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.