πŸ“š eep me caged Part 5 of 6
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Keep Me Caged Pt 05

Keep Me Caged Pt 05

by avabacchus
19 min read
4.72 (2400 views)
adultfiction

Hi everyone! I just wanted to thank you for your encouragement on my last update. I will be doing my best to keep posting stories as often as I can, but my posting will be sporadic and unpredictable until I am cancer-free. Yeah - I know - it sucks. Theoretically, as you read this post I am in one of the best cancer hospitals in the country starting treatment. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll "see" you again soon.

This story contains true accounts of sexsomnia and sexual abuse.

This story is not like the other things I've shared so far. This story has no fantasy elements and probably falls in the "dark stalker romance" category of things. It's a gritty story and as such, has a lot of elements that some people may find triggering. BDSM, non-con, con non-con, violence, murder, kidnapping, submission, domination, alcohol, smoking, revenge porn, spanking, captivity, no safe words, suicide, sexsomnia, disability, eating disorders, Iraq war, tampering with birth control, and abuse are all part of this story. And again, there are no werewolves or faeries in this one - but you will see a lot of common themes across the stories I've shared so far, and this one. Stay sexy and don't get murdered - Ava

EIGHTEEN - Leo

"De oppresso liber - to free the oppressed." - 10th Special Forces Group Motto

For the next couple of days Talia's like Sleeping Beauty, which is fine, I suppose. I have to really move it to get the load to Southern California on time, and the whole time it seems that Kane is in my ear, bitching about all of his problems. Finally, just as I finish dropping the load, he has something for me to act on.

"I need you to pick up a load and come back," he tells me. "Even if it's an empty trailer, anything that will bring you back to Oregon."

I hesitate. Bringing an empty trailer that far doesn't make sense financially. "You're dreaming if you think I'm going to find something like that," I tell him. "I'll look for an Oregon load, but it might take me some time--"

"I don't have time. Come back bobtail, if you have to."

Bobtail would mean nothing at all on the back of the truck, and I balk at the suggestion. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I just am. Let me know when you're on your way."

I don't like it at all, but it's clear he won't tell me more. Inside the truck I call my broker and get a load that doesn't pay enough, but sometimes that's how it goes when you need to get from point A to point B. Hopefully, whatever Kane has for me will make up the difference. I just hope I can get Talia to stay home while I do what I assume will be a quick job for Kane.

It must be a rush job, anyway,

I tell myself.

I pick up the load, check on Talia, then get right back onto the freeway and head north. For the first time since she's been in the truck, it's lonely.

Is this what chronic fatigue is like? No wonder they discharge those guys,

I think as I check on her and find her still asleep.

At some point she has to get up,

I think,

she has to want to eat something.

But she declines until I bring soup back from the truck stop, force her into a sitting position, and start trying to spoon-feed her myself.

"I can do it," she argues with me, finally taking the soup and drinking it. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, "I don't know why I'm so tired."

Probably from running around in the woods like an idiot,

I think, but don't say.

It could be something else,

I also think, but don't say that, either. Her eyes are the same dull, lifeless blue they've been for a few days now, the mischievous sparkle that used to be ever-present is gone. Still, she finishes her soup, then makes her way into my lap and kisses me, sweet and tender kisses at first that gradually build into something more.

"Are you sure you feel up to this?" I ask, getting me a nasty little growl of frustration in response. "I'm just worried about you--"

"Don't remind me that I'm sick," she snaps, then pulls my shirt over my head. I shouldn't be sex-starved after the last few weeks of near-constant fucking and just two days without, but somehow I'm a wreck. I don't even bother tying her up or getting her on her back, how I normally like it. I fumble myself out of my BDUs, then pull her down onto my cock and start thrusting upwards. She tries to meet my thrusts but can't keep up, and I don't want that anyway. I lock my arms around her, crush her against my chest, and fuck her as hard as I can while she bites my shoulder.

She groans something in my ear, but I don't even know what language it is and I don't really care. I'm too close to stop let alone carry on a conversation and I finally pick her up and slam her down onto the mattress, coming just as I feel her orgasm start. My last few choppy strokes keep her going as long as possible, but I'm a mess - shaking, sweating, crying out with each of my own movements and each pulse of her tight pussy. I can only keep going for so long and then I have to stop, but she won't let go.

"Talia," I pant and try to pull away, but she clenches me again, then locks her feet together at the small of my back. I can see the sparkle is back, a mischievous and wicked smile plastered across her face to match it. "Are you proud of yourself?" I tease, but she nods enthusiastically and clenches me again, just about bringing me down onto her chest. "What do I have to do? Cry uncle?"

She frowns. "Don't say 'uncle' during sex--"

"Uncle, uncle, uncle!"

Finally, she lets me go, and with an embarrassing strangled cry I pull myself out and collapse onto the bed. "Too long since the last time," I pant, still trying to catch my breath until her little hand snakes up my chest, one soft finger running rings around my nipples until I squirm away. "Why?!"

"I missed you."

"I've been here the whole time," I tell her, wrestling her against my chest with her back to me so she can't tease me anymore. For a while she nudges my cock with her ass, but finally gives up and lets us both drift off together.

The next afternoon the shit finally hits the fan. I knew it was coming, I could feel it. Almost the instant I'm free of my last delivery and back at the truck stop I started from in Oregon, my phone starts ringing.

"Kane," I greet. My voice gives away my uncertainty. I'm not sure why he's been in such a hurry for me to get back, or what I'm going to do with Talia while he assigns me a task.

He doesn't keep me in suspense for long. "I need you to bring her in."

I pause. "Bring who in?"

"Talia."

I rip the phone from my ear and look at the caller ID again. I know he's not telling me to black-bag my own girlfriend. "You want to hang out or something?" I ask and get an annoyed chuckle in response.

"No, I need to ask her some questions."

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I know how this works. Kane won't be asking her anything, it'll be some other meathead like me. But he won't care about her, won't care if he upsets her. He might not even care if he hurts her. They'll want me to keep her in the dark about the location and then leave, leaving her alone with Kane's goons. "No," I answer quietly, "I'm not doing that."

"You don't have a choice," I can hear the exasperation in his voice. I know this isn't what he wants to do, either, but he's obviously convinced she knows more than she does.

"She doesn't know anything."

"I have to verify that for myself before I can move on."

I can't tell him why I won't do it. I know the fact that I refused immediately casts me in suspicion, but if I tell him I think the stress is bad for her he'll know how to get to me. I've never really been afraid of anything, but lately... "I can't do it. Sorry."

"Then you're fired," he sighs, "and neither of us wants that. I won't let anyone hurt her, just bring her in--"

"No." I hate this. I don't have any experience doing anything else, not really. Oh, sure, I can drive a truck, but who wants to do that? "If you have to fire me... I guess that's business."

"I can't believe you're protecting some girl you've only known for a few weeks. Both of our asses are on the line here," I can hear him losing his temper, but I can't help him out this time. I know he's right. I know that if he's exposed to law enforcement or the media, it's only a matter of time before the police are kicking down my door and dragging me off in cuffs. We've worked together for over a year - he finds the predators and I make them extinct. I'm one of three, but I'm still in a lot of trouble if everything falls apart.

"I know that. So you can either trust me when I tell you she knows nothing, or you can fire me. But I'm not going to do what you're asking me to do. My relationship wouldn't survive it,"

and maybe something else wouldn't.

He's quiet, but I can hear him sighing while he tries to decide what to do. "It's been real," he finally replies, then the line goes dead.

I stare at the phone in my hand.

He fired me,

I realize slowly.

He fucking fired me.

It makes me sick to my stomach. I love this line of work, and I don't know how I'll get back into it. I don't really want to go back into the Army - when you're built like me, they're constantly on your ass to lose weight and exercise more, which only ever makes me heavier. And then there's my rank and the years I've served; if I go back, I know they will force me to become a sergeant and take on more responsibility. I don't want to be in charge. I hate being in charge. That's why this arrangement between Kane and I worked so well.

But now I'm in charge.

And with another twist of my guts, I remember that he has her cat.

He wouldn't hurt Ash, would he?

I have to scramble. The truck is LoJacked and Kane knows where it is at all times. If he wants to bring Talia in badly enough to fire me over it, we're both about to get black-bagged and it'll be worse for me than it will be for her. I know they will beat the snot out of me for having the guts to disobey. She's tired again, but it doesn't matter.

"Yalla, habibti,"

I try to impress her with the little bit of Arabic I know, but she just giggles and tries to go back to sleep. "Come on, I'm serious. We're in trouble."

In an instant she's up, brows furrowed and the fog clearing. "I've been cut off. We have to get away from the truck."

"What? Cut off?"

"I will explain later. Get dressed, pants, good clothes," I try to explain as fast as I can. I throw my necessities and hers into my rucksack, along with anything I don't want Kane to have. I'm sure someone will be at the truck in a matter of minutes to look for us and go through any paperwork or devices I leave behind, so even though I can't spare the space, I throw it all in. "Good thing you're almost as tall as me," I tell her as I gently shove her onto the bed. I pull a pair of combat boots from a cupboard I rarely use. I've been saving the boots for an emergency, thinking I could cram my feet in if my regular boots wore out, not that I might need to run with my woman. "These were issued to me, but are half-a-size too small," I tell her as I tug them onto her feet.

"I have sneakers," she starts to argue, but I shake my head.

"If you have to fight somebody I want you to have the best opportunity to stomp the absolute shit out of them, Tali," I lecture her as I lace up the boots. "Aim for the dick, alright, baby? There's no such thing as dirty fighting. Dicks and eyes," I yank her onto her feet, then remember the Glock I've seen in her purse. I don't know how she got it, though I wonder endlessly if it has something to do with the SEAL. I yank open another cupboard, growling as I dig through its jumbled contents until I find what I'm looking for. I fasten the holster across her chest and tuck the gun beneath her arm, then pull it out and hand it to her.

"Disengage the safety."

She frowns at me for a moment, then does it.

"Show me you can unload and reload it."

She rolls her eyes, but shows me that she can at least operate the gun in theory. "Good enough, let's go."

It's obvious she wants answers, but in the pick-up truck I'm too busy making sure we aren't followed. "We're going to the airport. We're going to fly home."

"Home? We're in Oregon--"

"South Carolina," I tell her, grimacing at the thought. I have only been home once, after my first deployment. After that I went to the Special Forces, moved to Colorado Springs, and stopped talking to my parents. That first visit home was eye-opening. I swear to God they weren't always like that, but someone must have given them the idea that once your son joins the Army, you must become super patriotic. Their personalities were gone, and both spoke with an absurdly thick Southern accent when they'd never had that accent before. My father spent his evenings glued to a news station I won't bother to name, and when he asked me about the war, he said things that were so ignorant they left me speechless.

I don't want to go back, but I don't know where else to hide.

And I

really

don't want them to meet Talia.

"My parents have some property for hunting," I explain. "It's got a little cabin and a couple deer stands on it, nothing special. But enough for us to hide for a few days." They likely won't even know we were there, and the odds of them meeting Talia are almost zero. I have to keep it that way. I can't let them ruin this. I tell her the only thing I can even think to tell her about the shitshow we're currently starring in - "The group you thought you were helping? They were impersonating Kane's organization, likely trying to take him down. I work for him on the side."

"I can't fly," she replies quietly. She doesn't say anything more, but I can see the gears spinning and feel the shift in the atmosphere around her as she finally begins to understand why we are both in so much trouble.

"Don't be afraid. I've been on tons of planes, there's nothing to be afraid--"

"I'm on a no-fly list. They won't let me fly."

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What? Don't they put terrorists on those things?

"How did you end up on a no-fly list?"

"I don't know. I tried to go home once, when I was in college. They interrogated me until I missed my flight. They told me they would let me fly home this one time, but then I didn't think they would let me fly back. So when they released me, I just ran out of the airport."

Fuck, I have to come up with a new plan.

"Okay. Let's get a hotel room for the night, then we'll figure something else out. Maybe we'll drive," I tell her, but I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sure Kane has taken the liberty of installing a tracker on my pick-up truck, and maybe also on my motorcycle. And I don't have time to go over her car looking for tracking devices. Between our three vehicles it will be easier to find the tracker on my bike, so I swing by my house to dump the pick-up and get the motorcycle instead. A quick sweep of the bike reveals the tracker. Talia stands in the shadows of the garage and watches me, gasping as I rip the device off the underside of the bike.

"Tricky fucker," I breathe. "I didn't really allow for two people in this plan,"

or two-and-a-half,

"so you're going to have to hold the rucksack and hold onto me. Can you do that?" It's awkward for both of us, but somehow she manages. By dark we've made it to a hotel, not far enough from my house, and it doesn't appear that anyone has followed us. And I'm exhausted. The whole day I've just been running on adrenaline, the stakes seeming to be higher than they've ever been for me before. I push the bike behind a dumpster to hide it, get us a room, then collapse onto the bed.

For just a moment, I kind of miss my fuckboy life. Sure, it was chaotic, but the consequences weren't really consequences, come to think of it. Now, I know what consequences really are, and a lump forms in my throat every time I think about what will happen if I can't come out ahead this time.

Then she curls up beside me and all of that is gone. I can't fail. I just can't.

NINETEEN - Nic

"O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

And careful hours with Time's deformed hand

Have written strange defeatures in my face.

But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?" - William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors

Two years ago I made a giant fucking mistake and today, I'm still paying for it. I tap at my keyboard, then frown while I stare at the picture that greets me.

Jacob Leander Costa,

I read his name and hesitate.

Leandros? Kostas? An American version of a Greek name?,

I wonder, perhaps a little bitterly. Am I jealous? Of course I fucking am. It's hard not to be. Everything about him is golden - his skin, even his strangely colored eyes, hell, even his beard flares like molten copper where the sun hits the edges of it. I bet if he wasn't bald, his hair would be golden brown, too. He's shorter but built like a brick shithouse, heavily muscled with a wide frame and low center-of-gravity, built for fighting.

Fucking asshole. Una faccia, una razza,

"one face, one race",

my ass.

There's no one in my family that looks like they came down from Mount Olympus to fuck all the hot girls and fight wars.

I keep staring at the photo, trying to figure out where I've seen him before. He looks familiar, but I can't place him. It's not like SEALs and Rangers never cross paths - we were in a lot of the same places around the same time. In the few pictures I'm able to find of him still in the service he looks completely different than he does now. Clean-shaven with a jaw that could cut glass, he scowls in a ballroom. He still has hair in that picture, and he's dressed in a formal uniform for a formal event. In the next picture he's standing on a misty hillside, a giant grin cracking his face.

So he's an outside cat,

I think.

Same.

A maroon Airborne beret hides any hair he might have, but his beard is full. He clutches a firearm, but my mind is stuck on the beard.

Who gets to have a beard like that in the Army?

Only soldiers trying to blend in, and snipers, if I remember correctly.

But he's COMSEC, isn't he? Not a sniper, so probably recon,

I decide even though I'm no expert.

Still, he looks so familiar and it just keeps eating at me. Then it finally dawns on me and I'm even angrier. His face is a dead-ringer for a Greek model my little sister is obsessed with. Now I can see the photo taped to her wall in my mind's eye - he leans out a car window shirtless, long golden brown hair down to his shoulders and golden eyes rimmed with heavy black lashes. But this soldier isn't cocaine-skinny like that model. He's honed and heavy; a tank, a Paladin, a fucking demigod of war.

So this is who is fucking my girl. Well, I'm never getting her back.

I recognize the background of the second picture, a camp somewhere in Romania. I look at his deployments and frown.

That's a lot of deployments for a radio repairman. Is that normal for Rangers?

I have no idea, and his file is worse than useless.

"Nothing but black ink," I mutter to my empty Maserati. "Might as well change his name to Specialist REDACTED," I laugh to myself, then close the folder and my laptop and toss both into the passenger seat.

Who the hell am I dealing with, and how did she even find this guy?

What are the odds that two former Special Forces soldiers have either both fallen for the minx, or independently recruited her? Is he a private contractor, too? I look back at the file where it rests on black leather. Believe it or not, the only ass to ever hit that seat was Talia's. While I think about that, the last thing she ever said to me comes back.

I'm all alone.

Yeah, me too.

I sigh, half out of stress and half heartbreak. I know it's not unlikely the Specialist is just in love with her. There's something about Goth girls and soldiers that works like milk and cookies, and the real weird King-in-Yellow Goth girls are getting harder to find. I know I can't have her anyway, so she might as well be safe. But why does the Army always get the good shit?

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