Page 55 of His Toy

Today was different, though. He only brushed her hair for about ten minutes before he put it into a braid. That made her nervous.

“What’s going on?” she asked hesitantly as he led her out of their room. With one hand in his, looking up at him, she felt a bit like the little girl he called her when he led her everywhere by the hand. But it also made her feel safer.

He smiled down at her, reassuringly. “Sorry, little girl. We’ve got things to do today.”

It amazed her how Jordan was allowed to bring her wherever he wanted around the compound. At first, he’d left her in the room for periods of time; now he almost always took her with him, and no one said a word. Eventually she’d realized it was because, for the most part, she’d been extremely well behaved after the first couple days. Even at the beginning she hadn’t put up more than token resistance.

After all, what was the point? No one on the Moon cared if she was here—not like Bella and Alex. If they did care, it would only be as a novelty, and they’d probably lose interest once they realized the Wolf didn’t have anything to do with her. Some other student would get her scholarship, but that was the most disturbance her disappearance would have caused anyone: a bit of paperwork. That was just how it was. There were people who were important—or, at least, the children of people who were important, like Alex and Bella—and people who weren’t. Like Trish.

Strangely, in some ways, she was treated better here on Earth.

Cool air swirled around her thighs as they passed by people in the hallways. They were almost all soldiers. The entire compound was filled with them, and there were more around than usual because of Cora’s visit. Those who knew the woman either nodded or smiled at her as she passed. At first, the soldiers’ attitudes toward Cora had startled Trish, especially because none of them leered at her or made crude comments.

Not that Jordan would put up with that. As much as he enjoyed showing her off, it was always on his terms, and he never let anyone else touch her.

Well, with a few exceptions.

Laura, one of the women she could sort-of call a friend, waved at her from down the hall where she stood next to her man, Marek. Well, ‘stood next to’… Really, tucked under his arm. Like Trish, she wore a dress, although hers was a deep purple that would have washed Trish out.

There were two kinds of women in the compound. The vast majority were soldiers—they were all shapes and sizes, all levels of attractiveness and they all had one thing in common: they were hard. They played hard, fought hard, and were treated by the men as equals. Trish had seen plenty of relationships between soldiers, and no one seemed to care.

But then there were a few men who had ‘their’ woman; one who wasn’t a soldier but was allowed to stay in the compound, and those women always wore skirts. It was like a special uniform to let everyone else know that woman was off-limits.

Everyone respected the skirt.

Strangely, there didn’t seem to be an equivalent for the men, though a few of the female soldiers had their own women in skirts, too. When she’d asked, Jordan had shrugged and said they weren’t restricted from bringing a civilian male into the compound. But, for whatever reason, none of them had one.

“Morning Princess,” Chevie said as he dished out Trish’s usual eggs and potatoes. Jordan hovered protectively over her shoulder, although he didn’t consider the friendly cook any kind of problem. His eyes watched over the newcomers.

“Morning Chevie.” Trish took her plate. “How’s Trix?” She didn’t see the sunny redhead anywhere in the kitchen behind him, where there were quite a few people working.

“She’s good,” Chevie said cheerfully, but didn’t expound further, and there were people behind her, so she had to keep moving. Jordan kept one hand on the small of her back while his other held his plate full of food. He ate nearly three times as much as she did.

Every morning, Jordan chose a different table to sit at and circulate among the Wolf’s soldiers. It was probably part of his job as the Wolf’s second-in-command. It certainly meant she got to see a lot of different aspects of the Wolf’s operations, but no one seemed concerned about what she overheard.

Today, everyone talked about Cora, of course, but instead of talking about whatever was going on, they all discussed her torment of Alex the day before. With Jordan’s hard body next to her, his hard thigh pressed against hers, Trish sat quietly, eating and listening.

“Did you see how shocked Moon Boy was?” one of the women asked, laughing. “Bet he’d never felt anything like that on his nuts before!”

“At least he didn’t cry and beg like the last one, or worse—wet himself.”

“Couldn’t wet himself with that hard-on anyway.”

“Did you see the way Trace was eyeing Pet? Bet you that Cora asks for her next time.”

“Ha, not after the way she enjoyed Toy! She actually got to have some fun with a Moon Boy for once!”

“Ten credits she gives in to Trace and takes Pet.”

“Done!”

The happy banter and cheerful betting felt incongruous with the events of the day before. Trish shivered. Sometimes she wondered about the people of Earth.

Everyone was nice to her. They enjoyed watching Bella and Alex’s debasement, but they seemed to see some difference between Trish and the other two captives. Was it because she was with Jordan and not the Wolf? Or because it was well known Trish was an orphan and not part of the privileged classes who lived on the Moon?

The soldiers were all derisive of the Moon families; contemptuous, even. Alex had garnered some small amount of respect and fascination, although he probably wouldn’t be overjoyed to hear that since the reaction was a group desire to see more of his debasement, to try to predict his reactions. She’d seen more than one bet being settled over his behavior.

Bella’s behavior was less interesting to them. Her reactions were similar to those they’d seen before, although more than one person had commented that if Alex hadn’t been taking up so much attention, then Bella might have been more of a standout. She had a grace under pressure; a steady bravery that kept her going.

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