boss says to stop.”
“Well, when the fuck is that going to be?”
“You know how the government works. Everything happens on their time.”
I freeze. The government?
“Just be happy they aren’t throwing us in the furnace after that shit Beck pulled.”
“Governor’s daughter. Man, I would have loved to take a slice of that pie.”
“Nah. That bitch was crazy. He did us a favor letting her go. Her sister, though . . .”
Mason’s hand tightens around mine to near-bruising strength, but he doesn’t move. I can feel the tension radiating through him when they toss another body in the incinerator, not a care in the world that these were real people. People with families and moms and dads. Probably even kids.
“Good luck getting that one,” the older man says. “Mommy’s little princess.”
“We need to get out of here,” I breathe, saliva pooling in my mouth. That would be something, wouldn’t it? My vomiting giving us away?
“We will,” Mason murmurs in my ear. “I’ve got you.”
“She’s spoken for.”
They all fall silent as a new voice comes into the room from somewhere we can’t see. They’ve just thrown the fourth woman in the fire. It sounds familiar, but I can’t make it out.
“Oh, is she now?” the older man chuckles. “Mommy dearest promise you a little piece of that cherry pie if you keep an eye on us?”
“Something like that.”
Ew.
Double ew.
My skin feels itchy. Like there are ants crawling on me at the thought of whoever this mystery man is getting a piece of myanything.
“Got room for another?”
