Page 21 of Tiger Queen

David knocked on the door and stuck his head in. “You don’t have to impress us on day one. You can call it a day.”

“There’s so much to do,” I said with a sigh. “It’s overwhelming. Don’t get me wrong—I have it under control. But it’s a lot.”

“Come on. I’ll show you where you’re sleeping. We can move your car.”

We walked to the parking lot and jumped in my car. I had to move two backpacks from the passenger seat to the back so David could fit inside.

“I just moved out of my college apartment,” I explained.

“We really lucked out finding you when we did. Drive over here, down this way for half a mile…”

It was a narrow gravel road with lots of bumps and pot holes. My suitcases in the back seat clattered together noisily. We passed four trailers all arranged in neat rows.

“That’s where the employees usually live. But you can stay in the house.”

I smirked. “What makes me special?”

David laughed wearily. “Trust me: you don’t want to stay in those things. The old employees didn’t exactly clean them when they split. There’s a guest bedroom in the house you can have.”

A few seconds later the trees opened up and the road ended in a loop in front of a big two-story plantation house. The columns on the front were grey instead of white, and most of the paint was faded and chipped. Parked in front was a Jeep, a Honda Civic, and a huge monster truck with cherry-red stripes on the side. I parked my Accord next to it and climbed out. The tires on the monster truck were taller than I was!

“Guess which car was dad’s,” David said.

“It’s kind of obvious,” I replied, deadpan. “Crazy Carl looked like the kind of person who valued a car with a high safety rating and excellent gas mileage. So, the Honda Civic.”

David laughed heartily at the joke. “Which means the monster truck is Anthony’s?”

“Naturally.”

I smiled. It was nice to know I could make him laugh.

“How did he drive that thing around?” I asked, putting my hand on the tire. The rubber felt like it was a foot thick. “It looks like it would take up both lanes.”

“You may be joking, but it is too big to drive on the road,” David replied. “There’s a bunch of land surrounding the zoo on all sides. At least a hundred acres. No idea who owns it, but dad used to drive this bad boy out there. He stopped at some point. Must’ve gotten an angry letter from the owner.”

“I’ve never seen one up close,” I said. “My dad took me to a monster truck show at the Richmond Coliseum ten years ago. I wonder how much you’ll get when you sell this thing.”

I saw the light go out of David’s eyes, and I instantly regretted what I had said. To me it seemed obvious that they would need to sell Crazy Carl’s belongings, including the monster truck. But David and his brothers probably had not thought that far ahead. They were still grieving their father’s death in their own way.

“I didn’t mean anything by it…”

“Forget it,” David said with a forced smile. “Let’s go inside.”

Despite the worn-down look on the outside of the house, the interior was in good shape. The hardwood floors creaked from my weight but were smooth and shiny. The wallpaper was kind of dated, but it wasn’t bubbling or peeling. The foyer opened to a large staircase that curved up and to the right before connecting to a balcony on the second floor that overlooked the foyer. On the wall beneath the staircase was an enormous oil painting of Crazy Carl. He was dressed like an eighteenth-century king, with a gold crown that fit perfectly on his head—without disturbing his red mohawk, of course—and a long tiger-print cape. He was flanked by two Bengal tigers sitting on their haunches, their amber eyes gazing out at the viewer.

“That’s one hell of a painting,” I said.

David snorted and led me up the stairs. “Get used to it. He put photos of himself in every room.”

“You’re joking.”

We reached the second floor. “Nope. Dad was awfully full of himself.”

“Don’t do that,” a deep voice snarled.

Jake stepped out of a doorway ahead. A bathroom, based on the steam that drifted out. The sight of him made me gasp. Jake was completely nude except for a tight pair of grey boxer-briefs. He wasn’t as muscular as David, but he was a very close second place. Tattoos were scattered across his chiseled chest, and his entire right arm was covered in a tattoo sleeve. His auburn hair was dark against his head, and rivulets of water ran down his neck and across his chest. A piece of metal hung around his neck on a black chain. It was similar to a dog tag, but not quite.

Against my will, my eyes locked onto his underwear. They were so tight that I could see the outline of his cock running down his right thigh. Like a tube of freaking cookie dough. The primal, animal part of my brain squealed with excitement at the sight of him. You must mate with this man and have his beautiful babies, it insisted.

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