Feral

by Teagan Kade

  I take a seat on the edge of the bed, folding my hands over themselves. “If you wanted to get away from me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to make a scene.”

  She turns back, eyes wet but cheeks dry, beautifully framed by the morning light. There’s the faintest hint of a smile. “You’re an asshole.”

  I put my hands up. “Guilty as charged, Your Honor, but I want you to know I’ve got your back. Fuck the Captain and his maze bullshit. We’ll work it out.”

  She looks down between her legs. “I don’t know what happened. Everything just got smaller, tighter… I couldn’t breathe.”

  “You’re claustrophobic.”

  She doesn’t need to reply.

  I swivel to face her. “You sure you chose the right career path here?”

  She looks out the window. “My father was a firefighter, and his father before him. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.”

  “Not a princess or pony wrangler like a normal girl, a vlogger?”

  She laughs, her whole face lighting up, sniffing. “A vlogger? Seriously?”

  “Hey, I thought that was the girl 2.0 dream.”

  “And you?” she retorts. “You can’t honestly tell me you’re here solely because you think it will help you pull girls.”

  I throw my hands up. “Actually…”

  She shakes her head. “Wow, you’re so shallow I’m surprised there’s not a depth marker stamped to your forehead.”

  I rub it. “At least it’s not a co—”

  “Okay,” she laughs, “but you can go, honestly. I’ll be fine just as soon as I find a hole to throw myself into.”

  “I’m surprised the vodka shots didn’t do it.”

  She starts to nod. “Ah, yes. I forgot all about that. You said if I won you’d do anything I want, correct?”

  “Correct,” I confirm, still distracted by how utterly fucking entrancing she looks right now, even in that oversized bunker gear. It’s those eyes—ray-gunning good vibes right to my dick. “Name your prize.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts, a cheeky smile following I haven’t seen before. Her hair flares white, backlighted by the sun. “Take me out on your precious date then.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, anywhere but Dante’s, and I want you to put some effort in. I’m talking serious Nicholas Sparks shit.”

  “You do know everyone dies in those movies, right?”

  She feigns ignorance. “Really?”

  I put my hands up. “No, your call. Full effort—I’ve got it. Friday night then?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “You got better plans?”

  She rocks forward and swings her legs down, swaying back and forth on the edge of the bed in a highly suggestive manner. My cock’s about to fucking explode. “It’s a date,” she says.

  “A date,” I nod, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

  I put my hand out. “Take my hand and we’ll head back out there.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’ll die from the embarrassment.”

  “Trust me, there are worse ways to go. Just ask Mr. Sparks.”

  She reaches for my hand. I’m surprised how hot it is, the delicate way her fingers grasp mine. I pull her up and lead her to door. “This way, princess.”

  She snaps back, a finger raised. “Call me that again and the only date you’ll have tomorrow is with a hospital bed.”

  I have to laugh. “Hey, I’m always up for a bit of ‘doctors and nurses.’ Just say the word.”

  *

  Given the Miracle’s drink-off performance last night, the rest of the class is sympathetic. The Captain? Not so much, especially after my bird-flipping. He orders us both to show up at the quadrangle at 1700 tomorrow. I can only imagine what kind of wonderful surprise he has in store. I just hope it doesn’t eat into our date.

  I could barely believe the words coming out of her mouth. Maybe she’s curious, or maybe she really does want more. I can’t seem to get a good read on her. She’s got secrets, hiding something, of that I’m sure, but doesn’t everyone? Don’t I?

  And Fielding, that fucking prick. He’s onto me. Sooner or later that’s going to come to a head.

  I’ll be waiting.

  Jackson’s busy drumming up ways for Lacey to overcome her fear at dinner. “My parents had this box they put me into when I was a kid.”

  “Box?” exclaims Hernandez. “So, you were a gimp? Explains a lot.”

  Jackson blows Hernandez a kiss. “Tell your mom I say hi.” He continues speaking to the table. “Like I was saying, you get used to it. Embrace that shit.”

  “Exposure,” adds one of the others. “That’s what it comes down to, and we’re rooting for you. Know that.”

  Lacey smiles. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it,” but she’s looking at me from across the table.

  “What’s the Captain got you down for out in the quad tomorrow?” Hernandez asks.

  I shrug. “Sucking his dick? Who knows?”

  Right on cue, I hear the Captain’s voice from the other side of the room. “Cox, you’ve got a call.”

  “Who the hell uses a landline anymore?” questions Jackson.

  “My father,” I reply.

  Jackson’s cheek pops out, his hand jerking off the phantom cock as I head to the Captain.

  “Hope you know how to swallow,” laughs Hernandez.

  The Captain simply points down the hall when I reach him.

  I salute weakly as I pass.

  I find the archaic phone on the wall and pick up the bright orange handset. “Father.”

  “Payton,” comes my father’s snooty, syrupy voice.

  “You had your fun, son, or are you still busy playing with hoses out there in Hicksville?”

  My father—master of many things, but subtlety’s not among them. “I’m sticking this one out, Dad. You’re wasting your time.”

  The joking’s done. “Get serious, Payton. Look at what your brothers have accomplished, and you want to be a damn firefighter, cleaning up car wrecks your whole life, burnt to a crisp because some idiot forgets to turn off the oven?”

  My brothers—all part of the family business. They’re saving lives alright.

  I huff, leaning into the wall. “Like working for you would be any better. Give me a break.”

  “Your brothers have worked hard here, Payton. Finn’s looking after the entire Midwest, William’s heading up HR, and you? Like the Brown bullshit wasn’t bad enough you had to stoop right down to the lowest common denominator and really drag the Cox name through the mud.”

  I laugh. “You make it sound so prestigious.”

  “You’re a Cox, Payton. We don’t settle. We dominate.”

  How many times have I heard that one? “Don’t you mean ’ejaculate.’ Who is it this week, Dad? Another maid? The pool boy?”

  “You watch your tone.”

  “I’m staying. Deal with it. Oh, and send my regards to Mom.”

  I hang up, tapping my fist against the wall.

  Fucking Dad. Unless he suddenly changes his name to Google, he should stop acting like he knows everything, knows what’s best for me. I don’t work for him. I don’t have to fall into line.

  Until he pulls the trust fund.

  But he wouldn’t. Mom’s always seen the better side of me, actually congratulated me when I told her what I was doing here. Her eyes narrowed in that probing way only psychologists can manage. “You do what makes you happy, Payton,” she told me, “but remember, don’t plan to be anything less than you are capable of being.”

  No, if I was shooting up at a crack house, then Dad would cut ties, but not now, not when I’m still in formal education.

  As for the rest, my brothers can brown-nose all they want for a share of the Cox fortune. Me? I’m going to make a damn difference in the world.

  Dad can’t say that. Sure, he’s rich, but he ain’t Bill Gates or Bezos. His philanthropy extends as far as the front door.

  On
ce again, I neglect study to hit up Dante’s, though even the smell of the place threatens to send me back through the door. Britney the bartender smiles when she sees me. “Well, well, if it isn’t ol’ thimble guts.”

  I take a seat. The place is empty—no Lacey, no classmates, no Ryan, just a woman down the far end of the bar who’s throwing some serious eye-sex my way. Given the fact she’s on the bad side of sixty, I’m not game. GILFs are not my jam. I’ve only got eyes for Lacey.

  “You made your money,” I tell the bartender. “Say, where do people go for fun around here?”

  She stops cleaning down the bar. “Besides the strip club three doors down? Beats me. This isn’t Time Square, I’m afraid.”

  “There must be somewhere interesting close by, somewhere the kids go to… you know.”

  She looks up, squinting at me. “To philosophize and debate quantum mechanics, you mean?”

  “I’m not looking for the library. Come on. Give me something.” I take out my wallet and slap down a ten.

  She swipes it away and leans over the bar. “Alright.” She points left. “You head down the road here for seven miles until you hit the old Arby’s sign. Take a right there and drive another six to the natural springs.”

  “Natural springs?”

  “Warm all year ’round. Barely anyone goes down there. If that doesn’t get you laid, I don’t know what will.”

  “What about somewhere to eat, preferably somewhere we won’t catch salmonella?”

  She stretches her hands out on the bar. “Now that is a pickle.”

  *

  I have a drink—singular—and head back to the dorm. I simply couldn’t stomach another drop. Hard to believe it, but I think my showdown with Lacey has put me off liquor for life.

  The dorm’s just as quiet. It’s late and I can’t blame most for hitting the hay. The Captain seems intent on breaking us down physically and mentally. We’ve already lost one—a cheery local who probably thought this was going to be a walk in the park… not American Ninja.

  Fine by me, though I admit the thing with Lacey and the Maze has me concerned. Assholey as he was about it, the Captain had a point. Either she gets used to it or she’s out. It’s part of the job.

  But I’m not going to let her fail. No. Fucking. Way. She’s got all the elements of a great firefighter. Something as simple as fear shouldn’t hold her back.

  Fear, yes. So simple, Payton.

  Shut up, Head.

  I push the books to the side again and stare at the wall wondering what she’s doing next door. I close my eyes and picture her reclined there, her panties tight around her thighs, her hand covering her crotch and a single finger lost inside her wetness. She’s whispering my name, her back arching off the bed.

  My eyes snap open and it’s the wall again.

  The wall and your hand, big boy.

  “Fuck this.”

  I stand and head out into the hallway. I look left and right before I raise my hand to knock on her door.

  I stop. You really going to do this? There’s no way she’s going to go for a late-night booty call.

  I never hesitate. It’s a strange sensation, but the stakes are high here. I don’t want to fuck this up. She’s becoming more than a lay, another notch in the belt.

  Only because she’s playing hard to get.

  But that’s not it. There’s more there—a spark, the start of a deeper connection.

  Enough, Dr. Phil. Knock on the damn door.

  I knock, the door unlatching and swinging open.

  “Lacey,” I say in a low voice, looking into the shadows. “You there?”

  Of course she’s fucking there, and you probably just woke her up.

  I peer inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, but her bed’s empty.

  The fuck?

  She’s probably gone to the bathroom, I think.

  I stand there in my boxers in the hallway waiting for her to come back—five minutes, ten. Either she’s sleeping in the damn bathroom or she’s somewhere else.

  With someone else.

  I clamp that voice right down. No. There is no way she’d hook up with someone else.

  Not even Fielding?

  The thought sickens me, that slimy fucker with his hands on her.

  Nope. No way.

  I give up, closing her door and heading back into my room. I leave my door slightly open to hear her come back, only my hand around my cock to lull me to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LACEY

  The Captain pauses in front of me while I yawn. “My, my, aren’t you a bright beaver this morning?”

  He continues down the line.

  He’s not wrong. I’m exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.

  “You okay?” asks Payton.

  I cover my mouth as another yawn overwhelms me. “Just tired.”

  “Why?”

  I give him a puzzled look. Like it’s any of his business. I gesture to the gym instead. “Um, hello? Are we in the same world here?”

  “Right, right,” he says, looking down at his feet.

  We’re back outside the burn room, geared up with charged lines laid along the floor. These things can weigh well over two-hundred pounds.

  The Captain shouts over the noise of the pumps. “This is a live exercise, recruits. You will work in teams to extinguish the blaze inside. If you’ve been paying attention, this should be a cakewalk. If you haven’t, expect for that pressure to blow you right back through those doors.”

  I notice Ryan checking me out as I gear up. The guy gives me the creeps.

  Payton pulls his bunker jacket on, a whoosh in the background as the fire springs to life in the burn room.

  “Where was your father stationed?” he asks.

  I lift up my BA gear and sling my arms through the straps. It’s feeling lighter every day, which is to say close to back-breaking. “New Jersey.”

  Payton seems surprised. “My family’s got property in New York. Well, we’ve got property everywhere, but New York’s a great place—Jersey, too.”

  I give a short laugh. “You clearly haven’t lived there.”

  “What does he do now, your dad?”

  I swallow. I figured this question would arise sooner or later. I don’t know how much I should tell Payton.

  What’s he going to do? Go blabbing to the entire class?

  I check to make sure no one else is listening in. “He died on 9/11.”

  Payton’s freezes. “The 9/11?”

  I nod.

  Payton straightens up, shaking his head. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  I force a smile. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I hardly knew him.”

  “He’s a hero.”

  “Something like that,” I reply.

  The Captain’s over by the burn room. “Cox, Nelson. You want me to arrange a couple of coffees to go along with your chit-chat?”

  “Sorry, Captain,” we call together.

  “Your dad would be proud,” Payton says, and it’s completely genuine. There’s no innuendo or motive. It’s a statement, pure and simple.

  “He’d probably pull me the hell out of this place if he was around, but thanks.”

  I don’t want to cry, so I start to rhyme words in my head, get the logic side of my head pumping to push out the emotion.

  Shock.

  Sock.

  Clock.

  Coc—”

  I stop.

  You’re losing it, girl.

  It’s true I can’t seem to get Payton out of my head. Falling for him would be unwise, I know that, but he’s proven over these last few days he’s more than a big penis… not that it’s an undesirable attribute.

  A flicker pulses through my stomach of the thought of laying beneath him, his hand guiding his cock into place, the other on my thigh.

  Enough, Lace.

  I straighten up and take a breath.

  The burn room is uncomfortable, the charged line heavy, but
Payton and I manage to get the blaze extinguished in record time. Even Fielding makes it through today, his previous aversion to the room gone.

  The Captain is impressed with us, but not impressed enough, it seems, to forget our meeting at the quad later.

  Payton points out the window of the gym at the end of the day. “But it’s pouring out there, Captain?” he protests.

  It is. Rain’s been hammering against the windows in a percussive slurry for almost an hour now.

  The Captain simply stands there smiling with his legs apart. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. “

  It’s hard not to, silvery sheets of water lashing the campus outside.

  “Well,” says the Captain, “what are you two waiting for? Get out there.”

  I look to Payton, who subtlety tilts his head and rubs his middle finger behind his ear, directed at the Captain.

  My thoughts exactly.

  We follow the Captain out into the quad while the rest of the class heads off to dinner. I’m quietly excited at the prospect of our date later tonight, the opportunity to sample food that hasn’t been deep-fried or served out of a bucket. And there may be other areas of said excitement, more sensual areas if I’m honest with myself.

  I take in Payton’s imposing build as he walks behind the captain, his shirt and gym pants already soaked through, my own personal wet T-shirt contest in full swing.

  Thank god for bras.

  It’s freaking freezing out on the quad, though, the water running into my eyes.

  “Attention!” shouts the captain once we’ve reached the middle of the quad.

  Payton and I stand there in the din with our hands behind our backs and our legs apart. I notice there are two dummies waiting on the ground.

  Safely under an umbrella, the Captain shouts to be heard over the rain. “Pick a dummy and throw it over your shoulders. Get used to the feeling, because you’ve going to have a whole hour out here getting to know them.”

  Payton’s the first to speak up. “You want us to stand here in the rain lifting a hundred and sixty-pound dummy?”

  “Precisely, Mr. Cox,” the Captain smiles. He turns and nods to the corner of the quad. “When your time’s up, I’ll ring that bell, but if I see your knees buckle or that dummy drop, it’ll be another hour, understood?”