Bound By The Night: Dark Heat / Dark Dreams / Dark Fantasy. Megan Hart
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Chapter 2
Jordan Leone had no patience for rich fucks who thought a hefty bank account equaled free rein to buy and sell any other creature’s life. Paul DiNero wasn’t usually that sort. The guy genuinely cared for his animals, though his hard-on for the exotics meant he had quite a number of pets that weren’t the cuddly kind. It was how the guy acquired the animals that lit a slow fire under Jordan’s skin.
DiNero wanted what he wanted and he had the money to get it, even when legal channels failed him. Maybe especially when that happened, since that was often the only way he could procure the pets he wanted. He had contacts all over the world, from legitimate and licensed breeders to poachers to other collectors who were looking to sell off their animals or their offspring. Sure, the guy had a bunch of documentation proving his backyard menagerie was a private zoo used for “educational” purposes, but the fact was, DiNero’s collection was for his own private pleasure and nothing else, and when he wanted something, that meant he was willing to put up with the sort of arrogant douche bags Jordan hated.
Today it was some guy with a weird accent that sounded French but wasn’t. His greasy black mustache glistened from the bison burger he’d scarfed down while sitting on DiNero’s terrace. His beady eyes narrowed while his mouth stretched into a grin Jordan wouldn’t have trusted on a great white. He waved a languid hand.
“The price,” he said, “is nonnegotiable.”
“You understand I’ll need to have my man here give the animal a full health check,” DiNero warned, though he didn’t look concerned. He’d dealt with this dickblister before.
Jordan hadn’t eaten a burger, even though the smell of it had flooded his mouth with greedy, ravenous saliva. His stomach clenched, not so much in physical hunger as in simple longing. He’d restricted his meat eating for over fifteen years, and though his vegetarian diet was self-imposed, he’d never quite managed to convince his body he wasn’t missing out. He took a long drink of his beer instead, savoring the hoppy flavor.
“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not for one of my best customers.” The guy, whose name was something like Algiers or Algernon or maybe it was Addison, flicked his gaze at Jordan and gave him another smarmy smile.
DiNero nodded at Jordan and bit into his own burger. Juice squirted. Jordan had to look away.
“Go make sure my new girl is healthy, Jordan, while Mr. Efforteson and I chat about some things,” DiNero said.
It was a dismissal, but Jordan didn’t mind. With barely a nod at Efforteson, he headed for the stone stairs off the terrace, toward the driveway and the truck parked there. Unmarked, without even ventilation, the inside would be pitch-black and stinking of frightened animals, but Jordan had seen worse conditions. Sometimes when he’d had to travel to pick up a new pet, the sights he’d witnessed were so horrible they’d left him shaking and furious. Violent.
With a nod at the armed bodyguard, Jordan yanked on the truck’s rolling door in the back and hopped into the bed. Inside were rows of cages, all empty but for the one at the back. In it, a cowering female silver Russian fox yipped and rolled her eyes as he approached. He soothed her with a low murmur and put out a hand for her to sniff, his fingers against the bars of the cage. The foxes had been bred for generations in Russia as an experiment at domestication, and now the animals were more like dogs than their ancestors had been. They’d gained in popularity as exotic pets, expensive and limited in where they could be legally kept, rare only because of how difficult it could be to acquire one. This pretty girl was a replacement for one DiNero had lost.
“Hey there, pretty girl. Sweet girl,” Jordan soothed, settling close to the cage so the fox could get used to him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Not like the other one, he thought with a hard swallow of anger. He’d fucking warned DiNero about fixing the barriers between the zoo and the bayou, but the man had been more concerned about keeping away nosy neighbors or thieves than anything else. Gators couldn’t climb brick walls or smash them, either, but something had scaled the ten-foot wall. The barbed wire on the top had been torn and tossed aside like candy floss. This last time, the intruder had left behind a pen full of dead foxes.
Jordan opened the cage and the fox crept closer with a small yip. She’d clearly been socialized thoroughly, something DiNero wouldn’t bother to do once he had her ensconced in the zoo. The fox had been bred as a house pet, but to DiNero she was an ornament.
“C’mere, little girl.” Jordan stroked the soft fur, feeling for any obvious lumps or bumps. He gave her some cuddling time before scooping her up to take her outside. The bodyguard looked surprised, but Jordan ignored him to take the fox across the long expanse of soft green grass to the small bungalow he used as an office.
The fox yipped and buried her face against him when they went inside, but Jordan continued to soothe her with murmured words and gentle touches as he examined her. Her paws scrabbled on the steel tabletop, but she quieted when he gave a warning noise under his breath. She still trembled, but she wasn’t trying to get away.
She looked good, at least as much as an animal could when it had been kept caged in the dark and improperly fed and watered for the past few days. But she was healthy, without any signs of abuse or genetic flaws as the result of inbreeding. Jordan finished the exam and slipped a treat from his pocket that the fox took eagerly. She butted her head against him, and he took her narrow face in his hands.
“Pretty girl,” he said quietly. The fox licked his face.
Once she’d been put away in her own habitat, separated for now from the three surviving foxes for a quarantine period before he introduced them, Jordan made the rounds of the other habitats in this section. He’d spent long hours building most of them, re-creating different terrains or climates to provide the best possible housing for their inhabitants. The animals were under his care, and that meant their living conditions, too.
Veterinarian, handyman, lion tamer. That was his job here at DiNero’s, and it was the best one he’d ever had. The man gave him a good salary and free room and board on the property in a tiny but cozy bungalow with full catering privileges from the main-house kitchen. Most important, DiNero usually left Jordan alone.
Until today, apparently. Jordan rounded the corner of a low stone wall meant to keep the prairie dogs from getting out—DiNero loved prairie dogs and would often spend hours feeding them peanuts and watching them pop in and out of their holes. Today, though, he stood with his back to Jordan. Efforteson wasn’t with him. DiNero’s companion was a woman, her long dark hair the color of black cherries. It fell in soft waves to the middle of her back, and when she turned, eyes like a summer sky opened wide beneath dark arched brows.
“Jordan, come say hello to Ms. Blackship.”
Reluctantly, Jordan came closer. DiNero had been married four times, no children unless you counted the third wife, who’d thrown tantrums like a three-year-old. Now the man claimed he would never get married again, which only meant that he brought around his one-night stands to impress them with his menagerie, and Jordan had to make nice and pretend to give a damn.
“Monica,” the woman said as she gave him a firm, brief handshake.
“She’s the... Whattaya call it, honey?”
If the endearment raised her hackles, Monica Blackship didn’t show it. She gave DiNero a flicking glance but then put her focus back on Jordan. “I’m a cryptozoologist.”
For one awful moment, Jordan thought maybe DiNero was trying to replace him. But then he understood, having heard the term somewhere. “A crypto...”
“I research unusual or what some might consider legendary creatures,” Monica replied calmly. “Bigfoot. That sort of thing.”
“You think Bigfoot jumped our wall and killed our animals?” Jordan didn’t even care what DiNero might think of him taking any small part of ownership. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Of