Chapter 1

Troy Parris had been assigned to the registration desk for the day. He was the Ranch's best judge of who was acceptable for special programs like this weekend's — and who would be politely turned away and put on the van back to Asheville. The young woman who came through the automatic front door just before noon was clearly acceptable. Tall, slender, long-legged. Close-cropped platinum blonde hair. Big blue eyes, innocent yet intelligent. A lovely mouth. She was everything they had hoped for, and more. Yes, she'd do just fine.

"How can I help you, Miss?" Parris asked.

She smiled a cautious smile. "I have this letter," she said. "It's from the Ranch. I'm supposed to meet someone here, a Dr. Distruggio."

"And your name, Miss?" Parris asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Greta Grabowski," she said. Her smile momentarily faltered. Parris could understand. It was the wrong name for someone so beautiful. Good thing the Hunt Committee used only first names for the girls who came in for weekends like this one.

"Just a moment," he said, then he disappeared through a doorway into a back office. Greta looked around the lobby. A powerfully built, middle-aged man and an attractive young woman were sitting across a low table, laughing quietly. A bellhop was looking through the glass doorway, rocking back and forth on his feet. Where had the desk clerk gone? He was cute, Greta thought. More than cute. Very handsome. And a nice, reassuring voice. He seemed too classy for the job.

The door behind the desk opened, and Parris emerged. At the same moment, another man appeared at Greta's side. He had striking features: an unruly mop of curly black hair, thick black eyebrows, doleful eyes and a long, melancholy face.

"I am Renaldo Distruggio," he said, "and I am so happy you've come." He took her extended hand in both of his and clasped it gently. "You are even more beautiful than your photo."

Greta blushed. "Thank you," she said. "And thanks for the check. I really didn't know what to think when I read your letter. I wasn't sure... Well, I'm still not sure what this is all about."

"But the check, it was good, no? There were no problems?" asked Distruggio. " No, it was fine," Greta said with a nervous laugh. "It didn't bounce or anything like that."

"Excellent!" said Distruggio. "Now, where is your luggage?" He clapped his hands, and the bellhop rushed over.

"Luggage?" asked Greta. "Well, all I have is this backpack. The letter said not to bring very much."

"Fine, fine," said Distruggio. "Michael take Miss Grabowski's backpack to Room 106. And Troy, the key."

Parris handed Greta a large, old-fashioned brass key. Embossed on the big wooden key chain were the words "The Hunt Club." Funny, she thought, since the name of this resort was The Ranch.

"Your room is on this floor, right down that corridor. Go, freshen up," said Distruggio. "Then we shall meet again here in the lobby in, say, fifteen minutes, and I'll take you to our restaurant for lunch. It has a spectacular view of the valley. And very good food."

He and Parris watched as she walked away and disappeared around a corner. " Great body," said Parris.

"Lovely face," said Distruggio.

"She'll be a terrific runner with those long legs," said Parris. "I'm not sure anyone will be able to keep up with her."

"It will not matter," answered Distruggio with a sigh. "No matter how fleet of foot, they always make a mistake. She, too, will make a mistake. And then..." He paused and waved his hand, as if brushing away an unwanted vision.

"You're uncomfortable with all this?" asked Parris.

"How shall I put it? I am on the staff of the Medical Center. I have participated in experiments far more grisly and repulsive than anything the Hunt Club has endeavored. But they were for the sake of science. We learned from them, even if the consequences for the subjects were quite painful, and always fatal. But this? This is merely to satisfy the blood lust of men with great fortunes and great, perverted appetites."

"The Medical Center is a major stockholder in The Ranch," said Parris. "Why don't you use your Center connection to pressure us to stop this?"

"Because I am merely on staff at the Center," answered Distruggio sharply. "Just as you are merely on staff here."

Two miles away, in a barn on a low hill near the western edge of the Ranch, two patrons were getting a jump on the weekend's festivities. They had paid $15,000 apiece for a chance to do so, and they liked what they saw: an attractive, Latin-looking young woman with tousled black hair. She wore tight blue jean shorts and a pale orange tank top.

Sims, the hunt master, held her arm firmly and was talking to her through clenched teeth. "Get your goddam clothes off, Sonora. Take them off for these gentlemen."

"I'm no whore, Mr. Sims. I just clean rooms," she whimpered. Her eyes were filled with tears.

"I'm not asking you to fuck these gentlemen. Just take your clothes off."

"What's the matter, Sims?" asked one of the "gentlemen," an obese man in his early forties. "If she doesn't want to cooperate, hell, we'll just strip her. Right, Davis?" The other man, taller, a bit older and with a four-day growth of beard, nodded. "If necessary, Tom. But I thought she was here to sort of warm us up for the weekend. She doesn't seem to be caught up in the spirit of things."

Sims thought for a moment, then released the young woman. "Sonora, I'm sorry. I know you don't understand what's going on." Then he turned to the men. "I'm going outside for a smoke. Do whatever you want with her, just keep it inside this barn. There's plenty of space for her to run and try to hide. She might make a pretty good game of it."

"And when we catch her?" asked Davis.

"Then she's yours," said Sims. "You can do whatever you want with her." He moved quickly to a narrow doorway, stepped through and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Well, it's just us chickens, honey," said Tom. He walked slowly toward her. Davis moved forward, too, a little to his right.

Sonora backed away. "I'm no whore," she said in a small, scared voice.

"Why, no one said you were, honey," said Tom. "Which is fine, cuz we're not looking for whores. We're looking for prey."

Sonora was confused. Pray? Did they want her to pray?

Suddenly, Tom and Davis both lunged toward her. She stepped back and bumped against a wall. Tom grabbed her wrist.

"Son of a bitch," he cried, as she jerked free. But Davis was on her in an instant. He grabbed her shoulder and punched her in the face.

Sonora fell backward, blood spurting from her nose. Davis yelled and sucked his fist. Tom lurched past him and kicked her in the side. She groaned and rolled away from him, trying desperately to get far enough to get back on her feet.

But Tom was quick for a fat man. He straddled her, then dropped to one knee, which landed in the middle of her unprotected belly. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she tried to double up, but he knocked her back down.

He stood, and Davis joined him. They looked down on the bloodied, semi-conscious woman. "That wasn't so hard," said Tom, but his heavy breathing said otherwise.

"Bitch nearly broke my knuckles," Davis said ruefully.

"Maybe you should run some cold water over that," Tom said. "It'll stop the swelling."

"It's a different kind of swelling I came here for" said Davis savagely. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his prick. "Let's get on with it."

Tom pulled her arms over her head and held down her wrists, while Davis ripped off her shorts. She wore nothing beneath them. Davis knelt, straddling her, and felt his dick getting harder. Then he felt a jolt of pain. Sonora had kicked him in the balls.

As he staggered backward, moaning in agony, she pulled her legs up, over her head and kicked at Tom. He had been squatting on his haunches, and he fell over backward trying to escape her. Sonora scrambled to her feet, reeled dizzily for a moment, then began searching for a way out.

The nearest door was the one Sims had left through. He was probably still just outside, smoking. But they had come in through another door, a wide one. Tom was back on his feet and charging after her. She ran toward the far end of the barn, which was half hidden in shadows. There was the door, the wide one, but it was shut and secured by a wooden bolt. She could hear Tom's footsteps and breathing behind her. To her left, a glint of metal caught her eye. A scythe.

Tom tackled her, and they both fell to the wooden floor. He flipped her over onto her back and began scratching and mauling her, like an animal. He moved up her body, from belly to chest to neck and head. She tried to cover her face with her hands, but he pulled them away. One of his fingernails slashed her left eye, and she screamed in pain. Her cry seemed to startle him. He paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Sonora held one hand over her bleeding eye and tried to think. The scythe. If she could just get to the scythe. Then Davis staggered over and pulled Tom off of her.

"It's my turn now," he yelled. "I'm going to rip the tits off this bitch."

Sonora struggled to her feet and lunged into the shadows. She could barely see, but her hands found the scythe, hanging from a wooden post. She lifted it down and swung it just as Davis reached her.

The blade slashed his shoulder, and he recoiled in pain. She stepped forward, back into the light. Tom was on his feet, looking perplexed.

"What the fuck did she do to you?" he asked.

Sonora swung the implement menacingly, forcing the men to retreat. But it was very heavy, and she was weak with fear and exertion. The door at the other of the barn opened, and Sims stepped in.

"What the hell's going on here?" he called.

The distraction was just what Sonora needed. As the two men turned toward Sims, she dropped the scythe, rushed to the big door, slid back the bolt and pushed it open. The sunlight nearly blinded her as she squeezed through.

Sims was furious. "You let her get away," he shouted. "I told you not to let her leave the barn."

Davis, holding his bleeding shoulder, shot back, "She had a weapon. We didn't know she had a weapon."

"You dumb shits," he hissed. "You let her make fools of you. Now I'm going to have clean up this mess."

He pulled a compact two-way radio from his belt and punched a button. "Jimbo," he said. "Take the Jeep and run the fence-line in Sector Four. We've got a cunt on the run. What dogs do we have available?" He paused and frowned. "Gunter's bloody beasts? Well, they'll have to do. Bring them over to the barn. She left her knickers, so they shouldn't have much trouble picking up her scent."

He put the radio back on his belt. "You've caused a lot of trouble," he said.

"Well, we paid a lot of money," said Tom. "And what the hell to we have to show for it?"

"I'll find out what you have to show for it soon enough," answered Sims. Then his face softened a bit. "That cut looks pretty nasty," he said to Davis. "Take the cart and get yourself to the infirmary. It's a low building just this side of the hotel. Do you feel steady enough to drive?"

"Yeah," said Davis. "I guess so. I just wish I could get my hands on that bitch."

Greta felt relaxed. She had had two glasses of a local Sauvignon Blanc with lunch, and now she was looking out of the wide dining room window on a peaceful valley. A line of trees about half a mile away marked what must be a stream. Beyond it was another rise, like the one the hotel stood on. Someone was just coming over the far hilltop, a small figure, far away.

Distruggio was droning on about the Ranch, about how it was intended for business and non-profit retreats in a natural setting, with hiking and riding trails instead of golf courses and tennis courts. He talked about the program for the weekend, which seemed to involve some sort of athletic competition. He was such a bore.

The figure was coming toward the hotel. It disappeared into the trees that lined the stream and soon emerged on the near side. It appeared to be a woman. From this distance, Greta still couldn't see what she was wearing. She almost looked as if she were nude. Then something else caught her attention. Some sort of animals had come over the rise where the woman had first appeared. Could they be deer? No, not deer. They ran, then stopped and put their heads down toward the ground, then they ran again. Dogs. Yes, they must be dogs. Big ones.

The dogs were approaching the stream. Meanwhile, the woman had stopped, as if uncertain which way to go. Finally, she turned and ran back toward the trees. Is she trying to hide, Greta wondered. Had she seen the dogs on the other side of the stream? No, the trees would have blocked her view.

"Would you like another glass of wine?" Distruggio asked.

Greta turned to him. "No, thank you. I'm feeling a little tipsy."

When she looked out again, neither the woman nor the dogs were visible. They must have met in the woods, she thought. What must it be like, to meet big dogs in the woods? Big dogs, with big dicks. She laughed softly.

"Do I amuse you?" asked Distruggio, with a puzzled smile.

"No. Well, yes, I think you're quite amusing. But I feel very tired. I'd like to take a nap before the reception tonight."

"But, of course," said Distruggio. Then he glanced out the window. "What a lovely view. I find it very restful."

They rose, and he escorted her back to her room.

Sims followed the dogs on horseback. They had a head start, and he lost precious seconds when his mare, the usually docile Giselda, reared as a pheasant burst into flight from the tall grass. He worried he would arrive too late. When he reached the stream, he realized he had.

The dogs had lost interest in their quarry and were sniffing through the cattails along the farther bank. One lifted a leg and pissed on the trunk of a weeping willow tree. Sonora, or what had been Sonora, lay on her back, her head and upper torso underwater. Through the ripples, he could see that her throat had been torn, but her face was peaceful, eyes half shut. The running water had washed away all the blood.

She's like a wood nymph, he thought, a wood nymph or a water sprite who ran into something evil in the forest — an ogre, perhaps. Or a pair of 180-pound mastiffs.

Greta had left a message with the desk to call her at five o'clock, but the gentle knock that awakened her seemed to come within seconds of her closing her eyes. She was wrong. The clock on the bed table said 3:33. She had been asleep at least an hour.

"Just a minute," she called. She grabbed her T-shirt from the chair and pulled it over her head. Should she put on her khaki shorts? Naw, the heck with it. Bikini panties would do. Give whoever was at the door a real thrill.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Troy Parris," came the reply. "Just checking to see if everything's okay. Hope I didn't disturb you."

She opened the door a crack and looked out. He stepped back a bit. To reassure her, she thought. It was his way of saying, I'm no rapist, honey, just here to say hi.

"You didn't disturb me." She paused. "Want to come in?"

"Not necessary," he said, with a slightly embarrassed grin.

"No, come on in." She pulled the door open but remained behind it. He walked into the room, then turned back to look at her. "I'm only halfway decent," she said. "Hope you don't mind."

"I'd be crazy to mind. You really are quite beautiful."

"Thanks," she said. "Beautiful girls seem to be the specialty here. I saw several in the dining room. There was even a woman, I don't how beautiful, running around naked down in the valley. I saw her through the window at lunch."

"Really," said Parris. "And what exactly did you see?"

"Not much. She was so far away. She came down a hill and crossed the stream, then went back into the trees. And there were some dogs. Two dogs. They must have following her."

"How interesting." But he didn't seem interested in her story. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her intently. She was leaning back against a bureau, her legs slightly apart.

"You look horny," she said.

He paused before answering. "Looking at you makes me very, very horny. I would like to fuck you into the middle of next week."

"Great. I love Wednesdays." She moved toward him, and he pulled her belly to his face. He was kissing and licking her navel, then he pulled down her panties and slid his tongue down through her blonde bush and caressed her clitoris. She moaned softly and stroked his hair. He stood, moved behind her and cupped her breasts in his hands.

"Kneel," he whispered. "Put your knees on the floor and bend over the bed so I can fuck you from behind." She did as he commanded. She heard him unbuckle his belt and heard his pants fall to the floor. Then, suddenly, savagely, he was inside her.

He fucked with wild energy, and she responded with equal passion, her wet pussy gripping his throbbing dick. Then he slowed the pace, and it felt even better. "Get on the bed, on your back," he said hoarsely. She pulled herself off his prick, lunged onto the bed, then rolled onto her back. He straddled her on his knees. "Suck it," he commanded, leaning forward. She took his dick in her mouth and worked it expertly with her lips and tongue. He groaned and filled her mouth with cum.

"God," he cried, "you're too damned good to lose."

The reception was in a room directly above the dining room, with a window looking out on the same scene. The valley was suffused with golden light from the setting sun, but Greta wasn't concerned with the scenery. As she entered the room, wearing a simple white cocktail dress and a fake but impressive emerald and diamond necklace, she knew she was in competition with the other women in whatever it was the Ranch had in mind for the weekend. Of course, she always felt a sense of rivalry with other women, at least when they were roughly her age and good looking.

She was facing some stiff competition this time. A quick glance told her that there were five other women, all knockouts, and more than twice that many men. A big-breasted woman in a tight black dress came forward and held out her hand.