Chapter Two
I was back in the Quarterz by the next afternoon-night in their time zone. You probably knew I would be. Even I didn' t believe I could stay away. Rather than look for trouble in the same direction I' d found it last time, I moved away from the light, toward the sound of the river that ran behind the town.
I was aware of my own skin in a way I' d never been. As if each cell were a receiver tuned to the slightest nuances of temperature, moisture, air current. Somewhere down a distant alley, I heard the rattle of what sounded like a garbage can toppling and my skin hummed like a network picking up the data, passing it to veins and bones. From a different direction the sound of breaking glass set off another flurry of reaction.
Adrenaline washed through my veins and I felt so alive I wondered that the air around me didn' t crackle with it.
Most of the street lamps were dark, the light available cast by fires in burning barrels and an occasional burning car. It was creepy that amid so much evidence of rage there could be so few signs of life. It was meant to be creepy.
I slipped into an abandoned warehouse by the docks, clambered up a maze of steel catwalks. The last set of stairs led to a central, windowed room suspended high above the main floor. The meager furnishings included a stained mattress sans sheets, assorted beer bottles and a crate. A hubcap filled with cigarette butts rounded out the decor. A thin curl of smoke rising from the center of the butts had me backing out, looking quickly around. There was nowhere to hide up here. Unless you could float suspended in the darkness. My heart was pounding so loud I couldn' t hear the clack of my sandals on the metal walkway.
I couldn' t see him, but I knew a hunter was there, watching. I kept moving. Back down the stairs, even though a queasy feeling in my stomach warned a trap waited
below. I had more than one stalker. A shadow quivered at the edge of my vision, vanishing when I turned my head. The scent of tobacco rode an air current from the main floor one level below me now.
I stopped, pressed my body against a steel post, blending with shadows. Male voices floated up.
“You sure she came in here?”
“Can' t you smell wet pussy?” came the answer.
Of course he was baiting me. The taunt meant to flush me out.
My pussy didn' t get that. A rush of heat and scent in response to the tease would lead them right to me if I didn' t find a way out.
Again a shadow flicked just to the edge of my vision, but when I turned no one was there. I wasn' t fooled.
Three hunters on the trail then. Below, boots clanged on steel. They were coming up. What now?
There was a C container just below me, close enough that if I hung by my arms from the catwalk my feet could reach. There wasn' t much time. I had to get there before the hunters below had climbed high enough to see me lower to the roof. I slipped off my sandals, sat on the walkway, shimmied over the side and hung by my arms. My feet met only air.
Minor miscalculation.
I wasn' t strong enough to swing myself back up and my hands were sweating so bad I knew I couldn' t hold on long. I let go, hoping for the best. My landing was soft but audible.
I flattened myself against the top of the container. From my perch I could see one shadowy figure move my direction from the back of the warehouse, another moving up the walkway froze.
“You hear that?”
“Yeah. Sounds like good times ahead?”
The first man chuckled. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
I cringed.
They were both moving up the stairs now. I peeked over the edge of the container.
It was farther down from there to the floor than I wanted it to be. There was a hatch on the top of the container, I eased it back and peered inside. It was darker than dark. I looked around for something small to drop. There was a bottle cap close to my elbow.
I extended my arm as far into the container as I could before letting it go. It hit something solid sounding with a soft plink, something solid and fairly close. I lay on my belly and inched backward through the hole, my feet found a perch before I' d dropped hip-deep. I slid into my new hiding place and waited. And yeah, I know I said I wasn' t the sort of prey that shivered in the shadows. When you' re trying to give three hunters the slip, adjustments have to be made.
When I could hear the guys clomping around in that room at the top of the catwalk, I decided it was time to leave. They had to be together, because no way they made it to the top without running into the guy who' d been behind me. Apparently none of the three had noticed the small pair of sandals nestled against the post at the first landing. I inched over the side of the tall crate I' d landed on and felt along the wall toward the door I' d seen up front and to the right. The metal was cold and rough under my hands.
My feet moved over the damp floor. I stepped on something slimy and jerked, banging a knee-high crate and sending an assortment of objects skittering across the floor. I froze, looking upward. The door, right in front of me now, popped open and I had a hand over my mouth and another arm around my waist before I could scream. In the little bit of light cast through the door I could see I' d dropped into some kind of torture chamber, complete with chains and stocks.
“You can make a bunch of noise and I' ll have to share you right here with the guys from upstairs, or you can stay quiet and I' ll beam us out of here to someplace more pleasant. Your choice.”
I went still. He dropped his hand. When I stayed quiet, he took that as assent and we launched into a sickening spin that I thought must be the way it felt to get sucked through a black hole.
We emerged on a dock. Going from solid to vapor and back again has the same effect on your brain as a shot of whiskey. I staggered when he let me go. His hand at my elbow steadied me enough that I could turn to get my first look at the face behind the powerful arms that had snatched me from the container. I recognized those steel- blue eyes, that superhero body instantly. I wondered if he remembered me.
He was between me and the city streets. A boat bobbed on oily, black water behind me.
“New girl,” he said. He said it like it was a chore.
It wasn' t a question so I didn' t answer.
“You know the rules?”
“You caught me. I' m yours to use, in whatever way you choose. When you' re done I' m free to go. Like fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“Catch and release.”
“That' s just about right. You missed one thing.” I waited.
“You can always safe-out. Which means if you don' t want this, you log out for the rest of the day. No questions asked. No honor lost. Sort of like you did yesterday. Only it' s considered better manners if you just say, „I' m safing out' before you disappear.” So he did remember. “I understand.”
He folded those big arms over his chest. He appeared to be waiting for something, but I couldn' t imagine what was left to say. Finally he asked, “Staying put this time?” My mouth was so dry I couldn' t speak. I nodded.
He took a coil of what looked like black cord from his belt. He was shirtless, his shoulder-length black hair whipped back from his face by the wind off the water. He wore tight black pants and black boots. I doubted the black cord was a fashion accessory. I was right.
“This is a leash.” With a flick of his wrist it uncoiled like a thin snake. One end molded itself around my neck, the other around his wrist. The section between us lengthened when I took a step back.
“You don' t have to tie me to you. You won. I won' t run.”
“The leash is as much to prevent other hunters from snatching you away as to keep you tied to me. As long as you' re leashed no one can touch you unless I invite them.
