Innocence Uncaged Read online

  Innocence Uncaged

  Jenna Jacob

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Rock Me Longer Excerpt

  About the Author

  Also by Jenna Jacob

  INNOCENCE UNCAGED

  Jenna Jacob

  Published by Jenna Jacob

  Copyright 2020, Dream Words, LLC

  Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-7325731-8-5

  Print ISBN: 978-1-952111-01-3

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Katiana

  I knew I was going to die.

  A freak snow squall was the last thing I expected while driving this twisting mountain road. But suddenly, the skies opened up and dumped white stuff everywhere. My trip went from angst-inducing to treacherous. I should never have relied on memory alone to guide me through the sharp curves and steep inclines to Papa’s secluded cabin in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

  When my Jeep suddenly fishtailed, I eased off the gas pedal and squeezed the steering wheel. Though the wipers and defrosters were working overtime, I couldn’t see much beyond the hood. But I wasn’t plunging into the craggy canyon like some snowy version of Thelma and Louise, so I must still be on pavement.

  Moments later, the tires gripped the road again. I sighed in relief and cautiously pressed on the accelerator, once more ascending the mountain.

  The skeptical part of my brain implored me to turn around, wait until the weather improved, and save myself from certain death. But I was much closer to the cabin than the city now. Besides, giving up wasn’t in my DNA. I was the daughter of Victor Markov, mixed martial arts legend. I wasn’t allowed to quit. I’d learned that lesson the hard way when I was twelve and he’d decided to teach me self-defense.

  Stop pushing me so hard, Papa. I’m a girl!

  Yes, but I will teach you to hit like a man!

  And he had because he’d loved me, a fact he had never failed to convey.

  Blindly, I brushed my fingers over the cold silver urn beside me, filled with his ashes.

  Though it had only been nine days since the center of my world died, it felt like a century. I was still raw, lost, and broken. Papa wouldn’t like me mourning, but I couldn’t help it. My hero was gone. This pilgrimage I was taking would be our last goodbye.

  Grieving had been a tiny bit easier the cold, rainy day of his memorial service. I’d been surrounded by dozens of burly cage fighters who’d come to pay respects to their teacher, mentor, father figure, and friend. Drawing strength from their imposing sizes, I’d managed to keep my grief at bay.

  But once they’d gone, I’d shattered. I hadn’t stopped crying for days.

  The unrelenting misery still crushed me. And the closer I came to the cabin, the deeper my heartache grew.

  When I was a kid, Papa and I had spent nearly every weekend fishing, hiking, and marveling at the stars up here. Once I’d reached middle school, cheerleading practice, gymnastics, flute lessons, and homework halted our trips. College and my part-time job had killed any hope of resuming those getaways.

  Now I regretted how much time I missed with him.

  A mournful sob tore from my throat. I muffled the next with my hand. I’d never again smell his unique combination of citrus, sage, and sweat he carried home from the gym. Never feel his thick arms around me as he lent me his strength. Never again hear him say I love you.

  Wiping away a tear, I prayed the peace and happiness we’d once shared on this majestic mountain would ease my pain and help me accept his loss. But there were no assurances that sitting on the porch where we used to sip hot cocoa to watch the sun rise would help me miss him less. What if laying him to rest in the place he loved most didn’t bring me closure?

  As I grappled with the pain and worries, the thickening veil of snow and fresh tears distorted my vision. Suddenly, my bumper scraped the flimsy guardrail and I stared into the maw of the canyon below. I’d missed a curve in the road.

  Adrenaline jetted through me as I slammed on the brakes and jerked on the steering wheel with all my might. The Jeep bucked and bounced away from the ragged gully, but I’d overcorrected and now hurtled toward the jagged mountainside. The brakes were useless on the slick roads. Impact was coming.

  This is going to hurt, a voice screamed in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, buried my face in my arms, and prayed I would survive.

  Ryder

  The minute I stepped out of the cabin, I smelled the coming storm. A glance at the clouds skating over the mountaintops confirmed that. Scrapping this hike and hunkering down would be smarter. I had enough smoked game stockpiled to see me through the winter and enough fruits and vegetables from my garden to last awhile. But my taste buds were crying for rabbit stew. And I craved fresh air. Cabin fever was no joke in the winter.

  As I started up the trail to check my traps, the ominous clouds grew closer. My first snare was empty. Before I’d even reached my second, the skies opened up, dumping a deluge of wet, heavy snow that damn near obliterated my tracks in seconds. Tucking my chin, I double-timed it to my next trap and found a fat hare. Wasting no time, I quickly reset the snare and hurried back to the cabin.

  I ducked under the porch, tossed the rabbit down, and dusted the snow off my buckskins. As I started to shrug off my survival pack, an out-of-place thud and high-pitched screech of metal split my silence.

  What the hell?

  Jogging to the edge of the property, I squinted through the driving snow and peered down at the road below. A vehicle had plowed into the rock. The wind suddenly inhaled, and I saw steam billowing from a mangled Jeep. Iridescent green radiator fluid colored the snow neon.

  Jaw clenched, I waited for the urbanite to climb from the wreckage and pull out a cell phone with an annoyed huff. But minutes passed. No one emerged.

  “Shit.”

  Shaking my head, I traversed the steep decline and hurried toward the crumpled carnage. Reaching the vehicle, I wiped away the snow and peered inside. A pale young girl with inky black hair slumped unconscious against the seat. Blood flowed freely from a gash in her forehead.

  My mouth went dry and my heart thundered as I curled my fingers beneath the door latch. Then the ramifications of helping her gonged through me. I paused, indecision wrapping me in a choke hold as the million reasons I should walk away pelted my brain.

  Aside from the fact that she wasn’t my responsibility and she should never have tried driving in this shit, pe
ople would come for her. People I didn’t want to see, who shouldn’t see me. Though I could barely recognize my former self, someone else might. That would be bad.

  As I second-guessed my options, I couldn’t peel my stare off the girl’s soft features. She was barely more than a kid. And while I’d always had a merciless reputation that my self-imposed solitude hadn’t improved, I still possessed a shred of humanity. I couldn’t leave her here to die. She needed someone to shelter and protect her. I was the only person for miles…

  Whatever the consequences, I’d deal with them.

  Sucking in a ragged breath, I yanked on the door. It wouldn’t budge. So I tried the passenger side. It gave way with a sharp squeak.

  I stuck my head inside the Jeep. The scents of jasmine and honey slammed through me. My cock roared to life.

  Damn. I’d forgotten how pretty women smelled.

  She’s injured, asshole—and half your age. She needs your help, not your dick.

  My basal male instinct didn’t care. It was also unfazed by my disgust.

  Visions of another too-young temptation assaulted my brain. Shoving the memories away, I reached into my pack and retrieved the small first-aid kit, then crawled onto the passenger seat.

  Mopping the blood from her wound, I tried to ignore the thick, dark lashes kissing her pale cheeks and the sparks tingling up my fingers, igniting my neglected libido each time I brushed her skin.

  “Stand down,” I growled at my insistent cock.

  After I released the latch on her seat belt, her soft, supple body spilled into my arms. She was…

  Warm.

  Petite.

  Pretty.

  And so fucking young.

  Carefully gathering her to my chest, I backed out of the Jeep. The snow was coming down harder now. I had to get her to the cabin and out of the elements, but not until I assessed her injuries. I didn’t want to hurt her further hauling her up the hill.

  Using the side of my boot, I cleared a patch of pavement and gently laid her on the road. I glided my hands up and down her arms and legs, searching for wounds…and trying to ignore the feel of her soft body slowly destroying me. No broken bones or serious trauma, thankfully, but when I felt the dip in her clavicle, my lust diminished.

  “Fuck.” Her shoulder was dislocated.

  I knew from personal experience that resetting the joint hurt like a motherfucker. Though the conditions weren’t ideal, I needed to reset it now, while she was still unconscious. It would hurt far less in the long run. That blow to her head would be painful, too.

  Wrapping my calloused fingers around her tiny wrist to guide her arm over her head, I bit back a curse and tried to ignore the temptation of her soft skin as I guided the joint until it popped back into place.

  Grateful the maneuver didn’t wake her, I carefully lifted her into my arms. The tiny thing weighed next to nothing. As I tucked her against my chest, I dismissed the way she fit against me by making a mental note to come back for her things in the Jeep. Then, cock throbbing from her intoxicating scent, I hauled her up the hill…and hoped like hell this wasn’t a mistake.

  Chapter Two

  Katiana

  Floating in some strange, inky dimension, my consciousness clawed to the surface. Immediately I wished it hadn’t. My head pounded in tandem with every heartbeat, sending shards of pain to pierce my head. Coupled with the sporadic sizzles and pops echoing in my ears, I thought my brain might explode.

  The scent of smoke tickled my senses, and I pushed past the pain to force my eyes open. The sight of the familiar moss-rock fireplace, alive with crackling flames, confused me. Darting a wild glance around the room, my panic subsided as I took in the comforting log walls, faded curtains, and furniture from my childhood. On the mantel, old photos of Papa and me crushed me with bittersweet memories.

  Swallowing the lump of grief clogging my throat, I tried to remember how I’d reached the cabin and passed out on the couch beneath a pile of blankets. But my thoughts were like lightning bugs, igniting and flickering out before I could catch them. Images flashed through my brain like strobes…me driving my Jeep in the falling snow—and plowing head on toward the rocks.

  Oh, my god. I’d crashed. I remembered. I blacked out after that. Thankfully, I survived.

  But…how did I get here?

  I started to sit up, but pain slashed at my head, while more sliced at my shoulder, dropping me back down to the thick cushions. I hissed in a breath, stunned when the pungent taste of testosterone—the same thick essence that wafted through Papa’s gym—filled my mouth.

  I zipped a frantic glance around to find the intruder, but I didn’t see anyone. Then a scraping noise sounded from the kitchen.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Panic spiked. Fear pulsed.

  Another noise, louder than the first, sent the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I opened my mouth to call out, but quickly changed my mind and snapped it shut.

  Had someone else been driving through that nasty blizzard and found me? But how would they have known to bring me to my cabin? Maybe some homeless squatter who’d needed a warm place to ride out the winter had found me in the wreckage. Yeah, or maybe a demented serial killer had stumbled upon me and was now searching the kitchen for knives and towels so he could rape, torture, and murder me before burying my body in the woods.

  Fear replaced the male pheromones on my tongue.

  Suddenly, the instructions Papa had drilled into my head during self-defense lessons roared in my ears. Strike first and strike hard, Katiana. Poke the eyes. Drive your palm into base of his nose. Kick his balls, then sweep his knees. Don’t take him down, mishka…take him out.

  Determined to defend my body and my property, I tossed the blankets aside and darted a panicked glace at the front door—my only means of escape. I noticed someone had lined my belongings up neatly along the hardwood floor.

  What the hell?

  Intending to investigate—and leave myself an escape path—I launched off the couch.

  Horrible mistake.

  Agony knifed through my body. The room began to spin. Stars danced behind my eyes. A cold sweat enveloped me. My stomach pitched. I bit back a wail and melted into the couch, frantically gulping in air and willing myself not to puke.

  I couldn’t defend myself like this. As I gently rested my pounding head against the couch, that reality spread like a cancer. I was helpless and at the mercy of whoever was in the cabin with me. Swallowing tightly, I fought off the urge to cry.

  Ryder

  Standing in the kitchen, stirring the stew bubbling on the stove, I listened for any sign the girl was rousing in the other room. She’d been out too long.

  Suddenly, I heard the rustle of fabric. Relief washed through me. Lowering the flame on the stove, I hurried to the great room. But as I rounded the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  The petite beauty was sitting up, head tipped back, eyes closed. Her long, inky mane spilled over her shoulders. Now that I could really see her? Jesus, she was beautiful. But the tear trickling down her cheek damn near ripped my heart out.

  I needed to get her some pain meds, but my feet refused to move. I couldn’t peel my gaze from her delicate features. Something about her filled me with déjà vu. Eyes narrowing, I studied her intently.

  As if sensing my stare, she lifted her head and slowly turned my way.

  Our eyes locked. The air in my lungs froze. My heart skipped a beat before exploding against my ribs.

  Had I finally gone crazy and started hallucinating?

  I whipped my gaze to the brown-eyed girl in the photo on the mantel, then glanced back at the woman on the sofa. There was no denying who she was. How had I been so fucking blind?

  Katiana.

  Victor Markov’s daughter was all grown up—and even more tempting than she’d been at fifteen, when I’d had no business lusting after the budding beauty. Of course, that hadn’t stopped me. Not noticing the little vixen had been impossible si
nce she’d constantly sent me inviting smiles and hungry stares. As if her artless flirtations hadn’t been bad enough, her not-so-subtle invitations for me to use her innocent body to fulfill all my dirtiest fantasies had nearly driven me insane.

  I’d laughed off her advances and waved away her sexual curiosity. What else could I do? I might have been a horny twenty-eight-year-old cage fighter, but I wasn’t a fucking pedophile—not that Katiana had acted at all childlike. If Victor had known the lurid things I dreamed about doing to his precious mishka, he would have cut off my balls with a rusty knife.

  But threats of incarceration and death by castration hadn’t been enough to keep me from fisting my hungry cock while fantasizing about her alone in bed each night. No, I first imagined Katiana’s sweet, virgin cream spilling over my taste buds as I tongue-fucked her into oblivion. Then I obsessed about coating my dick with her hot, slick nectar before I squeezed into her tight, virgin pussy and claimed her fragile hymen, becoming the first and last man inside her as I taught her all about screaming sin. Every time a scalding load splattered across my chest, self-loathing quickly followed. The guilt and shame left me feeling like the worst pervert on the planet.

  It had taken me a while—months of soul searching and solitude—to understand I’d been so fixated on her because I’d been in love.

  As I stared at a grown-up Katiana now, my feeling for the girl hadn’t changed, though she certainly had. Her features were a bit more defined, thanks to maturity. Though she’d blossomed into a stunning beauty, she still had that ball-churning air of innocence. And I still wanted her fucking desperately.