Jolie finished the wedding photo and the Wi-Fi repair by midafternoon. She was the boss. She could close up and go home early anytime she wanted. But her dad never closed before five and there wasn" t anything exciting to go home to. She decided to try tackling the accounting end of things. Dad had a meticulous nature that helped him keep things organized. He" d had his pension to help keep the bills paid. Jolie had neither.
When she added up the incoming for last month and then the outgoing for the third time, she gave up hoping to pin the result on an error. The latter was still twice as big as the former.
Paperwork, she decided, was not going to improve her mood. She shoved the calculator, along with the folder full of receipts and bills, back into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. And, masochistic soul that she was today, she latched on to the safest of the unsolvable problems life had tossed her way.
“What was with that rose he left? What was a rose supposed to mean?” Her fingers itched to grab the mouse, log back in, and track him down. But she" d never asked his name.
You hooked up. You played. You went your own way. That was how it was in the Quarterz.
“You don" t leave frickin" roses behind,” she told the empty room. She looked at the clock. Quarter past three.
She was not going to give in to the itch to go back. It wasn" t entirely an itch just to tell what" s-his-name what she thought of him. It was an urge to be there. An urge not to be here. A safe-out of her real life.
She knew how messed up that was.
She got up, dug some cleaning supplies from the closet in back, and waged war on dirt-dusted inventory in the retail area, cleaned windows, vacuumed the floor. She was tackling a stain on the carpet in front of the counter when the bells on the door jangled.
Sienna, her best friend from high school days, took one look at Jolie in her newly shiny shop and asked, “Bad day?”
A lump the size of a basketball took up residence in Jolie" s throat. She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and got really serious about scrubbing the stain.
Sienna locked the door and sat cross-legged beside Jolie.
“Where are your kids?” Jolie asked.
“Denny" s mom has them. Thank god for Grandma.”
“Tell me about your day,” Jolie said. “Tell me something funny the kids did.” Haul me back to reality, is what she was thinking.
“Why don" t you do yours first? Tell me a funny story about a customer.” She pondered that for a minute. What would Sienna think of the Quarterz? There are some things, she decided, even your best friend shouldn" t know about you.
“I don" t want to do mine at all,” she said.
“It sounds like we" ve both had the same kind of day.” That wasn" t likely.
“Go get in your shorts and sneaks, Jolie. We" ll run away from it all for a while.”
“It" s not closing time yet.”
“It" ll be just about that by the time you change and get back. I" ll watch the shop.”
“You" ve put in a full day already between your kids and your job. I don" t want to pile more work on you.”
“Oh, yeah. The workload here will finish me off.” Jolie winced.
“Sorry. Will you just go change?”
Sienna set a wicked pace. Jolie welcomed the burn, raced after Sienna all the harder in the hope of catching the mindless escape that came from stripping life down to its most basic needs-breathing being uppermost in her mind.
No matter how fast she ran, she couldn" t outrun flashes of the scene at the Quarterz that kept replaying on a mental screen. Elements of the encounter were too disturbing to escape. The turnover of questions chasing through her thoughts outpaced the turnover of her stride on the sidewalk. Why that pure surge of desire when a stranger" s hand covered her mouth, a muscled arm yanked her against him? Why the flare of heat when she" d first realized the leash bound her to him in a way she couldn" t escape? Why was she still thinking about any of it when she didn" t intend to go back?
Jolie ran so hard she managed to whittle Sienna" s three-block lead down to two before Sienna stopped to let her catch up. Jolie staggered through the last two blocks and sagged against a fire hydrant. Slowly cognitive power returned and her vision cleared.
Sienna wasn" t panting, was barely sweating.
“Okay, it" s obvious.”
“What" s obvious?” Sienna asked.
“You talked me into training…” Jolie paused to gulp air. “With you… Because…” Another gulp. “You hate me.” Pant. Pant. “You want me to die sucking up your dust.”
“True.”
They laughed together, which intensified the stitch slicing through Jolie" s side.
“That and I wanted to get you out of that dungeon you work in.”
“Out of the dungeon and into the chain gang?”
“God, I can" t remember the last time I heard you laugh. Senior year maybe? I" m not holding a gun to your head. You can say no if you don" t want to run.”
But Jolie didn" t safe-out-not out of running, not out of the dying business her dad left her, not out of sex with a hunter who" d caught her fair and square.
“Couldn" t you have just told me a good joke?” Jolie tried standing up straight with her arms over her head to release the stitch. That made her so dizzy she sat in the grass of the corner yard and put her head between her knees.
Sienna dropped into the grass beside her. “What, and miss the chance to beat somebody? You are slooow, Jolie girl. Grandma walks faster than you run.”
“Oh, way to pump up my confidence.”
“What, you want me to pat your little head and give you a gold star for effort?”
“Shut up.”
“That was a stellar effort, by the way. I expected to see you quit and start walking when I stopped.”
Jolie flipped Sienna the bird.
Sienna slapped her back. “That" s more like it. You never settled for a good try, Jolie.
I know you. You" ll take a couple of days, do some serious training up and then you" ll call me, begging me to run with you. You" ll keep at it until you can beat me. Which-
it" s only fair to point out-will never happen.”
“Yeah, you just hold your breath waiting for that call.” Sienna gave a little roll of flesh at the top of Jolie" s shorts a pinch and dodged a smack. Then she was off, jogging easily down the block, dark ponytail bouncing. Jolie could only watch her go. It had to be the kids. Chasing after three little boys would keep anyone fit enough to run marathons.
Jolie flopped back in the grass. Fluffy clouds floated like islands in a brilliant blue sky. It occurred to her that a little fresh air once in a while wouldn" t kill her. It occurred that sunshine was a whole lot more pleasant than the blare of fluorescent lights and computer screens.
She" d been on a downhill slide physically since her father died. She probably had ten to fifteen pounds on the sleek avatar she used in the Quarterz. Instead of her avatar" s silver-blonde locks, Jolie" s hair was dirty blonde, darkened almost to brown by too much time inside, while her skin tone had gone from peaches and cream to paste.
Rather than a fantasy to aspire to, her avatar was a representation of who Jolie had been a few months ago. That bugged her. Jolie pushed to her feet and instead of jogging back to the store, she ran three more blocks before turning around.
I said I wouldn" t come back here. Sticking to that resolution is like trying to stick to a diet when you work in a bakery, surrounded by goodies, with no customers to keep you busy.
At midday the light filtering into the allies of the Quarterz is charcoal gray at best.
This being a land of shadows and souls who craved night, I had come when I was sure the streets would be deserted. I could look around with the clear eye of an observer, safe from the lust that warped my judgment last time. If that didn" t cure my craving, at least I" d get a good-enough look around to develop a feel for the place. An edge could keep me out of leash reach the next time a hunter picked up my trail.
My explorations yielded things I expected. A richly decorated bordello was no surprise. Neither was an abundance of stained mattresses in every possible location-
backs of vans, cellars, backrooms in bars, some tucked behind stacks of crates or dumpsters.
The library, however… That caught me by surprise. Unlike the heavily looted buildings throughout the city, the contents here had been left undisturbed. The windows of this one building were still intact. No mattresses here. Or beer bottles. It was dirty, cobwebby, but for some reason had avoided the abuse that had been heaped on the city outside its walls. Books were scattered on the floor under a central table. I imagined they" d been swept aside to make room for activities of a non-literary nature.
I stooped to rescue a volume facedown on the grubby floor. A tinkle of glass and the scuff of boot heels over gritty tile spun me around. The light outside was fading. I" d lost track of time, forgotten to keep watch for hunters. Hunters didn" t forget to keep watch.
Now I had a hunter a few feet away and no options for quick escape. More shuffling behind me. He wasn" t alone. My body started preparing for a defeat I wasn" t ready to concede-nipples going taut, pussy going moist.
I" d come armed today. The cold blade of a dagger nestled against my thigh, hidden underneath my newest old denim miniskirt. No way could I take them both down. I decided to save it as a surprise for the one who grabbed me first.
I was between a table and the rows of shelves labeled adult fiction. I might have appreciated the humor in that but when I looked down the row I" d intended to use as an escape route, I could see a human silhouette cast over the floor, bent upward along the shelf of the M section. One there, one behind me, one in front.
The one in front stepped from the shadows. “There" s no way out, sugar. We" ve got you hemmed in. And my very expensive prey meter tells me you want me.” No way out unless I went across the table. I moved a step closer. I was pretty sure he was lying about his meter, because I was pretty sure I didn" t want him. I played along.
“You don" t need a meter to tell you what I want, big guy. Just ask.” While he debated if I was playing him or inviting him, I swung up over the table and launched into the kind of slide you see in detective shows on TV.
The guy behind me was closer than I thought. He was right behind me and then landed on top of me, crushing air from my lungs. A leash locked around my neck while I was still curled on the table with the room doing a tilt and whirl.
Three, I thought. There was a fantasy I didn" t want to admit to-not even to myself-the idea of three guys taking turns, or taking me all at once.
The scanner in the first guy" s hand started beeping and he smiled.
I headed off any possible report on the state of my arousal with a question. “So what happens now?”
He smiled and offered me a hand up. I stood with my back to the table, the three of them in a semicircle around me.
He was still holding my hand. His golden hair fell just past his shoulders, golden skin gleamed over muscles that made my mouth water. This was a world where all the men were hunks. He wore a tattered shirt, sleeves ripped away, unbuttoned. A pair of jeans, just as ratty as the shirt, rode low enough on his hips that if there had been better light I might have seen a few pubic hairs peeking above the waistband. When I realized I was staring overlong and overly low, I yanked my attention away and fixed it firmly on his face. Those sapphire eyes drilled into my wandering thoughts.
“Hi,” I said, my gaze flicking uncertainly from him to the other two guys.
“I haven" t seen you around the Quarterz before. What" s your name?” The username that had seemed flippant when I created my account didn" t seem like such a hot idea now. But then I" d never expected anyone to get close enough to me to take me up on the implied invitation.
He let go of my hand, fingers walking slowly up my arm to trace the line of my collarbone, touch my chin. “Don" t be shy.”
I ducked my head and mumbled, “Snatch Me.”
“Bold name for such a shy girl.”
The guy just to my right spoke up. “I" ve seen her here a few times, out by the front gate. Reading the rules but never coming in.” This one was bald and dressed in biker leather, black vest, pants, lots of chains and tattoos. My mouth was so dry I could barely peel my tongue away from the roof of it to speak.
“I" m not shy and I" ve been inside.”
“Really?” The biker guy cupped my right breast in his hand, his thumb flicking back and forth over the nipple while the interrogation continued. The gleam in his eyes had my stomach doing a flip-flop. I wondered which part of that statement appealed to him. “Who broke you in?”
I had to bite my tongue to keep my jaw from dropping. I" d never heard anyone be so blatant about sex, so politically incorrect. No man had touched me, in a sexual way, while other men looked on. My mind was asking “what" s the matter with you?” while my nipples went harder and every flick of that thumb reverberated through a region much farther down.
“Answer the question. Or this is your first time?” This came from a dark-eyed man with what I thought was an Italian accent. He was tanned so dark I could easily imagine he spent his days naked, taking prey in sundrenched vineyards. He was shirtless now, wearing only black jeans. His straight black hair was cut in a primitive style that had the look of being done with the long knife he wore on his belt. He was the one attached to the other end of the leash around my neck.
Each man, in his own way, had made a physical connection to me. The air seemed to drip testosterone.
“Who broke you in?” the biker repeated.
If I had ever known the answer to the question, I doubted I would remember it now.
“I don" t know his name. But he was tall. Built.” Given the encounters I" d had so far, built might not be a helpful identifying characteristic in this world. “He had a place down the river out where the cliffs are the shade of emeralds.” A grin stretched in triplicate across three faces. It was sexily different on each man.
“Wastelander,” the Italian said.
“She might be a fun ride after all,” the biker said. The hand cupping my breast squeezed.
”Waster breaks them in right,” the blond agreed. He was close enough now that his knee bumped my thigh. My bottom lip started to tremble. I bit down to hide the weakness.
His voice gentled. “I" m Hunt.” He tipped his head left toward the biker. “That" s Urit.” And a nod toward the Italian. “Romero.”
What should I say? Nice to meet you?
I nodded. Waited. We all knew how this would end. I supposed they were deciding how to begin working toward that end. I couldn" t run so the next move was theirs.
“Only the once then, with Waster?” Hunt asked.
“Only the once,” I said. I didn" t want to think about Waster and his role as expert deflowerer of cyber-virgins.
“When did Waster ever use one more than once?” Urit asked.
“Shut up,” said Hunt. “You follow him around and count the times he snatches each prey? The point is, she" s still new.”
Was he trying to spare my feelings? A hot blush crept up my neck. I couldn" t adjust to the idea of chatting with three men about my sexual experience as casually as we might chat about weather. I tried to move things along.
“So you have me. What next?”
Romero and Urit looked at Hunt. Hunt looked at me, curled a lock of my hair around one finger while he considered.
“What" s next? Next you have some choices… One, you get to safe-out and go home.
We don" t do anything here you don" t want. Two-if you aren" t keen on three of us, Romero made the catch and you can go somewhere with him and he can do what he likes with you.”
Romero moved closer then, his lips quirked up in a hopeful half smile.
“Or,” Hunt continued, drawing my attention back to him. “You can join the three of us for a game of lucky librarian.”
Urit grinned and winked.
“What" s lucky about a librarian?” I asked.
“Depends on your definition of lucky,” Urit answered. “Now the way I see it, it" s lucky if you lose the game and all three of us haul you back here to do the deed.” He tipped his head toward the grungy table.
Hunt expanded on the explanation. “Or you might get lucky and win your freedom before any of us has you.”
“If going home unfucked is your definition of lucky,” Urit said.
“There are rules for this librarian game?”
“You pick first, bebe. No rules until pick.” Romero smoothed my tousled hair.
They were focused, intent.
“You think, I won" t safe-out,” I said, stalling for time.
“Girls who come to read rules three days in a row don" t safe-out,” Urit said.
“The smart girls always find the library,” Hunt said. He was still twirling my hair around his finger while he spoke. “Smart girls always think they can win.”
“And they make for the best fucking when they find out they" re wrong,” Urit added. “All that thinking makes them hot.” He had a gleam in his eye. I knew he was baiting me. I still couldn" t let it slide.
“If you" re so good why does it take three hunters to catch one prey?”
“Because prey are smart,” Hunt said with a shrug.
“And you don" t have to have three,” Romero reminded her. “Not unless you want.” He wiggled his eyebrows in an endearing way.
Urit" s thumb was flicking my nipple again. “So what do you think, girl?” I had to be out of my mind. This whole thing smacked of a trick, sounded too easy, but they were charming. Yeah, even Urit in his own scruffy way. I knew I could outwit him. He knew I thought I could.
“I always wanted to be a librarian,” I said. I was rewarded with whoops. And pinches.
“These are the rules,” Romero began. “You get one hour. You still have clothes in one hour, you free.”
“Still have clothes?”
Urit walked to the checkout desk and grabbed a box from behind it. He tossed. I caught.
“You put on the costume,” Hunt said. “We give you five minutes head start. You hide where you want. We find you and take one item, then let you go.”
“Same guy can" t strip a trophy twice in the row,” Romero said.
“Get dressed,” Hunt said. Now that I had committed, he was all business. “Unleash her.”
Romero yanked his dagger from his belt, eyed me hopefully. “One last chance to change your mind, bebe?” It was tempting. I could imagine being pinned by those dark eyes, tied to a bed somewhere in a row house while Romero fucked me senseless. My sensible side threw water on the fantasy. I could beat these guys at this game. I knew it.
“Cut me loose.” He did, then slipped a hand under my skirt and relieved me of my dagger. “Librarians don" t carry knife.”
The costume was prim, proper and pink. Ugh. There were plenty of layers-skirt, jacket, blouse, chemise, stockings, garters, panties, bra, slip. No way they could win this! When I was dressed, Urit put my clothes in the box. Since I was a “noob” they dropped their prey scanners in with my clothes. The box was taped shut and returned to its place under the admission desk.
Hunt called out the time and said, “Go.”
I went.
At first I ran crisscrossing the allies, up one street, down the next, until even I didn" t know where I was. I ducked into a cellar to give myself time to think up a plan. I didn" t have a watch, so I couldn" t tell how much time I had left. The Quarterz was a big place.
It would take a lot of searching to find me.
To stay ahead of a hunter you have to know where the hunter is. I listened for the sound of pursuit. Beyond the sound of my ragged breath and my pounding heart was the sound of the river. A river ran along the backside of the Quarterz, ran just behind the library. I only had to make my way to the river and then follow it back to the library. They" d never think to look for me in the place I was fleeing. I was willing to bet that was where they" d go to pass information to each other.
I crawled out of the cellar, smearing my skirt and suit jacket. I scanned the first street I came to and darted across, headed toward the sound of the river. I ran past a Dumpster, nothing, and hands snatched me from the street. He wasn" t one of the guys I was running from.
“Well fuck me if it ain" t the lucky librarian. Who you playing with, girl?” I struggled. “Let me go. I don" t have time to talk.” He shrugged and flipped open his cell phone. “Suit yourself. I" ll broadcast rather than call direct.” I ran but hadn" t gone far when he connected. I knew this because the message blasted from speakers across the Quarterz. One on a lamppost above my head. It looked like part of an emergency warning system-a pre-apocalyptic relic.
“Got your librarian here, boys. She" s on the corner of east Muskine and Third.” I turned and shouted back. “Hey. That" s not fair.” He laughed. “Who told you it" d be fair?”
Urit appeared at the end of the street. I dodged through a back door and into what turned out to be an old grocery, ravaged by looters. I stepped over broken jars and smashed cans, the contents of which had long since rotted and hardened into a brittle black crud that coated the floor. Glass crunched behind me. I slipped through a door that said employees only and hid in the men" s room.
Moments later I heard them circling. “I cover the back,” Romero said. “Urit, you watch she don" t slip under the front.”
“You mean through the front.”
“Whatever.”
I wondered where Hunt was. Then I heard the stealthy shuffle of feet just outside the door. “I got her, boys,” he shouted, popping open the door and snatching me out.
“Her panties are mine.” He reached under my skirt and rubbed his fingers over the dampest part of the silk. I stared up at him, thought this is how it feels to be prey caught in a hunter" s predatory stare.
One finger slipped under the edge, just at the crotch, twirled the soft curls there, the way he" d twirled my hair earlier. I couldn" t breathe. For a moment I thought he might abandon the game and have me right there against the wall. He did in a way-fucking me with his finger while I pressed my palms flat against the tile wall, dug my fingers into crumbling grout. I was pinned by his stare and one talented finger, so lost in the hypnotic power of the moment I heard the ripping more than felt it. He waved the panties like a trophy. “The guy who gets the panties gets you first.” I couldn" t think of anything to say to that. I was teetering just short of what I thought would be a refreshing release. Something to take the edge off. He confirmed my suspicion that he wasn" t going to take me the rest of the way. “Don" t just stand there looking all big eyed and sugar sweet. Run.”
I did.
Again an announcement blasted across the Quarterz. “She" s pantiless. Hunt claims the first fuck.” Whoops and whistles, while embarrassing, were clues as to where I shouldn" t go. I hadn" t thought I" d be so outnumbered. I hadn" t thought this would be a public stripping. I ran on unsteady legs, the effects of my brush with Hunt still singing in my blood.
I had wondered once or twice why I never saw other women in the Quarterz. I supposed they had to stay hidden but thought surely I" d run into one today with all the ground I was covering. Naturally when I saw the first, she was in a Hunter" s hands, draped over the same red couch I" d seen that first day. He was too busy to call in my position.
I was looking over my shoulder at them when I rounded a corner and slammed into Urit. I wasn" t sorry to lose my pink suit jacket. He tossed it in a Dumpster and backed me against a wall. He held my hands against the bricks, over my head. His hot mouth closed over one nipple and then the next-his tongue dampened the cotton blouse, teased the lace bra, and his teeth clamped down with enough pressure to make me squirm but not enough to hurt. His fingers found my slick pussy. His thumb flicked back and forth over my clit with that same steady beat he" d used on my nipple in the library. It made me think of a thumb flicking the button on a lighter-raising the flame and then letting it go out. Repeating and repeating again. He played with me just like that. But not long enough.
“Run,” he said when he was done.
I did, but not as fast as before.