The Prey

“Are you all right to walk? I want to get you out of the woods and into dry clothing. We’re going to need to pretend a little while longer until the rest of my team gets here, okay? As far as anyone else knows, for now I’m still Tom Cartwright. I found you hiding, and I lost track of time while I was”—he stumbled mentally over the right words and came up with—“while I was playing with you. Can you do that? Can you pretend a while longer?”

She took his hand and allowed him to pull her upright. “Yes,” she nodded. “I can do that.”

They both turned their heads toward the sound of someone approaching. A man appeared between the trees. He was around Wes’ age, with reddish hair, a matching goatee, regular features and a hard look in his eyes. He was wearing a long windbreaker over a black knit shirt and black jeans.

Mara pulled her hand away from Wes and drew in a sharp breath. She clutched the blanket protectively around herself as the man approached.

He stopped in front of them and broke into a smile. “There you are,” he said in a smooth baritone. “We were worried because of the rain. How did you two get all the way out here?” Without waiting for a reply, he unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt. “DJ? You can call off the search. I’ve found them on the far side of the bog. Send around a cart to this edge of the woods, will you? I’ll handle things from here. Thanks.”

He turned again to Wes and Mara, lifting his lips in a smile that carried no hint of warmth or humor. His eyes were as hard and flat as stones. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet. I’m Alex, and you must be Tom. I do hope this naughty girl of ours hasn’t been giving you any trouble?”

“Not at all,” Wes said, forcing a smile of his own. “She definitely gave me a run for my money, but it was worth it.” Channeling Tom Cartwright, he managed what he hoped was a convincing guffaw and winked, guy to guy. “I can’t wait to enjoy my prize back in my room. Shall we head over to wait for the golf cart?”

Alex was staring intently at Mara. He gave no sign he’d even heard Wes speak. “Mara, did you forget that Pirate Island girls never cover themselves in front of our guests? Drop that disgusting rag this instant. Stand tall and proud.”

Mara immediately let the blanket fall away from her shoulders. This guy clearly had some kind of strong hold over her and Wes didn’t like it, not one bit. Nevertheless, he held his tongue. He was still Tom Cartwright, if just for a few more minutes.

Alex had come closer and was now standing directly in front of Mara. “Tell me, didn’t you hear the whistle? The hunt ended thirty minutes ago, but it sounds like Tom just found you? Can you explain this, Mara?”

Wes sensed a trap, something to do with timing and that sports whistle he’d heard. He stepped in. “I caught her a while back,” he said quickly. “I, uh, I had a need that required immediate attention.” He rubbed the crotch of his pants suggestively and flashed a grin.

Distaste flickered for a nanosecond over Alex’s face, instantly replaced by a bland smile. He turned his attention once more to Mara. “Where’s your necklace? What happened to your ruby?”

“Oh!” Mara’s hand flew to her throat.

“Did you lose it, careless girl?” Alex attempted a playful tone no doubt for Wes’ benefit, but the acid seeped through. Mara didn’t respond. Wes could feel the fear radiating off her. How much longer did he have to keep up this charade? Where the hell was the rest of the team?

Alex turned to Wes. “You’ll have to forgive Mara. She’s a ruby—you understand what a ruby is here on Pirate Island? It means she’s a sexual masochist. A pain slut, as DJ likes to say. She craves erotic pain. She needs to suffer in order to feel pleasure. She also requires punishment when she’s been a bad girl. Losing her necklace”—he shook his head and made a tsk, tsk sound—“that was very careless of her. She would want to be punished for this.”

Wes clenched his hands into fists. He nearly said something out of character, but caught himself in time. Tom Cartwright had a reputation as a player—as a guy who fucked anything that moved and craved intensity of experience. Tom Cartwright wouldn’t flinch at what he was hearing. He’d be intrigued, the way a dog might want to sniff around a dead rat or another dog’s shit. Again, he held his tongue.

Alex turned to regard Mara with those cold green eyes. She was naked, filthy and trembling before him. How could the guy bear to add to this girl’s obvious pain and terror?