Seduced by Three

by Sylvia Ryan

  Grace made another mad dash up the stairs, grabbed a bath towel from a closet, and ran to the kitchen to sop up the puddles of blood standing just inside the door. She was on her hands and knees in the kitchen when muffled voices outside the house alerted her. With a last swipe of the towel, she grabbed Van’s boots and crept quickly and quietly to the closet that held the shelter portal. She closed the closet door and then replaced the false wall, sealing all of them in the tomb that smelled of blood, sweat, and her own desperation.

  Winded, Grace sat at the top of the stairs for a few moments. She had her gun in one hand and Sarge’s in the other, trying to hear if the people who were outside had entered the house. Whoever it was, it seemed like they weren’t going to risk breaking in, at least not yet.

  Grace released a sigh of relief and then walked down the stairs. She stood, turning to focus her attention on the two slabs of motionless, bleeding flesh lying at there. She dragged Sarge over to the twin bed and heaved him, first top half, and then bottom half, onto the mattress. Bringing the lantern closer, she untied the blood-soaked T-shirt she’d knotted tight around his leg to stop the blood flow, and then stripped his pants off. The wound was trickling blood. She rolled him over to see if there was an exit wound.

  There wasn’t.

  Standing and steadying herself, she walked over and grabbed her bugout bag that had sat packed for years waiting to be used in case of emergency. Inside, she had a small medical kit. It didn’t have much of anything that could be of major value for an injury like this, but it did have tape, gauze pads, and alcohol wipes. Grace also retrieved her pocketknife.

  She brought everything back over to the bed then grabbed the lantern and hurried over to the rows of shelves on the other side of the shelter. Much like her dad’s shelter, Sarge had everything organized. Holding the lantern up and close to the shelves, she scanned over all the storage bins, stacked on top of one another and labeled with black marker, looking for something marked “first aid” or “medical.” Finally, she found the bin on a shelf by itself. She pulled it onto the floor and popped the lid.

  Grace knew what she was looking for and found the items almost immediately. With the curved suture needle and thread combo and rubber gloves in hand, she raced back to Sarge’s side. She adjusted the lantern for maximum illumination before she ripped open the package of gloves, put them on, and felt around the seeping, bloody opening in his thigh. The bullet was not near the entrance wound. Probing her fingers around the leg, she couldn’t find any hard lumps indicating a bullet underneath the skin. Grace stuck her index finger into the oozing hole, probing deeper and deeper, circling it around until, finally, she felt the hard, crumpled bullet under her fingertip. She tried to make a scooping motion with her finger in an effort to trap it and pull it out, but it was too deep and too tight in there.

  Grace swabbed the switchblade and sank the sharp point into Sarge’s thigh, opening up the entrance wound. She pulled the muscles of his leg apart with a thumb and forefinger and stuck her index finger inside the bullet hole again. After some digging around, she was able to scoop the bullet out. She tossed it onto the cement floor and grabbed the supplies she needed to sew up the gaping hole she’d cut in Sarge’s thigh. He bled heavily now, which only increased her anxiety while she tried to focus on her task the best she could in the dim light and deathly silence of the cavernous room.

  Despite her shaky hands, Grace worked well under pressure, sewing up his slippery skin. But her mind screamed while she worked. A mixture of self-blame and shame churned like a toxic soup in her stomach as she condemned herself over and over again. If it had been just him here, he wouldn’t have left the shelter for such a frivolous thing as going to the lake. He had tried to concede a little to her will. Now, shit, what had she done? This was her fault.

  Grace methodically continued to complete the sutures one by one. She tried to concentrate more on the work she was doing than the unfettered, guilt-fueled blame that stormed her mind. It took forever to complete the nineteen stitches that closed the wound. She cleaned it, then covered it with a gauze pad and wrapped more gauze around his thigh to hold the pad in place.

  Grace didn’t stop for a moment to admire her work. She hurried over to Van with the lantern and started taking off all of his gear. He was wearing a flak jacket to protect his torso, which it did, but the wound he was bleeding from was on his shoulder just outside the edge of the vest. She tore his shirt off and rolled him over. She let out a quick breath of relief that there was an exit wound, but he was still bleeding profusely. She ran for more supplies and got to work.

  Down on her knees next to Van, she sutured the larger, more ragged, exit wound closed, and then the entrance wound. Her fingers were slippery on the needle, and she was getting tired and frustrated with her clumsiness.

  When she’d finally finished working on Van, Grace dropped her hands to her sides and sat back on her heels. The sweat on her skin chilled her in the cool shelter, and now that she wasn’t totally absorbed by the patch-up job, she was suddenly cold and shivering.

  She looked down at herself. She was topless, and her hands and body were covered with blood. She snorted and shook her head. She needed to wash again.

  In the light of the lantern, Grace looked down at Van and then gently took off his helmet. He was probably about her age, maybe twenty-five. The features of his face were movie star beautiful, kind of like Brad Pitt on steroids. Gently, she stroked the side of his face. His jaw was covered with a week’s worth of bristly growth. And she’d bet money that when he opened his eyes, they’d be blue.

  As her gaze traveled over him from his face, to the waistband of his boxer briefs, and then over his long, muscular legs, she had the urge to touch him, to run her hands over the fluid lines of his chest and the ripples of his abs. He was gorgeous.

  Grace noted that Van and Sarge’s bodies were strikingly similar, though Van was larger overall. They were both muscled men with defined cuts and curves charting the strong flesh underneath. They were powerful, more than physically capable to defend and protect.

  Van also had the same short, cropped military-style haircut as Sarge, but his hair was lighter, light brown to Sarge’s dark brown.

  Grace moved Van’s body a couple of feet, away from the bottom of the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder at Sarge’s sprawled body on the tiny twin bed. Both she and Van would need something to sleep on.

  Grace crept up the stairs and sat at the top, listening intently. After several minutes of absolute stillness, she pushed open the false wall and prowled quietly out of the closet. It was still dark outside. She pulled a blanket out of the hall closet first and tossed it down into the cubbyhole. Then, she treaded softly to the living room, grabbed the cushions off of the couch, and pushed them through the small opening one by one, watching them tumble down the stairs into the gray gloom. Then she followed them down.

  Grace arranged the cushions into a makeshift pallet against a wall, close to the bed, and dragged Van over to them. She rolled, jerked, and pushed him until he looked comfortable on the pallet she’d made.

  By then, she was done. Spent. The adrenaline surge she’d experienced earlier, the one that kept her together long enough to care for the two men, had worn off.

  She walked over to the bed and leaned over Sarge, smoothed her hand over his forehead, and studied him for a moment before she closed the gap between them and kissed him softly on the lips. Grace lowered herself to her knees and laid her head on his chest. She listened to the steady thump of his heart and felt the rise and fall of his breathing.

  “Sorry,” she whispered into the stark silence of the room as tears flowed freely and pooled on his skin. “So sorry.” She remained there, listening to him, feeling him, and her consciousness began to drift. The rhythmic thumps along with the steady motion made him tantamount to a human lullaby.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping that way, but when she next opened her eyes, her kne
es ached. Bracing herself on the edge of the bed, she pushed herself up to standing and groaned at the stiffness of her muscles.

  She turned off the lantern, walked over to the skylights, and pulled the blackout material off of them so when the early morning rays came, they would filter in. Maybe the light of day would change the dismal scene she was sure she’d wake up to.

  Grace rolled Van onto his side and slid in next to him. It was a twisted slice of fate that brought him into the shelter. And even though it was at a high cost, she couldn’t help herself from heaving a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he wasn’t out there alone for another night.

  Chapter 11

  Grace woke to a hard cock pressing into her ass and a warm palm covering one of her breasts. She snuggled in closer as the memories of the night before returned to her in a rush. Her throat constricted when she thought about how differently the night could have ended. But now, everything was silent and still. They all were safe. Van’s breathing behind her was slow and steady. He was still sleeping.

  Stay…just for a little while longer.

  She enjoyed the sense of peace and safety she felt within Van’s arms. Their breathing was synchronized, and she was toasty warm everywhere their bodies touched. It was Nirvana lying next to him here inside the shelter where he was safe. It was an answered prayer.

  Still, knowing she had another important task to complete, Grace forced herself to slip out from under his arm. The cold air hit her skin, and all she wanted to do was crawl back in next to Van. But the shelter was transforming from utter blackness to dim shadow. That meant it was near dawn. She needed to get her ass moving before the sun rose fully. Grace grabbed a shirt out of her duffel and threw it on over her blood-encrusted body. A hiss escaped her lips when the material ran over the wound on her arm. She made an effort to look at it more closely. It was an angry, seeping mess that didn’t seem to be healing. It was also her final confirmation that she had no choice but to make another trip out of the shelter. She grabbed her gun and shrugged on the backpack that Sarge had used the night he brought her back there.

  With an acute awareness that she was probably leaving on a suicide mission, Grace turned and looked at the two men she was leaving behind. She wasn’t afraid of dying. If she died on this trip, she’d have no regrets, because she was trying to save them.

  With silent determination, she climbed the stairs and then listened for a few minutes before she pushed out on the false wall. As she exited down the back steps of the house, she looked to the sky and took in the beautiful, changing hues of blue and glimpsed a sliver of sun on the horizon. Most people were not up at this time, she tried to convince herself. It was probably pretty safe. She had to move fast.

  After exiting the gate, Grace ran full speed through backyards, between houses, and across streets, zigzagging as if being pursued. The neighborhood was a ghost town. The dawn’s light revealed the open doors and broken windows of the houses she passed. The only sound she heard was the steady pace of her feet hitting the pavement. She gagged at the smell of rotting flesh and pulled her T-shirt up over her nose, trying to stop the stench from entering her nostrils. People were dying already.

  In just minutes, she made it to the rear of a drug store. It was on the main street they’d been attacked on the night before, though it was farther south, away from where they’d been pinned down. Her chest heaved from the sprint, but now she was frozen with indecision. She swallowed hard while her mind wavered.

  Now. Just do it.

  Grace took a deep breath and jogged to the back entrance of the building. It was locked. She quickly ran around to the front and through the shattered glass doors. It looked deserted, but she was still cautious. The shards of glass underneath her boots crunched with each deliberate step as she entered the store, gun in hand.

  The inside of the store was dark, shadowy. Looting had emptied most shelves. There was no food or water to be found here, but she was there for something else. Keeping her back against the wall, Grace pressed on toward the pharmacy. It had been trashed. There were bottles of pills and other medical supplies scattered over the floor and counters. All the drugs with any kind of street value at all, like pain killers, would be gone. She wasn’t even going to bother looking for something like that.

  The search was slow. Reading the labels on the bottles was difficult in the shadowy darkness. She scanned what was left on the shelves thoroughly and couldn’t find what she was looking for. When she dropped to her knees and began to scan bottles and boxes on the floor, doubt began forming in her mind. There wasn’t anything of value left. Then she saw the foil-backed blister packs fanned out and trampled on the floor by the pharmacy drive-thru window. When she picked them up, she breathed a sigh of relief. Bingo. She hadn’t been looking for prepackaged pills, but antibiotics were antibiotics, and every one of those foiled sheets had a full course of lifesaving treatment. She scooped all the packs she could find and tossed them into the backpack.

  Moving back through the store, she grabbed several packages of Tylenol, two tubs of baby wipes, and was about to put the backpack on when the clearance display of pool toys caught her eye. She grabbed a couple inflatable rafts and shoved them in the backpack, too.

  Grace didn’t pause to check, she just bolted from the store, around the corner of the building, and back through the yards toward safety.

  She hadn’t been gone long, maybe a half hour, but as she approached the shelter, she stilled and looked over her shoulder. Sarge had drilled into her that she had to be the most careful coming and going from the house. She listened and watched for a few minutes then ran full speed to the gate. Once in, Grace shot through the house and immediately into the shelter. She sat at the top of the stairs, huffing in air and looking down on the two sleeping men. She made it. She didn’t think she would. Grace had been fully prepared to die on this antibiotic run, but she knew Sarge and Van would die without it. She hadn’t had a choice.

  Grace stood and descended the stairs and then emptied the backpack on the floor underneath the solar light. She chose three packs, one for Van, one for Sarge, and one for herself. She took hers first then returned to the men with a glass of water and their pills.

  Grace went to Sarge first. She lifted his upper body off the bed and supported it by sitting behind him. She shook him gently and spoke into his ear.

  “Sarge. Sarge, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes for just a second before closing them again.

  “Take this.” She put the pill into his mouth then lifted the water to his lips. He didn’t drink. “Wake up, dammit!” she yelled and shook him again. “Swallow the pill that’s in your mouth!”

  Sarge opened his eyes, parted his lips, and leaned in toward the glass she had poised at his lips. He swallowed several times then closed his eyes again.

  “Damn, girl, I think you actually managed to sound mean,” Van teased.

  Grace turned. Van was still lying on his side, injured shoulder up in air.

  “You’re next,” she said as she walked over to get his pills. “Take these. You’ll feel better.”

  Van groaned as he tried to sit up. “What are they?”

  “Antibiotics, Tylenol.”

  He looked around. “Where are we?”

  “In a shelter. You’re safe.”

  He took the pills and lay back onto the cushions.

  “Let me check my work while you’re awake and I have better light.” Grace got up and returned with fresh supplies and the tub of baby wipes. “The bullet went in and out. You lost a lot of blood, but you’re going to be all right.”

  “How’s Sarge?”

  “You’re in better shape than he is, but I think he’ll be okay, too. You saved his life last night. I wouldn’t have been able to get him home without you. Thank you for that.”

  He flashed her a sexy smile. “Anything for you, Grace.”

  Their eyes met, and she hesitated for a second before she started to remov
e his dressing. She’d been wrong. Green. His eyes weren’t blue, they were a gorgeous shade of green.

  * * * *

  Van lay with his eyes closed as Grace removed his dressing. She rubbed a cool, damp cloth around and gently over the wound, and then did the same with the exit wound on the back of his shoulder. His stomach churned and his head spun while she tended to him. He kept his eyes closed and swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth in an effort to cope with the nauseating symptoms.

  When she was done with the dressing, she opened a container and pulled several wipes from it. The air in the room filled with the sweet, innocent scent of baby as she washed away the caked blood from his body. She began at his shoulder, cleaning him slowly, methodically over every inch of his back and arms.

  Fuck, it felt good. The gentle way she handled him had his cock swelling in his boxers. It didn’t matter that he’d been shot. The desire he had for her was tenacious. It gripped him and held on tight, squeezing his cock like an invisible hand, Grace’s hand.

  “Are you still with me?” Her tender, hushed voice slipped inside him and soothed his soul.

  He grinned from ear to ear. “Yeah, Grace, I’m still with you.”

  “When’s the last time you ate something?”

  “I finished the last of my rations yesterday. But, I don’t think I could keep anything down right now.”

  “Okay. Roll for me,” she said as she assisted his turn. “I have to do the front. When I’m done, I’ll leave you to rest.”

  Van opened his eyes and grasped her arm loosely. “You don’t have to leave. I’ve been on my own for over a week. I’m enjoying your company.”

  She quickly looked away from him without comment.

  Van studied Grace’s profile as she gently laved his body with wipe after wipe. The short blonde hair tucked behind her ears emphasized her round, blue, ice-colored eyes and delicate nose. There was more in those eyes than just a pretty stare. There was a hint of shrewdness and wisdom there, like an old soul inhabited her young body. She fascinated him. He wanted to reach up and touch her face just to see how she would react. Any other woman would probably blush or smile at the intimate gesture, but he had a suspicion that her reaction would be different. It would be uniquely Grace, hard and soft at the same time. She presented an interesting dichotomy. Her insides didn’t match up with her outside. Inside she was tough, strong, and brave. Outside, her appearance and voice screamed weak and withdrawn.