Just One Damned Thing After Another (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #1)

by Jodi Taylor

When you’re fucked, you’re fucked. Things really can’t get much worse.

Finally, we were presentable. Not decent. We would never be decent again.

We didn’t make it outside. Up against a wall inside the pod, outside on a blanket, outside off the blanket, outside up against a tree; the man was a machine. They say the quiet ones are the worst. Take it from me, the quiet ones are the best.

I put my head on his chest and felt his heart race. We were in a sorry state, sweaty, covered in dust, bruised, and scratched. I’d never felt better.

He looked much better, as people tend to do when they’ve got fat, calories, salt, sugar, and cholesterol inside them.