Snatch Me

Snatch Me (Game 4 Love) by Nara Malone – Romance: BDSM eBook

From the moment Jolie discovers the Quarterz, a
virtual post-apocalyptic world for capture role-players, she can’t
resist the challenge. She’s chosen a hard game, where sexual submission
to a captor is expected, demanded, no quarter given. She uses the
challenge to escape real life and feels a sense of kinship to a world
like the Quarterz, a society too broken to fix.Mack created the Quarterz and took a gamble when he secretly lured Jolie
there. He suspects he and Jolie share sexual interests that neither can
admit in person. Now he has to hope that time in the Quarterz can help
Jolie cope as she struggles to rebuild her life. He has to stand back
and allow her to find her way in a game where he’s not always the
captor. But when the game is over, he’s determined to be the one who
wins Jolie for real.


I’m hovering in the entrance to an alley.
And yeah, I know there is trouble at the other end. An overturned
police cruiser a few feet away is on fire, oily black smoke curls
upward, fading into a blacker sky. The streetlamps here were broken so
long ago there are no fragments of lens glass left under them. If those
clues weren’t warning enough, No Escape is emblazoned in red spray paint
across the gray cinderblock wall that marks the Quarterz entrance.This isn’t a place anyone cares enough to fix. I look back at the cop car. Those who try to fix it end up regretting the effort.I know. I know. This is not a place girls should go alone. It’s not a
place girls should go together. It’s no place for a young woman in a
denim miniskirt, a translucent white tank top, no bra, no panties. But
that’s what I am and that’s what I’m wearing.Why?I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve stopped caring. Maybe because when I’m
standing here at the opening of this dark alley, that dead, empty
feeling I’ve lived with these past months is washed away by a sizzle of
nerves, a longing for the challenge of a fight, and a belief that I have
a fair shot at winning.I’m drawn to this place like a moth to a flame. I feel a kinship with
the Quarterz—understand the hopelessness of being too broken to fix.
I’ve spent three days arguing with myself, telling myself this is a bad
idea, but I knew three days ago the sanest of my selves was outnumbered.
I can’t be free from the pull of this place until I know why I want
this. Until I’ve looked my darkest desires in the eye and walked through

My sandal connects with a shard of glass that grates over concrete,
releasing the odor of fresh beer. It stings in my nostrils, along with
the scent of urine both stale and fresh. A soft scrabble of small feet
behind a trashcan raises gooseflesh on my arms. A breeze lifts my hair,
licks at the sweat trickling down my neck. The sharp crackle and whoosh
of the wind-fed flames makes me jump. It’s just the death gasps of the
burning cruiser I passed at the entrance. All evidence that I’m in the
wrong place at the wrong time. Whispered warnings. Telling me to run. If
I had sense I’d listen. Ask yourself this—don’t you get tired of being

I can’t make out more than the sharp angles of crates and barrels lining
brick walls as I move deeper into the alley. I hear the distant lap of
the river at its shore, the slight moan of the wind and the sound of my
sandals scuffling over grit and squishier things I don’t want to think
about. My heart thumps like a bass drum as the darkness deepens. It raps
against my breastbone as if trying to get my attention. Sure I’m
afraid. Who wouldn’t be? I’m just not willing to let fear make a

No hands reached from the shadows to snatch me. No evil laugh heralded
my end before I reached the alley’s other end. I blew out a breath. Of
course they wouldn’t make it that easy.

A graffiti-covered bus with a flat tire sat at a bus stop opposite the
alley. No sign of life stirred up and down the empty street. A lone
street lamp glowed two blocks down. If there were stars in the sky, a
blanket of smog concealed them. I had two choices, right or left. Back
had been discarded as an option before I arrived.

I went left, toward the light. If you’re thinking that’s a sign I’m not
completely crazy, you’d be wrong. When you’re prey the darkness is your
friend. I surveyed the urban wreckage for any sign of life, a shadow
with an organic shape. A flicker of movement. I knew I wasn’t alone
here. I could feel eyes watching. I turned my head, straining to hear,
opened my mouth as if that might amplify the sound. I tasted the sharp
tang of danger on the air in the too-quiet quiet of this barren world.

There, just a block up, I thought I saw a flicker of shadow at the edge
of a doorway, blue rays at the edges of a shaded window. I froze, worked
hard to slow my ragged breath, rein in my racing heart.

I had a story ready. Not that stories were necessary. Not that anyone
would bother to listen. A woman here could expect one thing. A woman
here, by her very presence, consented to whatever happened without her
consent. Those were the rules. I knew them. I was ready. But a story
made it all feel less crazy than it was. If it provided
distraction—teased the hunter’s mind into fantasy for a moment—it might
give me the edge I’d need to win this first round.

I’d say I was lost, snatched from my tribe. Having escaped from the
original abductor, I was trying to find my way back. I would finger the
wide tear running down the seam below the armpit of my top. It showed
enough to confirm I was braless, not that the peaks of my nipples,
visibly hard under ribbed fabric, wouldn’t make that obvious. While my
would-be abductor was looking where I wanted him to look, I’d whap him
with the nearest handy object. Then the chase would be on.

I might be prey, but I didn’t intend to be the sort who kept cowered in shadows. After all, wasn’t the best defense offensive?

My heart had moved into my throat. I swallowed it and moved toward the
doorway that had shown the only flicker of life I’d seen. A couch sat
halfway on and off the curb near the stoop. I wondered how many women
had been used right there, street side. I was certain I was smart enough
not to be the next. A trashcan lid sat propped against the arm closest
to me. I stepped over a dirty puddle to reach it, briefly taking my
attention from the doorway, and when I looked up it was into the face of
a man who’d materialized soundlessly. I froze. Hairs rose on the back
of my neck and panic closed my throat. My carefully planned story
vanished under his steel-blue stare and my nerve fled like a rabbit from
the hounds.

Behind me a bell jangled. He frowned. “What’s that?” he asked in a bone-meltingly sexy baritone.

I sighed. “That’s the sound of time running out,” I said. “Sorry.”