Page 7 of Protected

Then I go over to take a seat on the edge of a bench near Micah and Burgundy.

I accept my bowl of warm stew happily and startdigging in like everyone else. It tastes better than anything I’ve put in my mouth for at least a year.

I eat as much as I can, but my stomach has shrunk from deprivation. I can only get down half. I glance around when I’m done and see Deck still hovering behind me. Standing instead of sitting like everyone else. He’s already finished his bowl, so I pass him the remainder of mine.

He’s so huge he probably needs extra food.

He stares at me gravely but accepts the offer and starts spooning out the stew immediately.

Logan is on the opposite side of the circle of seats from me. I notice him watching me with a thoughtful expression.

It makes me self-conscious. I’d rather no one look at me. I’d prefer to fade into the background.

I’m about to get up to move out of sight when one of the several faceless men I haven’t made note of yet comes over and sits on the bench beside me.

He’s an average-looking man. Suntanned skin, regular features, and a lean, wiry body. He’s also got bad breath, body odor, and long, greasy hair. “I’m Pete,” he says, leaning toward me closer than is entirely necessary. “Welcome to the group.”

“Lilah,” I say, making an attempt to be polite even though I want to shrink away. Not just because of his odor but because he immediately creeps me out.

Everyone smells more than they used to. Daily showers are impossible. Hal and I used to wash in the creek, but we didn’t have any soap or shampoo. No onewears deodorant. If you’re lucky, you’re able to do a quick washup in the morning and evening.

But not everyone smellsthisbad.

I’m new, and I don’t want anyone to think badly of me. I fight against a wave of nausea and make an attempt at a smile.

“You’re awful pretty,” the man says, getting smarmier by the second. “How did you make it this far without a man?”

“I had one. He died.”

“Too bad for him.”

Maybe he intends the words to sound sympathetic, but they’re more like a slap in the face. I stiffen. Wish with everything inside me that Hal was here right now.

“I’ll be your man now,” Pete says, leaning toward me again. “I like ’em little and pretty like you.”

Trying not to gag, I edge away from him and say, “I’m okay. Thank you anyway.”

Pete opens his mouth to reply but never gets the chance. Deck has come around the bench with my now nearly empty bowl of stew and sits down between me and Pete.

Literally sits down. In a space way too small for his big body to fit. If Pete didn’t slide to the opposite side of the bench, Deck would have landed right on top of him.

Deck doesn’t even glance at Pete. Just scrapes the bottom of the bowl with his spoon to get the final bite.

“Way to be the third wheel, man,” Pete whines. “I was working something here.”

Deck ignores him. So do I.

So eventually Pete gets up to leave.

3

When dinner is over,I volunteer to help clean the dishes because it’s one task I’m capable of contributing. Everyone is claiming beds in the showroom for the night. As with the chairs, I wait until everyone else picks what they want before I choose the bottom of a child’s bunk bed. It was originally displayed next to another set of bunks that have now collapsed, so the bed I choose is mostly blocked from the rest of the room. There’s enough space for me to slip into it, and it feels as closed off as my old den.

Before I lie down, I head outside to go to the bathroom and use some rainwater collected in an empty planter to wash up with. I have to move farther away from the group than I’d prefer to get some privacy. A lot of the men don’t care if they pee in sight of each other, but I’m not about to do that.

It’s getting dark by the time I return inside and climb into my bunk.

Because I’m not exposed there, I change out of my jeans and into a pair of tissue-thin leggings and one of Hal’s big T-shirts. It’s more comfortable. I hate sleeping in my jeans.

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