Loss Prevention
Marley Quinn
Loss Prevention
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
Loss Prevention
by Marley Quinn
© 2026 Marley Quinn
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Author: Marley Quinn
Email: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Twitter/X: marleyquinn2000
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
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AI Use Disclosure
This story was entirely conceived, written, and edited by a human being without any input from AI whatsoever. The only use of AI tools was in composing the cover artwork and spellchecking the text.
Table of Contents
Copyright Information
AI Use Disclosure
Table of Contents
Willow + Wren
Jezebel
Ooey-Gooey
Lucky Day
Sacrifice
Appetite
Angel Wings
A Respectable Woman
Also by Marley Quinn
Willow + Wren
It's been a while since I've thought about the time I got caught shoplifting at the mall, but I just got home from my best friend’s bachelorette party, and I guess it stirred up some long-forgotten memories.
Even when my husband asked me how I lost my virginity, I told him the same anecdote I’d told all my friends, a bland tale of awkwardly fumbling around in the back seat of my date’s car after the Homecoming Dance. Guys, especially, like it when they get to feel like they’re the first one to give you real pleasure.
But it isn’t true. My first time was a wild, sensuous adventure, and the best part was that it was completely unexpected.
I was a senior in high school at the time, a period in which girls like me are under incredible pressure to preserve their reputations at the same time as doing whatever it takes to be popular.
You had to dress in a flirty, sexy way without being seen as a slut. You had to get along with the guys without being so friendly that they’d start spreading rumors around you. And you had to do all this while also maintaining your grades and keeping your parents off your back.
In other words, it wasn’t easy, and it was even more difficult for me because my parents were struggling financially. I’m not saying we were poor. Far from it, really. But you’ve got friends with platinum express cards who can buy hundreds of dollars worth of clothes on a whim at the mall, it’s tough to keep up.
Frankly, it’s a miracle I managed to walk that tightrope as well as I did. Looking back on it now, the obsession with certain accessories or clothing brands all seems a bit juvenile and silly, but back then, a part of me legitimately felt like I was going to die if I couldn’t keep up with the latest trends.
The one that did me in involved silk scarves. Not only did the material have to be real silk, but it had to have an intricate, colored pattern.
For a brief period, the rage was to wear them tied up in different ways, and I remember being at my friend’s house as we practiced doing things like knotting them around our waists, weaving them through our hair, or wrapping them around our chests to make a kind of top, especially on warmer days.
After a whole lot of unseemly begging and maybe even some fake tears, I convinced my dad to give me the money to buy one. But that wasn’t enough, was it? No. Pretty soon, you had to wear a different one every day of the week to show off your “collection,” and so the pressure was on to acquire more.
Unfortunately, no amount of pleading convinced my dad to buy me any more of them, and my poor mother, God bless her, offered to knit me a scarf, which of course was useless.
Therefore, I can truly say that I felt my life was on the line when I headed to the mall one day to shoplift some scarves from this store called Willow + Wren at the mall.
I’d never shoplifted before, so I was quite nervous when it came to planning it out. I was going to wear my denim jacket with big, baggy sleeves, and I was going to bring my biggest purse with me, the interior of which I’d lined with aluminum foil.
Then I was going to pretend to examine the scarves before discreetly stuffing them up my sleeve, and then when I was in a corner of the store out of sight of the cameras, I’d transfer them to my purse. The aluminum foil would then prevent the scanners from going off when I walked out. I had no idea if it was going to work, but I just didn’t know what else to do.
Unfortunately, on the day in question, the weather turned quite warm. I had to keep the jacket, so to keep myself from getting too overheated, I put on a simple flower print sundress and some sandals. It was a bit of an odd look, but when I looked in the mirror, I kept telling myself that I didn’t stand out too much. Besides, there was air-conditioning in the mall, right?
My heart was pounding the moment I got off the bus and stepped into the mall. Too scared to go straight to Willow + Wren, I first made a detour to the food court, thinking that sipping on an Orange Julius and eating a soft pretzel would calm me down, which it did, a little.
Knowing that I was being tracked by cameras, I then did a slow pass through the mall, doing my best to look like an ordinary teenage girl out for a day of some harmless window shopping.
I ended up strolling past the store twice before I finally summoned up the courage to step inside. I then wasted probably a good fifteen minutes looking at everything else but the scarves, picking random clothing items from the racks and pretending to examine them before putting them back.
Finally, I could put it off no longer, so I eased my way over to the corner of the store where they sold accessories, including an amazing collection of gorgeous silk scarves. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw a girl my age looking at them, but when I got a look at her face, I saw she didn’t go to my school, so that was a tremendous relief.
My hands were trembling pretty good as I began browsing through the scarves. I found this lovely one with a deep purple and blue pattern, and so that was the first one that I stuffed up the inside of my jacket sleeve. Afraid it might fall out, I had to hold my hand up as I moved onto a shimmering green and yellow number, and it soon followed the first one inside my jacket.
By the time I had four of those beauties safely ensconced in my sleeve, my hands were clammy, and I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead.
Nonetheless, since nobody had come over to confront me, I forced myself to take a few deep breaths and keep moving. I slid over to the jewelry counter and pretended to look at the earrings, all while keeping a sharp eye out for any staff looking my way.
Everything was going great, but what I hadn’t counted on was that there were no blind spots in the store. Every time I glanced up, I spotted another camera looking down at me. I just didn’t know how I was going to transfer the scarves from my jacket sleeve to my purse without getting seen, and so I began to panic.
Just then, though, I spotted a woman taking a ruffled skirt up to one of the staff so she could try it on in the dressing room. Aha!
Instantly, a plan popped into my head, so I grabbed a pair of jeans and walked over that way. The attendant gave me a big plastic tag with the number 1 on it, and that was all I needed. I made a beeline for the nearest dressing room and closed the curtain behind me.
Anyone watching me on camera would be on alert for the jeans, which I had no intention of stealing of course. As quickly as I could, I unloaded the scarves and then stuffed them into my purse, double-checking that the aluminum lining was still in place. I then sat there for a few minutes to make it seem plausible like I had tried on the jeans before getting up and returning them along with the plastic tag to the attendant.
I was home free after that, or so I thought. I breezed through the exit, and the alarms remained completely silent. I turned left and was just about to do a celebratory fist pump when an unmarked door opened and a man in his late 20s wearing a security guard uniform stepped out. I intentionally did not meet his gaze, but he marched straight over to me and grabbed me by my wrist.
“Hey!” I protested, more shocked by the violation of my personal space than anything else.
“Enjoying your shopping today, miss?” said the security guard with a little chuckle.
“Let me go,” I said, trying and failing to break free of his grasp.
“Not until we have a look through your purse,” said the security guard, dragging me back to the door he had come through.
“You can’t do this!” I spluttered, but all of the people passing by just ignored us, something I’ve never forgotten.
“Do what I say, and this will go a lot easier for you,” said the security guard, pushing me into what turned out to be a small but cluttered office, the bare cinderblock walls a sharp contrast to the chic interior decor of Willow + Wren.
Jezebel
“This is all a mistake,” I said even as he rudely shoved me down onto a chair and yanked my purse off my shoulder.
“Oh, it’s no mistake,” said the security guard with a grin as he walked around to his side of the desk where there was a bank of black and white monitors showing different angles from inside the store.
“Listen, I know my rights,” I said, still thinking I might be able to talk my way out of the situation somehow.
“No one has the right to steal,” said the security guard, grinning as he dumped out the contents of my purse onto the desk, including the lovely scarves that I would’ve happily purchased had my dad only given me the money.
“Those... those are my private property,” I spluttered.
“Really?” said the security guard, arching one eyebrow. “And is there a receipt in here somewhere?”
“It’s... It’s at home,” I said, refusing to be cowed.
I really don’t know why I was being so defiant. I guess I just wasn’t used to getting told ‘no’ before, especially not by some low-life security guard when I was one of the most popular girls in school. Teachers certainly never would’ve treated me the way he was.
“That’s funny,” said the security guard, typing on his keyboard for a moment. “Because I’ve got you on camera stuffing these into your jacket.”
My heart sank as he played back the footage. Even worse, I could tell by the angle that it had been recorded from a camera that I hadn’t spotted. Truly, it was an open-and-shut case, so all I could think of to do was to start crying.
“Please,,” I sobbed as the waterworks flowed. “It was just a simple mistake.”
“Be that as it may,” said the security guard. “Those scarves retail for over a hundred bucks apiece, so you, young lady, have just committed a felony.”
“What? No!” I wailed.
“If it was just a misdemeanor, I might be willing to let you go with a fine,” said the security guard, clearly enjoying seeing me suffer. “But as it is, I’m going to have to call the police.”
“Please, no, sir!” I said, my breath hitching in my chest.
“Store policy,” said the security guard with a shrug. “I’m no legal expert, but I imagine you’ll do six months in Juvenile Hall. City Hall’s been cracking down on youth delinquency lately, so you’ll make for a great example.”
As soon as I heard him say ‘six months,’ my stomach did a flip, and so I was crying for real at that point.
“Best part is? You’re not a minority,” said the security guard with a big grin. “Been getting some pushback on that lately, but a little old white girl? Sweetie, you’ll be lucky if the DA doesn’t parade you in front of the cameras so he makes the evening news.”
“No!” I sobbed, genuinely terrified that my life was going to be ruined.
“Sorry. Should’ve thought about that before stuffing those scarves up your sleeve,” said the security guard.
“Please! I can’t go to jail. My parents will kill me,” I said, my whole body shaking as I sobbed.
“Not my problem,” said the security guard. “All right, first and last name.”
“No!” I said, already imagining myself wearing one of those hideously ugly orange jumpsuits as I got in behind some big fat girl with a neck tattoo named Wanda during roll call.
“First and last name?” said the security guard. “I need it for my report.”
Instinctively, I opened my mouth to tell him, but then I thought better of it. Why should I help the person who was going to ruin my reputation, not to mention spike any chance of me getting into college?
“First and last name,” said the security guard. “Come on. Quit being an ass and tell me.”
“No,” I said, surprised as a cold sense of calmness descended over me. “Why should I?”
“Because I need it for my report,” said the security guard. “I’ll just get it from the police later anyway, so you might as well tell me.”
He was probably right, but my inner sense of stubbornness had kicked in by that point.
“You tell me your name first,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Huh?” said the security guard, clearly caught off-guard.
“If we’re playing ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ then you’re the guy, so you go first,” I said.
“Nah, nah, that’s not how this works,” said the security guard.
“Hang on,” I said, leaning forward and squinting at his uniform shirt. “Does that say Fuentes? Pretty unusual name for a white guy.”
“Hey!” said the security guard. “My last name is none of your business.”
“Let me guess,” I said with a derisive snort. “Your first name is Todd. Your parents are migrants from Guatemala, and they wanted a better life for you, so they gave you the white boy name Todd.”
“My name is not Todd,” said the security guard with a frown. “And how dare you bring up my parents?”
“Oh, mijo, we so proud of you,” I said, doing my best to imitate a Hispanic accent. “You do so good in the es-school. How you end up being rent-a-cop at the mall, mijo?”
“That is enough out of you!” said the security guard, leaping to his feet.
“You no es-tudy good, mijo? Is that why you have such crappy job? You break your abuelita’s heart,” I said with a mocking grin.
“All right, I’ve had enough of your lip,” said the security guard, marching around the desk to stand over me.
If he thought giving me a hard stare was going to intimidate me, he was sorely mistaken. But what I didn’t expect was for him to whip out a pair of handcuffs. Before I could react, he had one end cinched around my wrist and the other around the metal armrest of the chair I was sitting on.
“Hey!” I said.
“Not laughing now, are you?” snarled the security guard.
“You have no right to handcuff me,” I said, trying my best to slip my hand free, but it was no use.
“This is my office, and I can do whatever I want to ensure public safety,” said the security guard with a triumphant grin.
“Wow, you’re such a big, strong man, Todd,” I said, giving him a cocky smile in return. “Handcuffing a little girl. If only your parents could see you now.”
“My name isn’t Todd!” said the security guard, pacing around, clearly not expecting this much resistance.
“Well then, what is it?” I said, switching tact and giving him a sweet smile. “Come on. If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
He looked at me for a long while as if pondering my offer. I really thought he wasn’t going to go for it, but then he opened his mouth and said “Junior” in a quiet voice.
“Junior?” I said, wanting to burst into laughter but somehow catching myself. “Ah, yes, that’s a very nice name. Junior Fuentes? Okay. Well, nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” said the security guard, walking back over to his side of the desk, a dazed look on his face.
“My name is Jezebel,” I said, maintaining a completely straight face as I told the lie. “My friends call me Jezzie.”
“Jezzie?” said the security guard, arching an eyebrow.
“Why? You don’t like it?” I said with a coquettish pout.
“No? It’s... It’s very beautiful,” said the security guard.
“Thank you,” I said, really laying it on thick now that I had him where I wanted him. “So, um, Junior, we really don’t have to do all this calling the police business, do we?”
“Yeah,” said the security guard with a sigh. “It’s store policy for thefts over $500.”
“Sure,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “But you got the merchandise back, right? So it isn’t really theft. Let’s just call it... unauthorized borrowing. Come on. What do you say?”
“I...” said the security guard, pausing for a long moment. “No, no. I can’t.”
“Aww, why not?” I said, using my best little girl tone of voice. “It was just a widdle misunderstanding. And besides, I thought we were friends.”
“Friends?” said the security guard.
“Sure,” I said, batting my eyes at him and doing my best to blush. “I mean, you know my name now, and I know yours. That’s a good start for a friendship.”