Page 2 of Willing Prey

I blink at the watch. “Summon?”

Even though I’ve already committed, complete with a signed contract, the situation feels real now. A tiny piece of me wonders what the hell I think I’m doing. Eyeballing Margot’s lithe figure and gorgeous curves, I wonder if Shane’s going to ask for a refund after he catches me and my clothes come off. Reminding myself that he’s hired me because I’m a fantastic chase, not because of my appearance, I hand her my phone.

“When he wants to hunt, he’ll text you. The text will come through on the watch. Run will appear on the watch face, followed by a number. The number is how many minutes of a head start he’s giving you.“ Margot’s cheeks are tomato-red, but her voice is matter-of-fact.

“Okay,” I say. “Can I ask why you’re explaining this? Shouldn’t he do it?”

“He prefers minimal contact with prey outside of hunting sessions.”

That makes me laugh. It’s true, per the contract, but I’m surprised she said it so bluntly.

“So, I’m just prey from here on out? Did I leave my name at the door?” I can’t keep from teasing.

“No.” She stiffens like she’s made a mistake. “Well, yes, but—“

I hold out a wrist. “I’m kidding. As long as the money hits my account, he can call me a chicken nugget for all I care.”

Margot lets out a huff that sounds like it wants to be a laugh, then grows serious again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

I study the watch while she finds her words.

“Why are you doing this? And where did he find you? He said you weren’t a professional, so I should go slow in case you had questions.”

I’m doing this because my ex-husband cleaned out our bank account before he left me for a paralegal.

And Shane found me because Keith got hammered at the firm Christmas party and decided to tell his bosses and coworkers that the “hunting trip” we’d taken over Thanksgiving wasn’t for deer.

I’d almost choked him with my festive scarf when I caught the end of the conversation. The paralegal was there that night, though I hadn’t known they were fucking then. She’d worn a slinky black dress. I’d come dressed to impress the judge of the ugly Christmas sweater contest. It’s an evening I don’t want to think about, let alone rehash with the flawless Margot.

“I just got divorced. My ex-husband, Keith, works with him. When we were married, we did this type of thing.” I shrug. “You know how men talk.”

Margot chooses to ignore the fact that my ex-husband inadvertently landed me this gig, focusing on the money, which I can appreciate. “There are other ways to make money. You know how this works, right? This isn’t just being intimate in the woods.”

If there’s another way for a teacher to make $30,000 in thirty days that doesn’t involve drug smuggling or auctioning off an organ, I haven’t heard of it.

“I know.” It’s time to come semi-clean. “But I usually wait tables every summer, and the money’s not great. I enjoy more … primal intimacy,” I repeat her phrasing, trying to be discreet. It feels pointless. “I might as well be paid for it.”

“I suppose.”

It’s clear she doesn’t understand, but I can’t make her. When people find out you get off on being hunted through the woods, then railed so hard you get grass burns, they go hell yeah or no way. There isn’t any middle ground.

Sometimes I wonder if the paralegal likes it, or if Keith’s so head over heels that he’s willing to go without. I always decide it’s better not to know. Whether it happens in a bed or a bush, I don’t want to picture my ex-husband with someone younger and prettier than me. Doesn’t do great things for my self-confidence.

Margot analyzes me. Finally, she shrugs, pouty lips quirked to the side. “If you like it, maybe you’ll make it through.”

“What do you mean make it through?“ My stomach tightens. I hate uncertainty, and Shane made it sound straightforward. I do my job, get paid, and go home. Well, to the apartment I’m sharing with a friend while I try to sort my life out.

Shouldn’t have skimmed the contract.

She blanches. “He didn’t tell you? About the last two women?”

“No.” It’s my turn to analyze her. “All I know is that I’m not the first woman he’s hired for hunting.”

Busying herself with the papers in the folder, Margot won’t look at me.

“Come on, spill.” I nudge her knee with mine. “Whatever it is, I won’t tell him.”

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