Caged
By Belea T. Keeney
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Copyright 2011 Belea T. Keeney
ISBN: 978-1-61152-097-2
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Cover Credits: Pajalnik
Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
Cover Design: J.M. Snyder
All rights reserved.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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Caged
By Belea T. Keeney
Sultan roared, the sound thick as distant jet engines. Fewer syllables than a lion’s roar, it was an “aaarrrgggnnnooohhh!” of raw sound Jared Montaine heard even over the chainsaw. Sultan raced back and forth in his cage, his orange and brown striped tail straight up as he slammed against the steel fencing. His neck ruff stood up, and he charged stiff-legged, the bouncing gait of a threatening cat. Seeing the tiger so agitated gave Jared a twist of unease. Six years with the animal and he’d never seen the cat enraged. Sultan stayed angry until Jared turned the chainsaw off.
At eleven o’clock, a half dozen pine trees lay in knee-high chunks on the ground. Jared untied his bandana from his scalp and wiped off his face. The October sun emitted a warm, hazy glow and the Florida humidity made the air thick, sticky. Rank gasoline fumes mixed with the breeze that carried the scent of wild cats, rotting meat, and shit. Jared saw Peter, his refuge assistant, unzip and step behind a tree.
“Calm down, big guy. No more scary machines, okay?” Jared sat down next to Sultan’s cage. The tiger rolled on his back and prodded at Jared through the fence with paws the size of dinner plates. The odor of cat enveloped him—Sultan smell, rich and wild and dirty. Jared tugged at the tiger’s toes, easing out three-inch claws, inspecting their ivory curves. Death in sickle-shape. “What are you doing, you handsome beast?”
Sultan mmmwwwrrr’d back at him and licked the sweat from Jared’s neck through the steel fence. The tiger’s tongue was hot and rough.
Peter plopped down, puffing, his soft belly oozing over his jeans as he wiped his face with his shirt. He sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “Is he giving you another bath?”
“Yeah. He loves it when I get sweaty and gross.”
Peter stroked under the tiger’s chin. “He’s putting on weight.”
“Chubbing up. I need more playtime with him.”
“You’re entitled to your time off. You and Juliana have worked seven days a week ever since you got married. Enjoy yourself.”
Jared was hoping to do just that at lunchtime. Juliana was usually up for a mid-day tumble in bed. With no tours scheduled for the big cat refuge they could cuddle afterwards, nap, talk, really connect. Juliana had been more affectionate the past two weeks. Why, Jared didn’t know, but he was content enough not to question it. Almost content enough.
She’d been pushing him lately. Wanting to role-play, to meet in a bar and pretend to go home as strangers, or get some costumes. Some of it turned him on; she looked beautiful in lingerie and she liked to dance for him. And he loved it when she grabbed his waistband and pulled him into the office bathroom or laid down on his desk. But some of the other fantasies bothered him—the strangers bit, and she liked to watch stronger and stronger pornography, some of it weird stuff in Jared’s mind. “I’m just adventurous,” she said when he questioned it.
The refuge was expanding; exotic cats needing new homes arrived every week. Jared and Peter and a group of volunteers had begun clearing another five acres to build more cages. It was hot, sweaty work; Jared had shed his shirt by nine o’clock.
They stopped at lunchtime and slogged back to the office trailer. Jared smiled when he saw it: Juliana and a group of volunteers—a few of the new kids from the university—had painted it dark brown with golden leopard spots three weeks before. Inside, Jared found no voicemail or paperwork to do in his office, thanks to Juliana’s management skills, and he zipped back to Peter’s office, belly rumbling. “Let’s eat!”
Peter stood looking out the picture window behind his desk, talking on the phone. A frown creased his face, his mouth turned down, and it took Jared a second to realize the frown wasn’t about the phone call. Jared tapped on the doorjamb.
Peter turned to him, blue eyes startled, his lips pulled back in an expression of near-alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked.
“Um, nothing.” Peter spoke into the phone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at home tonight.” His face settled into normal. His round cheeks glistened with sweat atop his golden-red beard and his glasses were dirt-flecked from their work in the woods.
Peter stepped around the desk, almost blocking Jared’s way. “Let’s get some lunch.”
Jared stood still. Something was wrong. “Is everything okay at home? Is Molly all right?”
“Yes, they’re fine, home is fine.” Peter’s words were quick. “Let’s eat.”
Jared stepped right to go around Peter’s desk and was shocked to see Peter step left to block his way.
Jared’s shoulders went tight, arms tensed. It was always there in him, that flush of violence just behind his eyes, the way a baseball bat felt too right in his hands, solid weaponry. Jared stared Peter down and Peter moved aside.
Jared looked out the window, overlooking the flowerbeds at the base of the trailer.
Juliana was digging in the dirt, flats of yellow marigolds and purple and white petunias spread out around her. She wore shorts and a bathing suit top, her freckled skin creamy in the sun’s warm light. The bathing suit top was old, a faded floral print, enough to cover a woman C-cup sized, but it was silly-looking on busty Juliana. Her breasts moved as she troweled the rich dirt. The skimpy fabric revealed too much, her aureoles barely covered when she twisted to the side to get another plant.
Three interns hovered around her, two of them—Randy and Ken—standing outside of the flower bed. Miguel was right down there with her, helpfully digging holes, talking and laughing with her, and looking at her, always looking sideways. Something in Jared clamped down. He felt Juliana knew it too, realized how every stretch and bend was affecting these college kids—these boys—and she liked it.
“Jared! Wait!” Peter’s words didn’t stop him.
It was only twenty steps out of the trailer. Jared felt its old floors bend under his strides and he knew he had to be careful now. He saw himself leaping over the porch railing, landing in the flowerbed, smashing the yellow and orange flowers with his dirty boots. By the tenth step through the trailer’s living area, he slowed. What was he going to do? Pick up Miguel and throw him out of the flowerbed? Wrest Juliana into his arms and carry her home? Yell at them?
Ridiculous.
A flush of fever towards Juliana for making him feel this way. Anger, not lust.
He stopped himself just inside the front door and took t
hree deep breaths. He felt Peter behind him, down the hallway, knew Peter was watching him. He let his fists go loose, let his hands dangle, but his heart continued to punch away, much too hard, much too fast.
Jared eased out on the front porch and stood with his arms crossed. Randy and Ken looked up right away; they were standing and could see him. Jared leaned against the door frame and stared at them, trying to keep his face neutral, but he knew it wasn’t working when he saw them both blanch.
“Um, I, uh, gotta go,” Randy said. Kendall nodded and they skittered away.
Juliana and Miguel looked up. Miguel’s hand clenched on the trowel he held.
“Hey, hon,” Juliana said. “How goes the clearing?”
As if nothing were wrong, nothing was going on here, and that rankled him even more. Jared kept his gaze on Miguel, glad for a minute his shirt was off and the hours he spent working the refuge and in the batting cage still showed on his body. He wasn’t a college kid any more but he was solid and broad-shouldered in a way Juliana said she liked.
Said she liked.
The moment dragged out. Jared was absurdly aware of the whole alpha-male thing going on, and he suspected Juliana was keenly in touch with it, too.
Miguel didn’t move. His gaze flicked away from Jared’s now and again, but as the seconds stretched out, Jared realized the kid wasn’t backing down.
Now what?
“Scram,” Jared said to Miguel.
The kid finally got up, trowel still in his hand, a sword to defend the fair damsel. He was nineteen years old and clearly didn’t know what to do. He dropped the trowel and it plunked in the dirt, sending a spray of grit onto Juliana’s arm and chest. “See you later, Juliana.”
Not if I can help it.
Juliana went back to planting. “That was rude,” she said, eyes down, her trowel fierce into the dirt now, her mouth tight.
Jared couldn’t speak. His tongue was thick and his heart clumped along, heavy as an elephant. The trailer’s floor vibrated as Peter stepped back to his office. “What the hell is going on here?” Jared finally asked.
“I’m planting some flowers.”
Like some teenager, back-talking her father. He scissored his legs over the railing and landed in the dark dirt, on top of some already-planted petunias. Their smashed stems broke open and a wet green smell wafted upward. Juliana sat back on her haunches and looked up at him, blue eyes agleam. He saw her nipples harden beneath the flimsy fabric and it irritated even while it aroused him.
Was this one of her games? Some little scenario she orchestrated? Was he just something else to play with?
Aren’t the two of us enough?
Jared stalked through the flowerbed, his boots sinking into the tilled earth. “What the hell is going on with you?”
Juliana gazed up at him, her freckled face pink, whether from the sun or the conversation, Jared couldn’t tell. Her blue eyes were smoky, nearly gray, cold-looking in the day’s sunny warmth.
Jared stumbled over the stack of bricks they’d set aside to use as a border, then kicked them over. Petulant and ridiculous but scattering the bricks with his work boots felt stupidly good. His voice went as deep as a tiger’s snarl. “Put on a goddamn shirt, Juliana.”
One of the volunteers onsite fired up the chainsaw again and Sultan roared, throaty and angry.
Jared went back to Peter’s office, working to keep his face set and still. Peter was bent over his desk, blurry eyes straining over a copy of Wildlife Management Today.
Jared stood in the door. “Track down Miguel and have him meet me at the batting cage.” He let the words come out clipped and short, the words of a team captain, in charge.
“Yes, sir.”
Jared stopped in his office and grabbed the Easton.