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  Cage Master

  Daryn Rayne and Gabrial Quinn

  Cage Master

  Copyright © 2018 by Daryn Rayne and Gabrial Quinn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  ISBN 13: 978-1987590081

  10: 1987590082

  Acknowledgments

  From Daryn:

  Where do I even begin? There are so many people who have even made this possible that I truly feel like it isn’t just Gabrial’s and my book, but everyone's.

  For them, I’d risk it all:

  To my family, I can’t thank you guys enough for backing me the entire way. Putting up with me stuck in my phone or computer. It means the world to me to know y’all supported me through this adventure. I love y’all more than y’all know. Y’all are my heart!!

  Because of them, I will not fall

  To my parents… what can I say… I was kinda nervous to tell y’all what kind of book I was writing, but ever my cheerleaders you backed me 100%. Thank you guys for everything. I love y’all.

  I can’t make it through this without thanking Heather Guimond. She is, after all, the one who introduced me to G. Thank you for introducing me to Gabrial and being with me every step of the way for this crazy ride. I flove you.

  Batsey Batsey Batsey…. I am so glad you chose to take a chance with me! It has definitely been fun and more than entertaining. I love our randomness and feel lucky to have you as a friend. Asshat!! I appreciate your support as I rambled endlessly.

  To my Devils, you guys are awesome cheerleaders! To my Devils Squad, thank you guys for taking a chance on us and pimping our stuff.

  To our betas, Tilly, Siobhan, Nanette, and Nikki… I love you guys and appreciate you putting up with my impatient messages at three a.m.

  To our editor, Sandy Ebel, our graphic designer, Lark Adams, and our fabulous formatter Nickii Fowler, you ladies are rock stars for dealing with me! I truly appreciate all you have done.

  Joe Worden, I promised you an acknowledgment, thanking you for your MMA / stud services. So, thank you! Truthfully, thank you for helping us with the MMA scenes. You were a life saver!

  And last but definitely not least… thank you to everyone who took a chance on us and read our debut novel. We truly hope you enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

  From Gabrial:

  More than anyone, I need to thank my “Puddin’”, Daryn, for being my creative influence, a good friend, and the only person I’d have taken this amazing ride with. I love writing with you, but I also love just messing around and sending you special .gifs. You are one of the most incredible people I have ever met.

  I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank our incredible team who helped us bring this whole thing together: Sandy Ebel, Lark Adams, Tilly, Siobhan, Nanette, Nikki and anyone else Puddin’ corralled into making our dream a reality.

  Thank you to my partner, Heather Guimond, for convincing me if I could be a good role-play gamer, I could be a good fiction author. The book world is fantastic, and I’ve enjoyed my foray into it far more than I ever imagined. Thank you for introducing me to my new partner-in-crime. You may have ruined Batman’s hero status permanently!

  Thank you to everyone who has taken a chance on us and making it to this page. Your willingness to read our debut novel is humbling and an incredible gift.

  Thank you to our rockin’ group: Daryn & Gabrial’s Li’l Devils and our superb street team, Devils Squad. Without you guys’ enthusiasm, we wouldn’t have gotten very far at all. You’ve kept us writing and believing we could do this.

  Finally, I have to thank Joker for looking the other way while I monopolized Puddin’s time. I’m still gonna get you, though.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  One

  Raven

  My fucking feet are killing me! I think to myself as I slam through the front door of my apartment. I pause at the door, leaning against the jam and pull off my shoes. I think about just chucking them across the room, but these are my red Ferragamo stilettos that set me back almost seven hundred dollars, maxing out my poor low-limit Mastercard. I settle for dropping them by the door, then trudge through the living room to the tiny kitchen just beyond.

  When I crossed the stage and accepted my journalism degree, I didn’t imagine I’d end up a sportswriter. I had dreams of investigative reporting, exposes, celebrity interviews. Instead, I’m traipsing around a sweaty arena in tight pants and sky-high heels, following MMA fighters. Working for a sports magazine isn’t the worst gig in the world, and especially not MMA. Between my own martial arts experience, and spending time with these hot, muscled guys, I don’t have a lot to complain about other than my low pay.

  I pull open the refrigerator door and find exactly what I’m looking for, my box of Franzia. Yes, it’s wine in a box, but I’ve only been out of school for six months. The Franzia is my biggest splurge of the week, considering my penchant for expensive shoes. The rest of my groceries consist of ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese that also come out of a box. As I pour a healthy amount of the cheap alcohol into a plastic tumbler—stemware is not in the budget—my thoughts drift back to the better part of the day. Those fighters…. Slade Matthews…. When he stepped out of the locker room in that grey hoodie, those sweatpants, and his red hat, every nerve ending I have in my body began to tingle. I was overwhelmed with the vision of licking the planes of his abs right down to his happy trail… I give myself a mental face-slap and a reality check. These guys are surrounded by groupies all the time, and the last thing I want to be is one of those desperate, status-seeking bimbos. Besides, I need to remain professional if I’m going to gain their trust and respect. I’ll just save my dirty fantasies for bedtime. Either that or finally find myself a date.

  With that idea in mind, I groan and flop onto the couch in front of my laptop. I haven’t had even so much as a blind date since before my senior finals. It would be nice to at least have a sex life. I don’t mean like a one-night stand with some guy I picked up at the corner bar. A friend with benefits would be a perfectly acceptable arrangement, right now. But not with just anyone. I need the right kind of guy. Someone who can possess me completely, a dark and dominant man. Someone who understands my passions, my needs. I want the release that comes from the power in handing myself over completely to someone. My pleasure in his hands. That is what I need in my life right now. Someone else to just take over, so I can stop thinking for a little while. Between busting my butt trying to impress my boss with my sports knowledge and writing skills, trying to please my parents who are still pissed off I didn’t go on to law school like they wanted me to, and trying to stretch my budget to pay all the bills, I have too much on my shoulders. I need a man who will shelter me from the things that beat at my brain all day.

  Don’t get me wrong, my natural instinct in every situation is to take charge. I find a problem, I solve it. Done. I don’t generally depend on anyone. I learned a few years ago depending on someone got me nowhere. It isn’t just the sheltering I’m yearning for. No, I want the power that comes from submission. The strength that occurs when you selflessly hand yourself over to someone’s care. That level of trust necessary to freely give yourself up. I need it. I need the power exchange. I crave the intimacy of a D/s relationship. The bond that comes only from the full trust and honesty in placing your desires in someone else’s hands. I snort as I think I have a better chance at finding a unicorn.

  My pessimistic attitude doesn’t stop me from playing out a fantasy in my head. I recently subscribed to a fetish website I discovered while indulging my yearning to meet my ideal man. I’ve been poking around and pretty much just lurking in a group for Dominants and submissives. Although my actual experience is limited, my fantasies have swirled around D/s for as long as I can remember. I haven’t had the guts to post anything or even send a discreet message to one of the other members, but maybe it’s the winemaking me bold tonight.

  Without even thinking, I post, “Do you ever just want to fly away?” I hit send before thinking twice and lay back on the couch. I don’t know how long I lay there, having my own little pity party over the state of my personal life before I hear a soft ding. I contemplate not even opening my eyes, but you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat… “Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back,” I think to myself with a smirk. With a sigh, I straighten up and look at my private messages.

  CAGEMASTER (CM): What’s wrong littlebird?

  Littlebird (LB): Well, hi to you, too.

  CM: Hi. Now, what’s up? Why fly away?

  LB: Just a long, tiring day.

  CM: I can help you relax.

  I can’t help bu
t shake my head. Is this guy for real?

  LB: Aren’t you the cocky one?

  CM: Not Cocky. Confident. Bratty, aren’t you?

  LB: All day, every day.

  CM: It’s a good thing I have a special interest in bratty girls with smart mouths. Do you have a smart mouth, Littlebird?

  LB: Complete with all the dirty words, CageMaster.

  CM: That’s good to know since I have a dirty mind, pet.

  I can’t say I’m especially impressed with his attempt at banter. He has the attitude alright, but how much of it is real, and how much of it is just behind-the-computer-screen courage? I’ve never been one to back down, and to be honest, I could use any distraction thrown my way, right now, so my own ego keeps the conversation going.

  LB: How dirty are we talking? And who are you calling ‘pet’?

  CM: You tell me how dirty you like it, and I’ll rise to your expectations. And on second thought as for a pet… we’ll see if you meet MY expectations.

  LB: Your expectations? Who said you meet mine?

  CM: Confident, remember?

  LB: Cocky!

  CM: Let’s leave my cock out of this for now. I’m still interested in that dirty mouth of yours.

  LB: Usually thoughts of a dirty mouth involve a cock.

  I can’t help but bite my lip as I watch the bubbles appear and disappear on the screen, anxiously waiting for his response. All thoughts of my prior tension have fled. I’m enjoying myself even if I’m not sure about this guy.

  CM: You ARE a brat, aren’t you?

  I grin like a fool and can’t help the roll of laughter that escapes me. He has NO idea how bratty I am. Sarcasm happens to be my first language.

  LB: ((grins)) Always, Hun. Always.

  CM: Well, that’s good since I have a thing for bratty little birds. I know just what to do with that dirty mouth.

  Ah. I can’t help but squirm at the thought of his cock and my mouth. Jesus, help me. I need to get laid.

  LB: Good thing I like cocky men, I know just what to do with a good… cock. ((smirks))

  CM: Do you? Just what would you do with one?

  LB: Why should I tell you? I don’t even know you.

  CM: That’s true, you don’t. And it’s smart to be cautious. I’d like to give you a good reason though.

  LB: Maybe…

  CM: Tease.

  LB: Thought I was a brat?

  CM: What you do now will prove it.

  I hear a soft tone that causes me to glance up at my status bar. CageMaster has sent me a friend request. I think about it for a moment. Do I really want to keep this up? I must admit these last few minutes have been a fun distraction from my day. Accepting the request doesn’t obligate me to meet him or anything, so I decide I have nothing to lose and accept his request.

  LB: Thanks, CageMaster. We’ll see who is the tease very soon, won’t we?

  I log off and close my laptop before he can respond. I stare at my computer, still grinning. How is it that some random stranger managed to make a shitty day, not so bad?

  Two

  Slade

  I lean back against the sofa as I close the lid on my laptop. I don’t know who she is or what just happened, but that girl was no little bird. She was a fucking firecracker. We didn’t say more than a handful of words to each other, nothing more than some symbols typed on a computer screen, but she has piqued my curiosity in a way no one has in a very long time. These days, women of all kinds throw themselves at me—teens, co-eds, MILFs, cougars—an endless sea of women who are willing to do anything to be with the Slade Matthews. Who knew a sport as brutal as MMA would have such a large female following? Not that I care. I didn’t get into fighting to see how much pussy I could crush. I have very specific tastes, not just any woman can satisfy them. So, more often than not, I just take the requisite photos with my “fans” and send them on their way.

  Obviously, I don’t know enough about littlebird to say if she could really meet my expectations, but given where I found her, I know she at least has an interest in the same kind of play I enjoy.

  “Slade, what the fuck are you waiting for?” Jeff, my roommate and self-appointed “chef,” called from the other room. He was my college roommate before I dropped out to enter MMA. He majored in kinesiology, but also has a nutritionist certificate or some shit. Whatever it is, he feels it qualifies him to monitor every morsel of food I put into my body. His physical therapy skills help me recover from every fight and grueling workout my coach, Chip puts me through, so I keep him around. Now, Jeff’s trying to coerce me into the dining room to drink whatever vile concoction he’s whipped up in the blender along with a heavy dose of protein. If I’m lucky, it’s a nice slab of tri-tip. More than likely, it’s some flavorless chicken.

  I lurch up from the couch, setting my laptop on the side table. I’ll be damned if that girl didn’t give me a semi. With my luck, she’s really a dude behind that computer screen. That possibility has kept me from taking the steps to meet someone from the website, but I have a hunch this one is different. With a shake of my head, I head out to the kitchen. Time will tell. Until then, I’ll enjoy whatever distraction my little bird provides.

  “Dang, Slade,” Jeff started in on me. “Anyone would think you don’t like my cooking!”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a nagging housewife, Jeff?”

  “Sit down and eat, motherfucker. I didn’t slave over this hot blender all day just to hear your lip.”

  I grab the tumbler filled with a thick, green, disgusting-looking sludge. I’d long ago stopped asking what he put into his drinks. Listening to him drone on about, not only the contents, but the nutritional benefits they provided were enough to make my head hurt. They generally tasted like shit, but if I didn’t drink them like a good boy, I didn’t get to have the meat that went with it. While it was normally some oven-baked chicken or fish rather than a juicy steak, it was still honest to goodness protein with whatever side of fresh vegetable Jeff selected.

  I swallow the green mud in one long gulp. This time, it has a surprisingly fruity flavor to it, but it still isn’t anything I want to savor. I grab the plate he set on the countertop which holds three large chicken breasts with some riced cauliflower and broccoli. When Jeff looks away, I grab a bottle of soy sauce and liberally douse the vegetables. I appreciate everything he does for me, but sometimes, I just need some flavor. Yes, yes, yes… I know food is meant to fuel my body, and when I’m deep in training, I have to be extra cautious of what I put into it, but fuck, I like to eat. I mean EAT. I look forward to carb-loading the night before every fight just because I get to eat heaps of pasta. Last night was just such a night, which of course has me jonesing for more of the simple sugars.

  Standing in the kitchen, I lean against the counter as I eat one of the breasts using my fingers.

  “God, Slade. What are you, a fucking caveman? I gave you a knife and fork for a reason,” Jeff bitches. “You’re lucky you’re good-looking, otherwise I’d be searching for a new gig.” Did I mention Jeff is bisexual? He’s not flamboyant or feminine, but there are times when the diva in him raises her head. At six-foot-three with sandy brown hair, green eyes, a ripped body, and a wide smile, the women flock to him… so do the men. He amuses himself by flirting with them, but behind closed doors, he laughs at all the futile attempts women make to get him in their beds in the hopes of getting closer to me. While he doesn’t mind sex with women, he will tell you he’s more interested in men. Hey, to each his (or her) own.

  “What are you, my girlfriend? I don’t need to impress you with my table manners. I promise to eat my veggies with a fork though. Okay?”

  “Well, thank God for small miracles,” he replies with a grin. “So, who’s next on the roster?”