Claimed by Three Riders

1. Audrey

AUDREY

I was scared as I approached the Orpheum, but not for the obvious reasons. Sure, I was about to be hunted by masked men in an underground labyrinth of tunnels. And yeah, if I was caught — if I lost the Hunt — I would become a sex slave to the men who’d captured me.

But I was almost more afraid of winning.

Winning meant I had to put into motion the darkest and most secret of my desires. Winning meant breaking the promises I’d made when I’d become a doctor (first, do no harm) to become an agent of death.

Winning meant putting a target on the back of the father of my child.

Walking toward the defunct theater on the Southside of Blackwell Falls was a choice I was still making, and my brain screamed with every step: you don’t have to do this, it’s not too late.

The problem was, the situation that had gotten me dressed that night, that had gotten me into my car and navigated me to the Orpheum, was still there.

And that situation wasn’t a phantom. It was real.

My little girl was in danger.

I inhaled a breath of exhaust-laden air — a product of the souped-up cars and motorcycles roaring down Main Street in front of the theater — and put one foot in front of the other.

That was how I’d have to do this: one step at a time.

The Orpheum’s neon sign emitted a faint buzz, its lights casting multicored reflections onto the pavement. Blackwell Falls wasn’t my town — I lived in Carlton, close to the hospital — but I knew movies hadn’t been shown here for years.

I knew a lot of things about Blackwell Falls, some of them thanks to Dean, my ex-husband, and others thanks to the research I’d done before deciding to participate in the Hunt.

Research was kind of my thing. It was one of the things I’d loved about medical school: the constant learning, cramming my brain full of new information until it swam in my mind even while I slept.

The Hunt had been on my radar for a while now.

A last resort.

I’d done my homework — on the Orpheum, the town around it, the tunnel complex that ran underneath it.

But research and reality were two different things, and I was more than a little nervous as I approached the Orpheum’s glass doors.

Members of the local MCs (I recognized the patches on their leather vests and jackets from my shifts in the ER) gathered in packs while smaller groups of men and women stood around talking and smoking.

All of them side-eyed me as I reached for the door.

I wasn’t offended. I knew I didn’t belong here, although I’d tried to look the part by leaving my long blonde hair loose around my shoulders and wearing a low-cut white T-shirt and a pair of jeans that had been a size too small since I’d given birth to Ella six years earlier.

I’d hung onto them in the vain hope that my body would return to its former shape having no idea I’d end up using them to have Ella’s father killed.

Don’t judge me. I have my reasons.

Besides, I hadn’t even decided for sure it was what I wanted to do. It was more that I had to do something — anything — to protect Ella, and I’d tried everything else.

I was desperate.

Winning the Hunt meant the three men who chose me as prey would be beholden to me.

Would have to kill for me — if that was what I still wanted.

Losing carried risks. Big ones.

But doing nothing wasn’t an option, and I’d spent the last five years working the ER. I was used to making hard decisions.

I stepped into the Orpheum’s lobby and tried to get my bearings.

Hallways stretched long and dark on either side of the concession stand, the circa 1990s carpet stained and worn.

I could barely make out the open doors of a theater at the end of the hall to the left, but it was clearly crowded, people streaming in and out of the open doors, music thumping from inside while a crowd cheered.

To the right, a row of theaters, their numbered signs unlit, marched down an empty hall, and an old Pulp Fiction poster, faded inside its glass-enclosed case, stood like an archeological relic on the wall.

The other cases were empty.

“Are you looking for Fight Night?”

I looked over at a pretty young brunette. A braid trailed down her back, her lithe body poured into jeans, her flat stomach visible under a pink crop top.

Her brown eyes glittered with the sparkle of youth. I remembered that sparkle: the belief that all your dreams were around the corner, that everything — anything — was possible.

At thirty-four, I knew that belief was a double-edged sword. Anything was possible, and not all of it was good.

I shook my head.

Her eyebrows lifted with surprise. “Are you here for the Hunt?”

I suddenly felt like a grandma at a rave. Clearly this nubile young woman thought I was too old to be part of the Hunt.

Jesus Christ.

Wait… was I too old to be part of the Hunt?

I straightened my spine. “Yes.”

I was a woman in one of the most demanding fields in the world. I’d spent more than a decade pushing through boundaries and barriers, entering rooms I’d been told were off-limits.

She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism. Worse, she looked… sympathetic. The way you might look watching your great-grandpa insist he could still play tackle football.

Shit.

“Um… it’s this way,” she said, tipping her head toward the hallway on the right. “I can walk with you if you want.”

“You’re going to the Hunt?” I asked.

“Unfortunately.” There was wry sarcasm in her voice and I wondered what had brought her here.

Wondered who she wanted dead.

I walked alongside her and the music from the other hall faded into the background as we were enveloped in a muffled cocoon of musty carpet and peeling paint.

“I’m Madison,” she said.

“Audrey.” It felt weird giving my name out in a place like this, but it was just a first name.

Plus, I had no idea how the underground Hunt worked. I knew only that it lasted twenty-four hours, that if you were caught, you belonged to the men who caught you.

That if you weren’t, they would kill for you.

The rules were a closely-guarded secret. It might be important to have allies, like in Survivor.

We approached two large men flanking a nondescript door halfway down the hall.

“Here we go,” Madison said.

“We’re here for the Hunt.” She made the announcement with all the confidence of a beautiful young woman who knew she belonged everywhere precisely because she was beautiful and young.

The larger of the men looked us up and down. His long black hair brushed his shoulders, and half a Blackwell Barbarians tattoo peeked out from under the sleeve of his black T-shirt.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down. “Spread ‘em.”