Page 90 of Juniper Unraveling

“I know you don’t like touch. I’m sorry.” Setting his palm against the table, he leans in again, nuzzling his face in my neck, completely ignoring my warning. “I need your hands on me, though. I’d fuck you, if you let me, but all I’m asking for is one yank. Please, Wren.”

“Why me? Why don’t you find some pretty little hen to corrupt?”

His teeth nip my earlobe, and with a grimace, I jerk my head away. “Because you’re not like the other girls. You’re wild. And hard. Unbreakable.”

Biting my lip, I exhale a sigh through my nose. “One yank, and you’ll leave me alone?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. You don’t like what you see and you can walk away.”

“I’ve already seen it. And walked away before.”

His breath against my neck flinches my muscles. “I’m harder than last time. Been jacking off to thoughts of your sweet pussy.”

“You’ve never seen my pussy, so how does that work?”

“Oh, I’m certain it’s as pretty as that face. And those tits. And that tight ass of yours.”

“If we’re going to do this, lets make it quick.” I let him take the lead, following behind as I slip my hand into the pocket of my bag. Two bulging leather balls slide past my fingertips, as we round the corner of the building into a tight alley, where trashcans sit lined against the brick wall. Once out of sight, Damian backs himself deeper into the alley and unfastens his pants, pushing them to just below his balls, letting his erect cock stand up from his zipper.

Back to the wall behind him, he strokes himself in front of me, wearing a smug grin that I’d like to smack right off his face. “Imagine this up inside you, Wren. You need a man. You’re an ornery bitch who needs to get laid.”

My blood flares at that, and I clutch the leather bolas sitting in my palm. “I’m sure your wife would appreciate that, Damian.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He jerks his head toward me. “Show me your tits.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Fuck the deal. I want to see your tits.” His jaw hangs open as he ups the pace of his strokes.

I glance down at my shirt, where the laced strings of my sleeveless, brown leather top offer just a peek of the cleavage behind it. My breasts have grown fuller in the months I’ve been hunting meat, adding more curves to my boyish figure of before. In teasing, I slip the lacing out, one hole at a time, widening the gap.

“That’s it,” he says on a forced breath.

Licking my lips, I offer a wily smile.

In the next breath, I toss one of the bolas so it winds around his throat, while still holding the other end in my hand. The leather-wrapped stone coils three times, and his hands shoot to his neck as he drops to his knees.

With the end of the bolas in my grasp, I lean into him. “Was that one yank? Or two?”

He chokes an answer, eyes wide as his face turns an unhealthy shade of red.

“Let him go.” The voice from behind skates down my spine, and I turn to see Albert Ericsson, fully dressed in uniform, standing at the mouth of the alley.

Snarling my lip, I snap my attention back to Damian and unwind the thin woven band digging into his gullet.

He falls forward, coughing between heaving breaths. “Fucking bitch!”

I tuck the bolas into my bag and tromp through the alley toward Albert. As I attempt to pass, he steps in my path, his arm shooting out to block me.

“If you like back alley fucks, perhaps you might join the Daughters.”

The Daughters are a group of women, hand-picked by Szolen himself, to recruit talent into the community, like some sacred prostitution gang. Their method is no secret, venturing out into the Deadlands with The Legion guards, and luring the uninfected prospects with the one thing that happens to be as scarce as food. They wear frilly dresses and live in the Villas, along with all the other uppity assholes, and sick as it is, many parents hope their daughters will one day be one of the chosen, just as they wish their sons to become Legion. To secure themselves within Szolen’s fucked up fabric.

“I’d rather consume my own piss and shit for the rest of my life than become a slave in a dress.”

“Watch yourself, Wren. That old man of yours isn’t going to be around forever to protect you. Soon, you’ll be alone. Vulnerable. Desperate.”

“Go to hell,” I say, shoving his arm out of my way, and head for the truck.