Chapter 401:
Without moving, Rylie replied, “They don’t see people here. Just inventory.” Marsha kept her voice low. She had attached the mic to a shirt button. “Is Brad tracking us?”
Rylie’s eyes flicked with a faint nod. “Yeah. But Ronan’s paranoid. Brad’s staying back until we hit the safe zone.”
They still had a while before docking in Marinth. Nothing could move yet.
Marsha needed time to gather proof.
Out of nowhere, Rylie asked, “Anyone in the next cabin?”
Marsha paused. She hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe. Probably. Two guards are always posted. Feels like they’re prepping for more ‘donors.'”
Rylie raised a brow. “Then why’d Ronan drag you along? It can’t just be to watch me. What else does he want?”
“I don’t know why he… Wait.” Marsha froze mid-sentence. The truth clicked. “I’m a surgeon. If there are too many bodies and not enough hands — and he’s got leverage on me — he knows I won’t say a word.”
She turned to Rylie, her voice shaking. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Marsha had always known the Wildes and Ronan played dirty, but she had never been pulled into it like this.
“Looks that way,” Rylie said softly. “I need to figure out when the guards get lazy. If there are innocent people stuck here, I have to know. I’m not letting this end with ‘collateral damage.'”
Marsha’s eyes went wide. “Collateral damage? What kind of damage are you talking about? Who’s supposed to…?”
Rylie said nothing, and Marsha didn’t push it. Instead, she shared what little she knew. “They’ll let you walk around and eat for the next few days. Gotta make sure you’re in decent shape for the… procedure.”
Rylie gave a small nod. “Understood.”
Lɑtєѕτ cнαρτєrs ιn g𝒶l𝑛ovєls.𝗰𝒐𝓂
“I’m heading out.” Marsha gathered her supplies and stepped toward the door. To the guard posted outside, she said, “The sedatives will wear off in about thirty minutes. Once she’s up, make sure she eats and stretches her legs.”
The guard grunted, “Yeah, yeah. We know what to do, Ms. Wilde.”
Rylie began to stir after nearly thirty minutes. A tray of food sat ready on the table. She played it just right — gasping, acting confused, faking resistance — until a guard shoved a gun in her face and told her to behave. That was all it took. She backed down, meek as a lamb, and started eating like she was supposed to.
By the second night, her obedience had earned her a bit more freedom. Outside, the storm roared louder, waves crashing against the ship’s sides. The crew scrambled to strap down loose cargo, and the guards downstairs grew sparse.
The one keeping watch by her door was barely awake, rocking gently with the ship.
.
.
.