Unattainable

Undeniable - 3

by

Madeline Sheehan

Acknowledgments

I’ve got a lot to say, so bear with me…

I want to thank my street team: Ellie, Heather, Hillary, Virginia, Courtney, Shorty, and Karinna. You girls aren’t just my cheerleaders and my support system, you are the very best friends a girl could have. Thank you for everything. What would this crazy writer do without you? I really don’t want to find out.

And to my editor, Pam Berehulke, my very favorite grammar, caps, and tenses Nazi, who takes my filthy, ellipses-ridden manuscripts, dumps them into a washbasin and, with her bar of soap and washboard in hand, scrubs the holy fuck out of them until they’re oh-so-pretty, shiny, and, most importantly, clean enough to eat off of.

And to Jovana, Pam, and Alyssa, who drop everything for me, who are always available at any hour of the day to answer all my stupid questions, and who put every bit as much energy and love into my books as I do; I got nothin’ but love for ya.

And to my friends and family, to my husband and my son, I know how much it sucks when I’m absent from the world, day after day, staring at a computer screen, immersed in the lives of my fictional characters, but I also know that you know how important that part of my life is, that I wouldn’t be me without it. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart, for accepting me and all my flaws, for watching over me and taking care of me while I knock these screaming stories from my system. And thanks for picking up all my slack as well. No one likes a dirty house.

And to my girls, my fellow authors, to Gail, Karina, Claribel, Emmy, Cindy, Syreeta, and Trevlyn. What in the fuck would I do without you? Who knows better than you the trials and tribulations? So thank you, thank you, thank you, for the hours upon hours spent listening, commiserating, complaining, shit talking, pumping each other up, planning, and plotting, thank you for all of it. Thank you for being the kindest, most caring, heart-driven women in this industry. I’m lucky to know you; I’m even luckier to have become your friend.

And to Deuce’s Babes, to all my readers, past, present and future, to the wonderful, kind, caring, funny, fun-loving women and men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting through my books, THANK YOU. What an incredible journey this has been and what an honor it is to know my words are being read by YOU. My gratitude is all yours.

Last, but not at all least, thank you to Cole “Deuce” West. Deuce and I have spent many late coffee-glugging nights together, many early bleary-eyed mornings, and many long, boring afternoons spent staring out the window, and yet I’m still every bit as in love with him as the day I met him. Actually, with each passing book, I fall that much more in love with him. He’s not an easy man to love, he makes a lot of mistakes, and he pisses me off more than he makes me smile. But at the end of the day, despite his age, he’s still a beast in bed, and really, who would I be without him? I’m glad I’ll never have to know.

Long live the Hell’s Horsemen!

“Biker Born, Biker Bred and when I die, I’ll be Biker Dead.”

All my love,

Madeline Sheehan xx

Dedication

For Christina Collie

Ripper in the front,

ZZ in the back,

Dirty in the mouth.

This book is all yours…with love.

PROLOGUE

Take one fresh and tender kiss

Add one stolen night of bliss

One girl, one boy

Some grief, some joy

Memories are made of this…

— Dean Martin

I’ll always remember the first time I laid eyes on him; the bane of my entire existence. I was eight years old and he was eleven—tall, blond, with deep brown eyes, and when he smiled…dimples.

Most importantly, he’d been sweet to me. He paid attention to me when no one else did.

“Hey,” he said, bending down beside me, smiling. I smiled back. He was the first kid I’d seen since my mom had started bringing me to the club. He looked older than me, but only a few years or so, and he was so cute. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Tegen Louise Matthews,” I said, offering him the teacup I’d just snatched from the lap of my stuffed teddy bear. “You can join us,” I told him, gesturing to my circle of stuffed animals.

“A tea party with Tegen Louise Matthews,” he said, his smile growing even wider. “I’d love to.” He settled down beside me and crossed his legs into a pretzel. “You got a nickname, Tegen?” he asked. “Or are you just plain Tegen?”

“Just plain Tegen,” I said, lifting up my teapot and pouring him a generous amount of invisible tea. When I finished pouring my own cup, I lifted it to my lips.

“Wait,” he said. “You forgot to cheers.”

I wrinkled up my nose. “Cheers?”

“Yeah, with your teacup. My little sister always makes me ‘cheers’ before tea. Like this.” Lightly he clicked his plastic cup with mine. “Cheers,” he said, glancing down at his cup then looking back to me. “…Teacup,” he finished, grinning.

“What?”

“Teacup,” he repeated. “That’s what I’ll call you. I mean, what other nickname can you give a girl named Tegen who likes to have tea parties with teacups?” He frowned. “Unless you don’t like it?”

My eyes went wide. “No!” I cried excitedly. “I’ve never had a nickname before and I love it!”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, holding out his free hand. “Nice to meet you, Teacup. My name is Cage.”

Despite his young age, he was the lone male figure that actively participated in my life on a regular basis from that point forward.

But eight-year-old feelings eventually turned into twelve-year-old feelings, and twelve-year-old feelings turned into fourteen-year-old feelings.

The older I grew, the more I grew to love him until I no longer looked to him as the one stable figurehead in my life, but instead loved him with an intensity that at times bordered on madness.

Love, they say, has the potential to kill a person if they aren’t careful.

I wasn’t careful. I let that love blossom uncontrollably until it was in full bloom, exploding from within me, with nowhere to go.

It wasn’t the same for him. The older he grew, the more he changed.

Gone was the sweet, caring boy he’d been, and his place…

He became the cockiest, most self-centered, self-serving, egotistical, narcissistic, and depraved motherfucker I’d ever met in my entire life.

Which, when I think back on it, is probably why I fell even more in love with him.

Girls are stupid like that. Falling in love with what they can never have—the untouchable, the seemingly larger than life, the unattainable.

However, I wasn’t alone in my stupidity.

Nearly every female that crossed Cage’s path fell immediately into a big bucket of fucking stupid. Young, old, and everything in between, it didn’t matter. The minute they saw his smile, heard his smooth-as-whiskey drawl, watched the fluid way he moved, they went instantly stupid.

As more time passed, my feelings, unreciprocated and with nowhere to go, began to fester and rot until I couldn’t take it anymore and took matters into my own hands.

And did something really, really stupid.

I bit down on my lip as my body burned, trying to adjust to his harsh entrance.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Cage mumbled drunkenly, pulling nearly all the way out of me. As hard as I fought it, his movements hurt and a whimper escaped me.

My body, despite the horror I was feeling, was slowly adjusting. Wet warmth flowed through me, and when he slid back inside, this time there was no pain, only a slight discomfort.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, grinding his hips, a movement that made my stomach flip with a brand new feeling. A good one. One that had me forgetting what was really happening between Cage and me; fooling me into thinking this was going to go the way I’d planned. That I was going to give Cage my virginity, something that was going to make him realize that I was the girl for him. That no one would ever love him more than I would.

His hand slid into my hair, tightly gripping a handful, while his other hand clamped down on my hip. His face dropped into the crook of my neck and I turned my head, seeking him, needing to see him, needing to confirm that my feelings were reciprocated, but his grip on my hair tightened, holding me in place.

Then his hips pulled back.

I gasped as he slammed back inside of me. Our bodies slapped together, my breath returned and…

He pulled back. And slammed back into me.

“Shit, Teacup,” he muttered, increasing his pace. “I can feel everything. Your pussy is a motherfuckin’ vice.”

Which, judging from his tone, was obviously a good thing.

And stupidly led me into further believing Cage would want me past tonight.

“So good, babe,” he breathed against my skin, his body repeatedly meeting mine, his movements growing faster and faster. I held my breath against the onslaught of what was happening inside me, both physically and emotionally.

Cage was everywhere now. He was inside of me, inside my body and my heart. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing but it didn’t really matter. Because it was Cage and it was me and I’d wanted this for so long, wanted him for as long as I could remember, and so awkward and uncomfortable were small prices to pay for finally having what I’d always wanted.

And then, almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. Cage was groaning, having pulled out of me and I felt him finishing, felt the moisture on my belly as his body jerked above me.

It took all of a minute for him to roll off me, to turn on his side, to breathe in deeply and breathe out heavily.

And then he was snoring.

“Cage?” I whispered.

I lay there unmoving for several heart-pounding minutes, not knowing what to do until what he’d left on my stomach had begun drying, making the tiny hairs on my body feel stiff and pulled.

Rolling out of bed, wincing as I did, sore, feeling my pulse pounding between my legs, I walked stiffly to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Swallowing hard, I glanced down at myself.

Gross.

Not only was I covered from breast to pelvis in half-dried semen, but my own blood was smeared across my inner thighs.

It was then I realized he’d never kissed me.

Which, in the end, killed the girl I’d once been. It left me broken, stuck, unable to move forward. And no matter how many years had passed, I was unable to let go.

When it came to Cage West, my mistakes were plenty and my regrets were numerous. If my past were a person, I would grab the throat of that motherfucker, drag her ass down Re-do Street, and once I’d beaten the ever-loving shit out of her, I’d stand over her beaten-down, broken body and say:

“You stupid bitch. You ignorant, stupid bitch. Love isn’t a fucking answer. It hurts more than it doesn’t, it’s harder than it is easy, it takes work, guts, and perseverance.”

Most importantly—what I would stress the very most—is that love doesn’t solve a goddamn thing. Love doesn’t erase a broken heart, and it sure as fuck doesn’t change people.

But no matter how old, how flimsy, how frayed the rope of love is, it does keep you tethered to the people you love.

And I was forever tied to Cage.

Would I change it if I could? Hell fucking yes, I would.

But we don’t get to pick our families or choose who we fall in love with. And we all have our crosses to bear: our stories, our loves, and our losses.

And this is mine.

Well, ours actually.

CHAPTER ONE

“Either you answer that fuckin’ thing or I’m throwin’ it out the window, Tegen.”

Blinking sleepily, I focused on the angry face mere inches from mine, wondering what the fuck he was talking about.

“Piss off,” I muttered, turning my face into my pillow. “It’s not morning yet.”

This time when my phone started both ringing and vibrating from its place on my nightstand, I heard it loud and clear.

“Tegen! That’s the fourth call in a fuckin’ row!”

“Shit!” I yelled into my pillow. “Stop bitching and just answer it!”

“I can’t!” he yelled back. “It’s your fuckin’ mom!”

The phone stopped ringing and I heard him let out an angry sigh.

Almost instantly, it started ringing again.

“TEGEN, ANS—”

Cursing, I jumped up, grabbed my pillow and swung it up in the air, then slapped it down over his face.

“Shut. Up,” I hissed, already reaching for my phone.

Pressing Answer, I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I snapped.

“Tegen?”

“Mom.” I sighed, instantly feeling bad. “Is everything okay? It’s not even light out.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s just…I wanted to catch you before you made plans for the long weekend. I thought maybe you could come home for a few days.”

Reaching up, I rubbed the heel of my palm over my eyes and sighed.

“Hawk’s coming home, isn’t he?”

James “Hawk” Young, lifer in the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club, was the father of my half brother, Christopher Kelley. Christopher was four years old and nearly two decades younger than me. Despite his dark red hair, green eyes, and freckles—traits our very Irish mother had given us both—he looked just like his extremely good-looking dad. Right down to his brooding eyes and the hard line of his mouth.

“He is,” she said softly. “And I’m just not ready. I just…I have enough to deal with, with Jase. Please come home, Tegen.”

Herein lay the problem. Despite how good-looking Hawk was, my mother wanted nothing to do with him. She couldn’t bear even the brief encounter to hand over Christopher for a few days. One might think that my traveling all the way from San Francisco, California, to Miles City, Montana, just to hand my half brother over to his father and comfort my mother in his absence, was a little extreme…it actually wasn’t. Not after what my mother had gone through.

When she was nearly nine months pregnant with Christopher, my mother had been shot in the head by her boyfriend’s wife. Not Hawk’s wife; Hawk wasn’t married. But Jason “Jase” Brady, also a member of the Hell’s Horsemen, was.

Actually, my mother had still been married to my father when she’d met Jase.

My mom, Dorothy Kelley, had gotten pregnant at fifteen, given birth at sixteen, and was forced by my grandparents to marry my father. My father, a truck driver, was rarely home and when he was, was more interested in television and beer than my mother and me. When I was four, my mother met Jase.

She fell in love with Jase almost instantly, unconcerned at first that he was married with three small children, because she thought he’d eventually leave his wife.

It didn’t happen. But my mother stuck it out. She worked at the Hell’s Horsemen clubhouse, cleaning up after the boys, cooking for them and doing their laundry, enabling her to carry on her affair with Jase as discreetly as possible.

Eventually my mother left my father, who’d subsequently hopped in his truck, left Miles City, and never returned. She cut ties with my grandparents and Jase moved both my mother and me into an apartment in town, a nice four-unit condo where we had a front door, a driveway, and a backyard, and everything continued much the same as before.

I hated it. I hated watching her throw her entire life away for a man who would never truly be hers, a man who would always go home at night to his wife and children and leave my mother alone, usually crying for him. Knowing that no matter how much she loved Jase, if he never left his wife she would always be considered a club whore, nothing more, and yet she still stayed.

That’s how I grew up.

The fatherless kid of a club whore, I watched my mother cater to a man who, in my opinion, didn’t really love her, watched her work her ass off for a club full of criminal bikers who lied, cheated, and more than likely killed their way through life.

And that was it. I had no one else, no other family to turn to.

I left Miles City, desperate to get away from the club life and all it entailed, the day after my high school graduation. With a full scholarship to San Francisco University and an internship already in place at a small newspaper, I had no plans to ever return.

After leaving, I’d been more than ready to get rid of “the look” that had defined me all my life, that look consisting of braces, glasses, secondhand clothing two sizes too big for me, and wiry red curls that took a day and a half just to tame in any sort of way.

One of my first friends in college, Grace, a true hippie raised on a commune in Northern California, had taken me under her wing and “crazied me up a bit,” as she liked to call it. So now I was free of both glasses and braces, my crazy hair had no choice but to remain in dreadlocks, and my body was a work of fucking art. Every single one of my tattoos I loved—colorful, large, and intricate, taking up both my arms, my back, chest, stomach, and both thighs. And my piercings…eh, I was fickle. Aside from getting my ear holes stretched a little more every so often, I’d alternate which ones I wore because I liked to change it up a bit every now and then.

In San Francisco, nobody gave me a second glance. And I loved it. There was no reason to ever return to Montana.

Except, that wasn’t in the cards for me. No matter how hard I tried to cut all ties with Miles City and its merry band of chrome and leather criminals, they just wouldn’t let me go.

After my mother was shot, Jase’s wife was tried, convicted, and shipped off to prison. My mother survived, obviously, but the damage had been devastating. Her memory had suffered, and at first she didn’t remember anyone or anything. Then, slowly, her memory began to return.

She remembered her childhood, her parents, and old friends; she even remembered my father and eventually me.

Then the progression came to a screeching halt. Her last memory of me was as a toddler.

My entire childhood, my teenage years, her meeting Jase and leaving my father, the many years of service she’d devoted to the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club…all of it was gone. Forever, it seemed.

Where did Hawk fit into any of this?

Well, as it turned out, my mother, in the midst of her already fucked-up love triangle, turned to Hawk for the comfort she couldn’t find with Jase.

No one had known.

After my mother had been shot, Hawk appeared at the hospital in a fury. He beat the crap out of Jase, during which he spilled the beans about him and my mother, crudely bringing to light Christopher’s true paternity.

And now…

My mother still didn’t remember either of them. To her, Jase was just some pathetic, broken man who refused to leave her alone, and the husband of the crazy woman who’d shot her. And Hawk was the father of the child she didn’t remember conceiving or carrying.

As for me, it was hard. There was a lot of explaining on my part, rehashing year after year in hopes she’d remember something past my toddler years. A lot of tears were shed, but eventually she came to accept the fact that she forgot two decades of her life, and that I wasn’t her baby anymore but a full-grown woman.

As for Christopher, she loved him instantly. Because she didn’t remember him, he was presented to her as a newborn. The familiar red hair, green eyes, and pale skin hadn’t hurt much either.

Which was great, super. Wonderful, even. But she didn’t remember me and I couldn’t accept it.

I felt alone. Orphaned in a way.

So I blamed Jase and Hawk, as well as the entirety of the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club and their affinity for drama, for all of it.

My mother, as confused as she was, tried to break all ties as well, but Hawk being Christopher’s father made it hard for her. Several women associated with the club, women my mother had been close to, also refused to let her go. They continued to show up for visits and call her periodically despite her protests.

They also pressured her into spending time with Jase, or Hawk, in hopes that it would help trigger a memory.

So yeah, I timed my visits alongside Hawk’s trips home. He stayed on the road mostly, but when he would return, he wanted to see his son ASAP and it was my job to ensure that happened without him intruding on my mother.

“I’ll call the airlines today,” I told her. “I should be able to take a few days off work.”

“Thank you, baby,” she whispered tearfully and I felt my eyes prick in response.

“See you soon,” I said hurriedly, needing to get off the phone before we both ended up in tears. As much progress as she’d made, it was still hard for her to think of me as an adult and seeing her cry, hearing her cry…well, it was hard for me.

She was my mother. The only parent I had, the only person in my life that had ever loved me. I would do anything for her, including make myself miserable.

Hanging up, I halfheartedly threw my cell phone across the room and it landed pathetically in a basket of dirty laundry.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck.”

“Speaking of fuck,” the man beside me said. “And seein’ as you’re already naked…”

I glanced over at him.

ZZ.

Yet another biker in the Hell’s Horsemen Club. Sort of. He didn’t associate with anyone in the club other than Deuce West, the president, and he hadn’t set foot back in Miles City since Danny, Deuce’s prissy-ass little bitch of a daughter, had cheated on him with another Horseman, Ripper, and broken his heart around the same time my mother had been shot.

Deuce’s offspring were good at that…breaking hearts.

All the West kids looked the same no matter who their mothers were. Cage, Danny, and Ivy were all blond with identical dimpled smiles. The girls had been blessed with wide, doe-eyed baby blues and full lips, and Cage…ugh. UGH.

He was beautiful. And an asshole.

Like father, like son.

As for Deuce, I wouldn’t be surprised if every blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and dimpled beauty queen across all fifty states belonged to him.

My body and my looks would always be a sore spot for me. I was ridiculously skinny, and not in the graceful supermodel way, but instead awkward, all elbows and knees like a newborn foal. I had tiny breasts and no hips, my collarbone stuck out, and so did my hipbones.

I was still pale-skinned, red-haired, and freckled.

And I would always be—no matter how many times I looked in the mirror and saw someone not quite as unattractive as before—that stupid and ugly little girl that no one had wanted.

But whatever, I’d accepted the fact that I’d never be beautiful a long time ago.

After my mother’s injury, I returned to San Francisco just in time to start my sophomore year. Two months into fall semester, ZZ showed up looking for a place to crash in his downtime. Other than the Horsemen, he didn’t have anyone else. His father had been one of Deuce’s lifers but had died when ZZ was twelve. Deuce had become his surrogate father and ZZ had taken the path his own father had, into the life. When he was twenty, his mother had passed away, her body ravaged by cancer. Not wanting to return to Miles City and subsequently see Danny or Ripper, he’d tracked me down instead with Deuce’s help.

As much as I wanted to hate Deuce, I couldn’t. Even though I’d gotten a full scholarship from San Francisco University, I still needed money for living expenses. Deuce had paid my rent and all my utilities, even my cell phone service, and provided me with extra spending money throughout my college years.

And, despite my protests, he was still paying for everything. No matter what I said, pleading and begging him to stop, he always refused.

“You’re family,” he’d growl. “And I take care of family.”

It was hard not to appreciate that but I knew deep down he was only doing it for my mother, not for me. They all loved my mother, not just Jase and Hawk, but all of them—the bikers, their old ladies, their kids, even the club whores. She was a mother by nature; she cared for people and enjoyed doing it, and it was damn hard not to love her.

So, really, I was only sort of family. More like the redheaded stepchild of a family full of badass bikers…but still family.

And so was ZZ.

We hardly knew each other, but after six months of periodically rooming together when ZZ wasn’t on the road, one thing had led to another and we ended up fucking. And had been fucking ever since.

Occasionally, I heard ZZ on the phone with Deuce and got the impression he was doing the Horsemen’s dirty work, the kind of shit that never got talked about unless it was in some sort of biker code consisting of broken vowels and grunts. Then he’d leave for a while and the next time he’d show up, he always looked that much more damaged. I asked him once what he’d been doing and the look on his face was so utterly terrifying that I hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask him again. Not that it really mattered to me what he was doing while he wasn’t here.

Ours wasn’t an emotional attachment, we were just…making do. He was too old for me anyway, somewhere in his midthirties. Whereas both Danny and her stepmother, Eva, seemed to like older men, I couldn’t picture ending up with one. Who wanted to be in their thirties with an old dude who could no longer get it up? Not me. Not even for a guy as hot as ZZ.

I glanced over at him and ran my eyes down his naked body. Long dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, killer muscles.

I’d never seen a guy work out as much as he did. He ran in place, he lifted weights, he did close to a thousand sit-ups and push-ups combined every day.

The aggression he was always trying to work off was off the fucking charts and I was starting to think exercising wasn’t working.

I watched ZZ palm his cock and point it at me. “Climb on and sit the fuck down.”

“Shut up,” I muttered. “Why are you being so bossy lately?”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who’s haulin’ ass back to Miles City and gotta deal with those assholes. I’m outta here in a few days, maybe for two weeks, maybe for a month, depends on the lineup Deuce sent me and, baby, figured you and me both could both use a good poundin’ before I head out.”

I snorted. “Like you don’t pick up ass wherever you keep disappearing to.”

“I like your ass,” he growled.

“And every other female’s ass in existence,” I finished for him.

“Last three runs,” he shot back angrily. “Haven’t fucked with anyone but you.”

Since ZZ’s version of a calendar was based on mileage and how many runs per year, I tried to remember when his last run was and the one before that and then the one before that.

When I did, I gaped at him. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t fucked anyone but me in over six months?”

His dark eyes bored into mine. “Did I fuckin’ stutter?”

Huh. I suppose in a way it made sense. Why bother with anyone else when you had a person you knew for a fact could physically satisfy you sleeping right beside you?

But still, ZZ and I were not exclusive…at least, we never used to be.

“For fuck’s sake, Tegen, stop overthinkin’ every damn thing. Just get on my goddamn dick and start fuckin’ bouncin’.”

Well, how could I deny such sweet talk?

“It all depends,” I told him. “On whether you want my pussy or my ass.”

He grinned and the expression changed him. Gone was the angry, gruff man I often saw, and in his place was the ZZ I remembered as a kid. The man he’d been before Danny had dug her pink-tipped claws into his chest and ripped out his heart.

“Figure I should give your ass a break,” he said.

Snorting, I climbed on top of him and straddled his thighs. Reaching over to the opposite nightstand, I snagged a condom, tore it open with my teeth, and rolled it down over his cock.

“And that was the right answer,” I told him. “My ass thanks you.”

Grabbing hold of him, I lifted my hips and guided him to my entrance. It took me a moment to work him inside me.

“Make it count,” I told him, then slammed down over him.

Gasping, I folded my body over, my hands clamped down over his biceps. He growled, and his hands flew to my hips.

“Don’t I always?” he said smugly.

I shrugged. “No,” I said, being honest, purposely clenching my inner walls around his cock and watching his face tighten with lust. “You don’t.”

In response, his dark eyes began to burn, his fingertips dug deep into my hips, and I smiled to myself.

He was so easy to piss off and when he was pissed, he fucked like an angry god readying to smite the universe. I had no doubt that now, he would most definitely make it count.

• • •

Cage pulled into the parking lot beside the Silver Demons’ brownstone, shut off his engine, and toed his kickstand down.

He was fucking exhausted. He’d driven straight from Montana to New York and only stopped for gas and once to sleep.

Grabbing his bedroll and duffle, he headed across the parking lot and up the walkway, bumping fists with a few Demons standing outside.

“Preacher ’specting ya?” Tiny asked as he passed by. Cage paused to look at the overweight, sweat-drenched, graying old man who was the Demons’ sergeant-at-arms.

“Naw,” he said. “But I need to crash and I ain’t feel like drivin’ to my boys in Queens.”

“We got a full house,” Tiny said. “But Prez keeps Eva’s old room empty.” Nodding, Cage turned and continued up the walk, ignoring two club whores who were looking him over like he was a piece of meat.

“Horseman,” one of them drawled, a brunette wearing only a bikini top and a leather miniskirt. “You want company tonight?”

Grabbing the handle on the front door, he turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck happened to your nose?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and studying the obvious break that had healed horribly, leaving the poor bitch looking like she’d gone head-to-head in the ring with Evander Holyfield.

Her slutty smile fell from her face and was instantly replaced with a snarl. “Courtesy of your old man, West,” she hissed, her upper lip curling. “Right after I sucked his limp dick.”

Unfazed, Cage continued to stare at her nose, wondering why the fuck she hadn’t had that shit set straight or gotten it fixed, for Christ’s sake.

“Limp dick, huh,” he said. “Not too sure you’re talkin’ ’bout my old man, ’cause that fucker ain’t ever put that thing away. Every time I’m turnin’ around he’s maulin’ his old lady.”

It was true. Eva and his old man were always at it. Always touching and kissing and grossing the hell out of everyone.

The whore’s scowl deepened. “Little blue pills work wonders,” she snarled.

“Forget her,” another bitch said, pushing in front of her friend. “Name’s Gail, honey, but the boys call me Slitty. You wanna find out why?”

Laughing and shaking his head, Cage pushed open the front door and headed inside where he was greeted with more of the same. Club whores and Demons with cuts from various states crowded the hallways and rooms. Must be something big brewing, he surmised, for Preacher to have gathered the masses. Not that he would know; Cage wasn’t privy to this kind of info. But his old man would know, being in as deep with the Demons as the Horsemen were.

Only his old man’s top boys—Mick, Ripper, Cox, and now Tap, who got promoted after ZZ ran off—knew the nitty-gritty.

Which was fucking fine with him; he didn’t need to know shit, he was perfectly happy doing what he was told. Yep. It didn’t bother him at all that his own father didn’t trust him with club business.

Whatever.

Reaching Preacher’s office, he curled his hand into a fist and gave the door a good, hard knock.

“Yeah?” yelled a familiar gruff voice.

Cage grasped the knob and pushed open the door. Damon “Preacher” Fox was alone, sitting behind his monstrous desk, his head bent over a laptop as his fingers tapped hesitantly at the keyboard.

Cage gaped at him. Preacher. Laptop. It wasn’t adding up in his head.

“You know how to use this thing?” Preacher muttered, glancing up at him. “I feel like a fuckin’ rat in a maze over here.”

Cage laughed. “Sorry, that’s Danny’s territory. I ain’t no good with computers.”

Preacher grimaced at the machine, then swiveled around to face him. “Fuck this shit. Take a seat, kid, and tell me how those beautiful sisters of yours is doin’. And that fucker Danny married? They got a baby now, don’t they?”

It was Cage’s turn to grimace. Fucking Ripper. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay with Danny’s choice in men. The asshole had been sleeping with his sister in secret, during which Danny had been forced to kill one of Ripper’s girlfriends because the bitch had pulled a gun on Ripper. And if that weren’t bad enough, Ripper took off after that, leaving Danny alone and out of her mind depressed only to find out later she was knocked up.

After an abortion and a whole lot of misery, Danny started dating ZZ, the best of them, the nicest brother the Horsemen had ever seen, and she’d pulled herself out of it. Then fucking Ripper came back and shit went to hell again. Yeah, they were together now, married with a kid, but at what fucking expense. The club had lost ZZ and Danny wasn’t ever going to be the same fun-loving, ditzy little sister he’d once adored.

So yeah, fuck Ripper.

“They’re fine,” he grumbled, taking a seat in one of Preacher’s uncomfortable high-backed chairs. “He’s fine, the kid is fine too.”

Preacher studied him. “Yeah, good to fuckin’ know, and how ’bout you? You fine too?”

Sure. Why not.

“Yeah,” he said.

Preacher’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah sure, kid. But it ain’t my business. So, movin’ the fuck on. What’s bringin’ you to my neck of the woods? Deuce didn’t say shit about it last time we talked.”

Cage fought back his grimace. Nobody needed to know how he really felt about putting a man to ground. It was the way of his world. Only…he’d thought after the first few times it would have gotten easier.

But it hadn’t.

And if it ever did? Well, Cage feared that day.

“Bannon,” he said, referring to one of the most notorious crime bosses on the East Coast, who ran his business out of Philly. “His right-hand man fucked up, thinkin’ he was just dealin’ with a pack of redneck bikers, and made the mistake of shortchangin’ the Horsemen.”

Preacher grinned, the expression taking a good ten years off the man’s face. Like Cage’s own father and unlike most of the men in this life, Preacher didn’t look his age. His long brown hair had very little gray, although his short-trimmed beard was nearly all gray. Laugh lines gave his already squarely defined features that much more definition. Cage would even go as far as to say that Preacher was definitely a ladies’ man.

Not that he was gay or anything, but a dude knew when another dude had pull with the bitches.

“Bannon know it’s comin’?” Preacher asked.

“Fuck, yeah,” Cage said. “Fucker set it up himself. Texted me the location ’bout two hours ago. Shit’s goin’ down tomorrow.”

Preacher’s loud laughter echoed throughout the small room. “Give ’im two,” the man said. “One in each eye, one for Deuce and one for me.”

Cage smiled grimly. Preacher’s signature “I can see you, fucker” hit was infamous. Everyone knew a bullet in each eye meant the Demons had gone and cleaned house. Everyone. MCs countrywide, nomads, cops, the Feds…everyone. Trouble was, no one could pin it on him. The man was just that good.

“Will do,” he said, standing up. “But right now I need shut-eye. Tiny said Eva’s old room is up for grabs?”

Preacher nodded. “Only for family,” he said. “And that means you, kid.”

Preacher reached to the right of him and Cage heard a desk drawer being opened, then closed.

“Heads up,” he said, and tossed a key chain over his desk. Cage caught it one-handed. It was a single silver key on a Harley wings key chain. In the circular center of the wings, Eva had been inscribed.

Thanking him, Cage took his leave and wandered back out into the hallway feeling more at home in an MC all the way across the country than he did in his own. Eva was lucky, having a father like Preacher.

Real fucking lucky.

She was also the best thing that had ever happened to his family, not that his father deserved her. That man could make good on a million promises from now until the day he finally kicked it, and it still wouldn’t make up for all the shit he’d put her through.

But whatever, that shit wasn’t his business.

About to head into the brownstone’s stairwell, a curvy blonde came out of a nearby bathroom, smiling as she passed by him, purposely brushing up against him. His arm shot out and his hand gripped her wrist. Yanking her back around to his front, he gave her a quick once-over.

Natural blonde, early twenties, cute face, killer rack, hips he could get a good hold on. She was a little meatier than he liked his women, and he was usually pretty liberal, preferring his women soft, liking watching their shit shake like fucking Jell-O while he slammed into them. But fuck it, those tits were calling his name.

“You family?” he growled, yanking her flush against him.

She shook her head.

“Anyone layin’ claim?”

She shrugged. “Preacher has me most nights,” she said. That made sense. Preacher liked his bitches curvier than most; the more to grab, the better, the man had always said.

But if she wasn’t claimed, that was all he needed to know.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, turning her toward the stairwell and slapping her hard on her juicy-as-fuck ass.

When they reached Eva’s bedroom door, Cage grabbed her again, pushed her up against the wall just outside Eva’s old room, and shoved her too-tight T-shirt up over those two big bad boys, already half hanging out over the scrap of purple lace she was passing off as a bra. Thrusting her chest outward, she helped them the rest of the way out and he watched, growing hard as the soft flesh piled over. Bringing her small hands to her chest, she cupped both breasts, squeezing and kneading, spilling through her spread fingers.

“You like?” she whispered, smiling up at him.

He stared down at her. She might be young but she knew what was up, and he had to wonder how many times she’d been passed around the club already and to how many brothers.

Fuck it. Why did he even bother to wonder? He’d fucked so many club whores and random sluts, women he knew had been passed from brother to brother and back again. Hell, there’d been so many he’d lost count a long time ago.

Yeah. He was a whore. A man whore. He knew it; hell, everyone knew it. He’d been sleeping with every pussy that came his way since he’d lost his virginity, courtesy of Mick and Tap, at the age of twelve to a club whore seven years older than him. After that, after a few more sexual encounters, it just seemed like it was…his thing.

The girls flocked to him. They thought he was hot as hell and didn’t give two fucks if he fucked them once and then tossed them aside because, really, all they wanted was to say they’d fucked him.

But like he said, it was his thing. It was almost expected of him to act like a slut. That was all anyone ever thought about when they looked at him. And that was cool, whatever, sex was fun as hell, he loved it.

Until he didn’t love it anymore.

Now it was just…sex. And now, every time he came, if he even remembered it, he was starting to feel more and more like shit. He wasn’t even sure why he felt like shit. What dude feels like shit after getting laid? Sometimes multiple times in one night.

This dude.

Suddenly he didn’t want to touch this bitch. He definitely didn’t want his mouth where he knew countless other mouths had been and…

A vision of Preacher came to mind; the old guy sucking on her fat tits, jerking his hips back and forth between her thick thighs.

Feeling…off, Cage backed away, all the way into the opposite wall, ready to tell her to take a hike, when suddenly she dropped to her knees and yanked his leathers open. The bitch had his cock out and in her mouth, sucking his shit like a starving leech, faster than he’d ever freed that motherfucker before.

Holy fuck. His head fell back against the wall, his hands found her hair, grabbing handfuls, fisting, and his eyes closed. This bitch wasn’t a leech, she was a goddamn circus clown, the kind that blew up balloon after balloon, turning those fuckers into ridiculously detailed balloon animals.

Holding tighter to her hair, he punched his hips forward, forcing her to take all of him. Jesus, fuck, that felt good.

He expected her to protest, to gag, something, but Jesus, she was so damn into it, sucking and licking his shit, moaning and purring like a fat kid with a fucking ice cream cone.

Groaning, he came quickly, more than likely a straight shot into her stomach considering she’d been champion deep-throating him like a sword-swallowing porn star.

After licking him clean, she shot to her feet, her tits nearly hitting her in the face as they bounced with her swift movement, and curled her body around his. “My turn,” she purred, grabbing his hand and helping him down the waistband of her jeans.

Eh. Whatever. Fair was fair. Circling her clit he went clockwise, counterclockwise, then slid a finger inside her and began pumping slowly. All of two seconds passed and he was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed this over with, like, yesterday.

Grabbing her throat, he squeezed until she gasped, then swung her around and shoved her up against the wall.

“Come on, bitch,” he growled, cutting off all her air supply as he continued working between her thighs. “Give it here.”

Eyes wide, eyelids fluttering, the girl went stiff, shuddering silently through what was probably the best orgasm she’d ever have. Cage silently thanked Bucket for telling him, years ago, how to pull that shit off as quickly as possible. Although, whereas Bucket used the trick to keep the bitches coming back for more, Cage used it to get rid of them as quickly as possible.

Releasing her throat, he backed away from her and buttoned up his leathers.

“You wanna fuck?” she called out, her voice breathless.

God, fucking, no. That bitch was a straight-up whore. Barely twenty and already a fucking champ. Her pussy would be swinging wide open by thirty. Fuck that.

“Nope,” he said evenly, pushing past her. Pulling out Eva’s key from his pocket, he proceeded to unlock the door.

“Asshole,” he heard come from behind him.

Uncaring what the bitch thought of him, he stepped inside and slammed Eva’s door closed behind him.

Falling back against the door, he took several deep breaths. What the fuck was wrong with him? Since when did he give a fuck who else was fucking who he was fucking? Aside from club whores, he almost never fucked a bitch twice for that reason, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes, or to ensure the bitch didn’t get emotionally attached to him.

Maybe he was getting a cold? Maybe he swallowed a bug on the ride up here and he was now dying of West Nile virus?

Or maybe he was just sick of fucking whores?

“Whatever,” he muttered as he scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his cheek and jaw.

A quick survey of the room showed him a bed, a dresser complete with an ancient stereo system, and a rack of CDs beside it. An old, ripped bean bag chair sat on the floor, and the yellowed-white walls were lined with posters: Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Johnny Cash, Hendrix…and Billie Holiday? Huh.

Eva and her random, usually crappy, borderline-obsessive taste in music would never fail to amaze him.

Moving on, he found photos of a very young Eva sitting on the back of Preacher’s Harley, holding tight to her old man. Then one of Eva and Kami, they couldn’t have been older than five or six, and the photos that followed were of them growing up together as kids, teenagers, and women.

More photos of Demons barbecues and out-of-state runs, photos of Eva and the boys as she grew up within the club.

Eva’s high school graduation, her college graduation, Kami’s first wedding to some douchebag lawyer, and the birth of her first son, Devin (who looked nothing like that lawyer and a whole lot like Cox).

Cage started laughing until he came to another photo, and he stopped laughing.

Eva and Frankie’s wedding picture.

Cage stared at the maniacal face of Franklin “Crazy” Deluva, Eva’s first husband, the madman who’d ganked Ripper on a run and slashed his face and body to shit; the asshole who’d murdered Kami’s first husband in some sick serial-killer-fetish fashion; the fucker who’d broken into the Horsemen’s clubhouse, cuffed Deuce to a radiator, and made him watch while he raped Eva.

The man who’d then taken Eva, who probably would have killed her if she hadn’t killed him first. The man who, because of all that, had fucked his already fucked-up family even more.

Noticing something strange about the photo, he stepped closer and studied it. Yeah, the bottom left corner was pushed out. Lifting the picture off the wall, he turned the frame over in his hands and flipped open the clasps holding it together. After tossing aside the backing, he found what was making the bulge in the photo. An old envelope, folded in half.

Setting aside everything else, he unfolded the envelope and looked inside.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

It was Eva, sitting at the bar next to Blue, her elbows propped up on the countertop, her chin resting on the palms of her hands, grinning at the camera. And she was young, real fucking young, like…

He looked around and locked on a photo of her at her college graduation, wearing her cap and gown. She was college young. Which meant…

He counted back the years and…

Yeah, his parents had still been together. Just barely.

Cage looked back at the photos. He knew there was some hard-core history between his old man and her; he’d heard some of the boys tease Eva about it on occasion, but he hadn’t known the whole story. The most he’d ever gotten out of his old man was after he’d first brought Eva back to Montana with him.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“She the reason you’re pissed off all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“She the reason you left Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“You love her?”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause.

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

He continued flipping through the old photos. Some were of Eva and the boys, some of Kami being mauled by both Cox and Ripper, some of ZZ, some of Dorothy and Jase.

Jesus. They were all younger than he was now.

But it was the next photo that caused his jaw to drop.

Lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, butt-ass fucking naked, legs spread wide open, sprawled across what he recognized as his old man’s bed at the club, was Eva. College-age Eva with that “come fuck me” smile, and those tits, hanging heavy off to her sides, begging to be—

Hurriedly, he tossed it aside. Yeah, they weren’t actually related, but she was his old man’s wife and the mother of his youngest sister, meaning he shouldn’t be using her as bate material. At least, not anymore.

Back when he was eighteen, yeah, that was a whole other story.

The next photo was even worse. It had been taken at such an angle that you knew the person shooting it had been lying down, capturing the person above them.

And the person above them was his father, looking ungodly young compared to now. His long blond hair was pulled back, his suntanned face drawn tight, his nostrils flaring, his light blue eyes were hooded as he stared down at the photographer with…

Lust.

Adoration.

Maybe even some disbelief.

And even though Cage couldn’t see anything past his father’s tattooed chest, it was obvious what was happening. Eva had snapped a picture of his old man while he’d been in the middle of fucking her. No, not just fucking. That sorry old bastard had been in love.

Even way back then.

Jealousy swamped him. Not jealousy over Eva, even though she was one fine-ass female, but jealousy of his own father.

How many times had that asshole fucked up? How many people had he hurt along the way? And as punishment, God goes and gives him one of the most perfect women Cage had ever known? Beautiful, eighteen motherfucking years younger than him, with a heart so big, everyone around her could feel that love just pouring out.

Fair. Real fucking fair.

His asshole of a father had everything, and he had…

A whole lot of nothing.

Cursing, he jammed the photos back into the envelope, then inside his cut. After setting the photo back to rights on its place on the wall, and giving Frankie one last long look, he headed for the bathroom, suddenly acutely aware that Frankie had once walked these very same steps, had headed for the very same bathroom, pissed in this very same toilet, showered in the very shower behind him, slept in that bed…beside Eva…with Eva.

Fucker had been damned obsessed with her. Worse, even. He’d raped his own wife, forcing Eva to kill him, her own husband.

Flushing, Cage headed back into the bedroom and went straight for the door. No way was he sleeping in a room full of creepy memories and a ghost who may or may not have haunting capabilities, which may or may not include gouging eyes out and slashing skin and making dudes eat their own dick.

Yeah, he liked his intestines exactly where they were, thank you very much.

He’d sleep beside Tiny. Hell, he’d sleep on top of Tiny before he slept in here.

“You didn’t deserve her either, Frankie,” he muttered, closing the door, gladly leaving behind him his stepmother’s painful past and all the garbage that had followed in its wake, locked up tight inside that shrine Preacher was passing off as a room.

“And now you can rot in motherfuckin’ hell. All alone.”

CHAPTER TWO

Eleanor “Ellie” Tate was SO over the entire world. Over it. Done. Finished.

With her purse clutched tightly to her stomach, she marched down the steps of the very same high school she’d graduated from with honors, feeling utterly rejected.

So much for racism not being as obvious or prevalent in modern day society. How could she have never noticed it until now? She’d been born and raised in Miles City, population nonexistent, a predominately white community with the exception of the surrounding Native American reservations. The whites had stuck together, the Native Americans kept to themselves, and then there was her family. Her mother was white, her father was black, and she was a mutt.

Something she’d never thought twice about until right now. Until she’d left Miles City college bound, spent four years at MSU, another two interning while she worked on her master’s degree, only to return home hoping for a teaching job and getting shut out.

By her own principal, Mrs. Adele Lancaster.

She’d known for a fact there had been several positions open. It was the reason she’d come home. Her mom was sick, stage four breast cancer, and her dad was a wreck. She’d wanted to help out where she could and at the same time get a jump start on her career. Not wanting to waste time getting a connecting flight to Miles City, she’d gotten off the plane in Billings, rented a car, and drove straight to her job interview. She’d planned on surprising her parents, directly afterward, with good news.

So much for that.

I’m very sorry, Ms. Tate, but you’re just not what we have in mind at the moment.

So much for coming home again.

She’d gotten out of there before she’d let that bitter old bitch see how upset she was. But now that she was alone, marching aimlessly down Main Street, past her parked car with no destination, her tears began to fall.

She should have never come back.

Pausing on the sidewalk to wipe at her wet cheeks, she glanced up. Hank’s. The only bar in Miles City and also the only establishment in town she’d never been inside of. Other than one horrible incident in college where she’d ended up with her face in a toilet bowl, she didn’t drink.

She’d never been much fun, something her old friends Anabeth and Danny had loved reminding her of only every other second. Both were blonde, skinny, fun-loving, and perky, everything Ellie wasn’t.

Aside from her blue eyes, Ellie was the dark to their light. Her skin was the color of caramel, her long black curls were tight and unruly. And she was curvy, well aware that she was carrying around a few extra pounds, that her stomach wasn’t exactly flat, her breasts were annoyingly large, her hips more pronounced than she would like them to be.

But it wasn’t just in looks that she’d differed from her two closest friends.

Danny had never left Miles City. She’d ended up in community college, then got married and saddled with a kid, all before she turned twenty-five.

And if that weren’t bad enough, she’d married a probable homicidal maniac fourteen years older than her. Ripper, a biker in her father’s criminal motorcycle club whose face and body were so badly scarred, he was terrifying to look at.

After Ellie had found out about Danny’s disturbing marriage, she’d cut off all contact with Danny but continued to receive periodic unwanted updates every time Anabeth had come back to school after her summer visits to Miles City.

Speaking of Anabeth…

Despite Ellie and Anabeth rooming together at MSU, it hadn’t taken all that long for their friendship to become strained and then eventually nonexistent. Anabeth had taken to the college party scene, pledging for a sorority and becoming the top-notch bitch Ellie had always known she’d been deep down inside.

Now Anabeth was living in Westchester, New York, in a double-gated community, married to the son of a wealthy real estate developer and pregnant with her first child.

But Ellie didn’t regret her decisions to put her education and career first or to cut people like Danny and Anabeth out of her life, women with no aspirations except to marry men who would take care of them.

Whether it be on the back of a notorious criminal’s bike, or in the back of a wealthy, spoiled man’s limousine, they’d both sold out, given up their freedom to a pair of assholes and were doing nothing with their lives except birthing more asshole children.

They both were actively shitting on every single woman who’d worked tirelessly for years to give the female sex an equal shot in life, to obtain the vote and work side by side with men, to earn equal wages and be treated with the respect they deserved.

That would never be Ellie. She would never give up her dreams for a man, and she would never, ever end up with a man who wanted to control her life, who expected her to get on her back whenever he had a hard-on or pop out children whenever he ordered her to do so.

The loud and familiar rumbling of motorcycles snapped her out of her thoughts. Speaking of Danny…

Six men, all riding Harleys and wearing their leather Hell’s Horsemen vests, pulled up to one of the town’s few red lights and came to a stop.

She immediately recognized Deuce, Danny’s father, leading the party with a little blonde girl on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped around him. Ivy, Ellie mused, had grown quite a bit since she’d last seen her. How old was she now? Eight? Nine? Deuce must have just picked her up from school. Ellie thought back to her younger years, remembering Danny on the back of Deuce’s bike, holding tight to her father, waving happily at Ellie and Anabeth as he dropped her off at school. Anabeth had been awestruck by the motorcycles, but not Ellie. She’d been terrified and to this day had only once been on the back of a bike.

Looking over the remaining five men, Ellie realized she recognized them all: Mick, Bucket, Tap, Jase, and Dirty.

No Cage. Ellie thanked God for small favors. Cage West had been one of her three high school mistakes, occurring the summer after junior year when she’d let her hormones get the better of her.

All six of them glanced her way. Bucket’s lips split into a greasy smile and Deuce’s eyebrows shot up. Well, obviously they would recognize the only mixed-race female who’d ever lived in Miles City.

Then the light turned green, their engines revved, Deuce gave her a two-finger salute and a genuine, dimpled smile, and like a well-oiled machine, each of them in sync with the other, all six of them shot off down the street not once straying from formation.

She stared after them, disgusted, wondering why the mayor allowed a gang of bikers to run this town, had never lifted a finger to close their operations down, get them arrested, blown up their clubhouse, anything.

Greed. It all came down to greed.

This town represented everything she hated. If her parents hadn’t needed her, never again would she set foot in Miles City.

“Ellie?”

She glanced to her right, at the man walking toward her, and her jaw dropped.

“Daniel?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, making sure it was really Daniel Mooresville, a once-upon-a-time scrawny teenager with glasses and horrible acne.

That wasn’t the case anymore. Daniel had done plenty of growing up while Ellie had been away. The good kind. Clear skin, rim-free sky-blue eyes, short sandy-blond hair, and an ungodly amount of muscles stopped in front of her and gave her a wide smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he drawled. “Long time, no see.”

“Daniel,” she repeated, dumbfounded. “Wow, you look…different.”

She ran her eyes up and down his body once more, pausing on his waistline where a police badge was clipped to his belt.

“You’re a cop?” she asked, glancing back up at his face.

He grinned. “Chief,” he said proudly.

Ellie’s eyes widened. Daniel Mooresville, the biggest dork that ever was, was not only drop-dead gorgeous but the Miles City chief of police?

“Congratulations,” she murmured, smiling up at him, although still shocked.

“Same to you,” he said. “I heard you’re teaching now?”

Ellie grimaced.

“Sort of,” she muttered. “It’s a long story.”

Daniel gestured toward Hank’s. “I just so happen to have great listening skills,” he said. “I could lend an ear, maybe buy you a drink?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you on the clock?”

Daniel’s grin only grew. “Ellie, I’m the chief.”

What did that mean?

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t want to tie you up,” she said. “I’m sure you have more important things to be doing.”

Laughing, Daniel opened the door to the bar and made a sweeping motion with his free hand. “Ellie Tate, I’ve had a crush on you since fifth grade and I’d be honored if I could buy you a drink.”

Wow. Gorgeous and polite. And the chief of police. Had she hit the lottery?

Shaking her head and smiling, she walked past Daniel and into the bar. As the door slammed shut behind them, Hank looked up from behind the bar. He looked exactly as she remembered him—old, bald, and fat.

“Why, if it isn’t Ellie Tate!” he said, grinning. “Girl, how long’s it been since I’ve seen that pretty face of yours?” He pointed to the barstool directly in front of him. “Sit down right there and let me fix you something, sweetheart!”

As Daniel pulled out the barstool for her, she thought that maybe coming back home wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made.

• • •

Feeling uncomfortable, anxious, and more than ready to get out of the big, swanky house he was currently in, Dirty began tapping his feet on the plush beige carpet beneath his booted feet.

His dirty, booted feet. On the very, very clean carpet.

Feeling his stomach start to churn, he shifted on the equally clean, equally plush, very, very white sofa he was seated on.

Dirty hated rich motherfuckers. He hated their big houses filled with rooms too pristine to feel at home in. He hated their fancy clothes, useless elaborate trappings that made him feel like stripping his own self naked. But most of all, he hated their disapproving eyes.

Yeah, he knew what they saw. He was tall, lanky, firm but not overly muscled; he didn’t eat nearly enough to pack on any extra weight, and considering all the workouts he put himself through, the only shit left inside of him to burn was booze and muscle.

His dark brown hair was long and greasy, so greasy at times it clumped together. His face was heavily bearded by the same dark brown hair that had grown in so thick, his actual features weren’t easily distinguishable. He liked it that way. No one could see him, what he really looked like, and who he used to be.

A tiny shudder rippled through him. He couldn’t be in this house, and he couldn’t be around people like these people. He couldn’t, not without unwanted memories flooding him, making him feel disgusting, used, and…dirty.

Dirty. He was dirty. He was filthy, both inside and out. He was a hollowed-out, rotted piece of shit who should have quit breathing a long time ago yet, for some stupid fucking reason, Deuce wouldn’t let him.

“I believe the price is acceptable,” Pamela Mooresville said, her tone every bit as hoity as everything else about her. Turning slightly in her armchair, she turned from Deuce to her husband, Mayor Norman Mooresville. “Don’t you agree, dear?”

Mooresville couldn’t have been that much older than him, Dirty guessed. He’d just turned thirty-eight and this asshole had to be in his midforties. But from the looks of it, the good life hadn’t been all that good to Mr. Mayor, with his gut trying to pop through his dress shirt, his chin not doubled but tripled, and his receding hairline that was unfortunately also graying.

All that Grey Poupon and caviar, Dirty surmised, that and a whole lot of being waited on his entire life.

“Price?” Mick laughed, stroking his long black-and-gray beard. “You fuckers gotta pretty everything up, don’t ya? Why not just call it what it fuckin’ is? A goddamn payoff.”

“A fat fuckin’ bitch,” Tap said as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and brought it to his lips. Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out slowly. “Is still a fat fuckin’ bitch,” he continued. “No matter which way you’re lookin’ at her.”

“We don’t smoke in here,” Pamela said slowly, eyeing first Tap, then Bucket, then him, all with distaste.

Tap grinned around his next drag. “That so?” he murmured and let the cigarette drop to the carpet. Pamela shot to her feet with a gasp at the same time the toe of Tap’s boot came down over the lit tobacco and he twisted his ankle first right, then left, grinding the cigarette out.

“You disgusting, filthy gang of—”

“Pamela!” The mayor was on his feet faster than Dirty thought was possible for such a fat fuck, and grabbed hold of his wife’s arm.

Subsequently Deuce, Mick, and Bucket had all shot to their feet as well. Dirty followed suit, more than ready to get the fuck out of this awful place.

“We’re done here,” Deuce growled, his hard eyes narrowed on the mayor. “You’ll have half the cash, all clean, on Tuesday. Shipment’s due in town on Wednesday. If I don’t have your boys in blue on board, all you’ll be seein’ of the second half of that money is the brand new shovel I’ll be buyin’ to bury your fat ass. You feel me?”

“Could just feed ’im to the dogs, Prez,” Bucket drawled. “Wouldn’t have to feed ’em for a whole fuckin’ month after that.”

Dirty rolled his eyes. Bucket was full of shit; the club didn’t have any dogs.

The mayor lifted a shaking hand to wipe the sweat that had beaded across his brow.

“Y-yes,” he mumbled. “Of course, everything will go as planned and everyone will be on board. You can count on my son and his men.”

Dirty’s upper lip curled. Daniel Mooresville was the Miles City chief of police who hadn’t just grown up the son of a wealthy and corrupt pair of assholes, but he loved to harass the Horsemen, already knowing full well the dirty business they were all swimming in, knowing he was just as involved, hell, half the town was involved. Yet the fucker still loved to test the boundaries with everything from parking citations and speeding tickets to building code violations at the clubhouse, just to see how much Deuce would tolerate before blowing a gasket.

He was a first-class motherfucker who thought his badge could protect him, his badge and his wealthy, influential parents.

And Deuce let him think so despite it not being true. The Horsemen were dangerous enough on their own, but ever since Deuce had brought Eva back to Montana with him all those years back, the Horsemen had been working side by side with the Silver Demons, and the Demons weren’t just nationwide, they were worldwide. Preacher had more power and connections than the goddamn president of the United States.

One by one the Horsemen headed past the royal couple and out into the hall. As Dirty passed Pamela, his gut seized and he skirted as far around her as he could get without walking into a wall. He didn’t breathe again until they’d finally stepped outside where Jase and Ivy were sitting on the front steps, Ivy playing a game on her cell phone and Jase staring off into the distance. Brother never spoke anymore. Not since Dorothy had woken up from getting shot and didn’t remember him, didn’t want anything to do with him. All he did was eat, sleep, and booze it up. Heavy on the booze.

A hand came down hard on his shoulder and he jumped, but caught himself before he took off running. Looking over, he found Deuce standing beside him, looking straight ahead. Dirty let out a relieved sigh.

“Brother,” Deuce said quietly, so not to alert anyone else to his words. “You need to be ridin’ pavement? Just say the word.”

No. He was fine. He just…he couldn’t…he needed…

“Yeah. I do.”

With another slap to his shoulder, Deuce headed down the steps, scooping Ivy up as he went. Together, all six of them straddled their bikes and headed off the mayor’s long stretch of property. But when his brothers turned right, headed back toward the clubhouse, he went left, toward the mountains.

His brothers were used to him disappearing; he was often alone, liked it that way. He couldn’t be cooped up, couldn’t sit still for very long, couldn’t spend too much time with himself or his memories.

Deuce knew. Deuce was the only one who knew anything about his past, and not even Deuce knew the half of it. And what he did know, he only knew because he’d seen it firsthand, had for some reason decided to turn down the dimly lit Manhattan alleyway where Dirty had been bent over a pile of stacked shipping crates, forcefully taking it in the ass.

He’d been fifteen years old. A foster home runaway who lived off the streets stealing what he could, selling it to whoever would buy it. It wasn’t an easy life, but even being homeless had been better than the life he’d run from.

Until one day he wasn’t strong enough to fight a guy off him.

That’s how Deuce found him. Badly beaten, bent over a stack of shipping crates, his pants around his ankles, crying out in pain, begging to be released while some dirty motherfucker ass-raped him.

It was the first time he’d seen a man die at the hands of another. He’d lived on the city streets long enough to have seen people die. Homeless people succumbing to the weather, gunshot victims, drug users OD’ing.

But this was the first time he’d seen a man kill another man…using his own two hands. Deuce first beat the asshole half to death, then snapped his neck.

If Dirty could have, he would have run from Deuce. Compared to him, tall but scrawny, Deuce was the size of a fucking superhero. But after Deuce had pulled the guy off him, all he’d been able to manage was a halfhearted slump to the ground. Where he stayed until Deuce had walked over to him, yanked his pants up, lifted him up and over his shoulder, and headed back down the alleyway during which Dirty passed out from either blood loss or fear, or quite possibly both.

The rest was fucking history. Barely. If one could call his life “history.” The first half of it was more like a series of unlucky events all piled on top of one another, and the second half was just a struggle.

Every day he struggled. He struggled with remembering, he struggled with forgetting, he struggled with all the fucked-up, perverted bullshit that went round and round his head, knowing that he shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts, knowing those thoughts weren’t his own but instead the thoughts of the motherfuckers who’d made him this way, but also helpless to turn them off…helpless to stop…to stop what he did to make the images, the whispers, the ugly, depraved urges that caused him to do ugly, depraved things…JUST FUCKING STOP.

Once again in town, Dirty pulled off to the side of the road and cut his engine. Toeing his kickstand down, he swung his leg over his bike and stood up straight. While looking around the dark and quiet street he lived on, he reached into his cut and pulled out his smokes.

Miles City had been perfect. The polar opposite of New York City and all the nightmares that place held inside of it. He could breathe here most of the time, and ride for hours, just him and the road.

A shrill, terror-filled scream followed by the distinctive thump/slap of fist meeting flesh broke the small-town silence, tearing through the empty streets, emptying into the surrounding mountains, and Dirty felt his skin pebble with goose bumps.

Another scream, this one garbled, more choked than the first, then another pounding of flesh, and then…silence.

Dirty had a well-practiced poker face. Aside from Deuce, no one, not one motherfucker out there, could see through his bullshit. He could throw down with the best of his brothers, beat a motherfucker senseless, kill him without a second thought, his stare as coldhearted as the rest. He’d done deplorable things to a shit ton of people, men and women alike, and never once did he so much as bat a fucking eyelash at his actions.

Until he was alone. Because when he was alone he could shake, he could tremble, he could scream and yell, he could punch the walls, he could punch himself.

Alone, he could cry. Alone, he could let the fear out and, Jesus fuck, there was so much fear. He lived and breathed fear…every day, every night, all the motherfucking time.

It was fear ruling him that had made him what he’d become. That had turned him into the sort of monster he’d most hated. And it was all that fear inside of him, coursing through his veins, pounding in his heart, making him sweat even more fear.

It was fear that had him tossing his cigarette aside, fear that had him running down the desolate sidewalk, fear that had him turning down a dimly lit alleyway. It was fear that had him skidding to a stop, taking in the scene in front of him.

And it was fear that had him pulling his piece and, with shaking hands, trying to blow a hole straight through someone else’s nightmare, a nightmare that was a fuck of a lot similar to one of his own.

The bullet cracked through the air. Missing his target, Dirty tried again, only this time the asshole had been alerted to his presence and was on his feet, pulling up his pants as he ran in the opposite direction, hooked a quick right, and was gone before the second bullet had left the chamber.

Dirty lowered his shaking hand, his entire body trembling, his mind a mess of all-consuming scrambled adaptations of both the past and present.

That wasn’t him lying on the street, that wasn’t him with his pants around his ankles, bleeding, crying, begging.

He tried to breathe. In and out, slowly, faster, slow again. NOTHING WAS WORKING.

That wasn’t fucking him, it wasn’t, it wasn’t—

“D-dirt-ty…?”

The raspy, garbled, distinctly feminine-sounding mutation of his name caused his head to swivel left and his eyes landed on the bloodied heap of quivering flesh that lay no more than fifteen feet from him.

Dirty blinked. He blinked and he breathed and his eyes refocused.

Shit.

Shit, he knew her. Sort of. She was…Emma? Erin? Ella?

Ellie. Ellie the mulatto hottie. Friends with Danny from way back when.

“P-p-please…” she continued and her arm moved, her fingers extended. She reached for him.

He could do this. He just couldn’t think about what he was doing while he was doing it. But he could do it. He had to do it.

Danny was the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had, the only woman who willingly hung around him, and this was her friend. What the fuck would he do if it were Danny lying half-naked on the street, badly beaten?

He moved forward, jogging quickly toward her, bent down beside her, and froze just before his hands could come in contact with her body.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely, trying to keep himself calm. “Anything broken?”

She blinked up at him through swollen eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Just…m-my head…hurts.”

“Fuck,” he muttered as he retracted his hands, reached inside his cut, and pulled out his cell phone. “I got you covered, I’m calling the cavalry.”

“No!” she cried as her arm shot out and her hand gripped his wrist. The feel of her, her tight grip on him, her skin on his skin, caused a nauseating ripple effect throughout his body, ending with a violent shiver.

“No police,” she whispered, her grip loosening as the last of her strength faded. “Please…no one…nobody…can know.”

Dirty pressed his lips together. He hadn’t been talking about the boys in blue, he didn’t roll that way. But Ellie had said it first. No police, huh? He understood “no cops,” it was a way of life for him and his brothers, the unspoken code that anything that needed handling, they would take care of it themselves.

But a good girl like Ellie? Why the fuck not?

Still not wanting to touch her, he contemplated calling Deuce for help until Ellie’s eyelids began to flutter closed. He let loose a large breath of relief. She was out. He could handle her unconscious. Gently, he rolled her onto her back and tried as best he could to pull up her pants. Then, with the trepidation of a grown man handling a baby for the very first time, he lifted her up into his arms, cradled her against his chest, and headed out of the alleyway.

CHAPTER THREE

Unblinking, I stared at the desktop monitor in front of me, at the e-mail attachment I’d just opened, and skimmed over the title:

“Animal Rights Activists Protest the Excessive Use of Leather at Biker Rally in Los Angeles.”

Shaking my head, I snorted softly. You could take the girl out of the motorcycle club, but she’ll never outrun those damn Harley pipes. It wasn’t just ZZ that was a constant reminder, it was the loud yet sexy rumble of every passing motorcycle. My world always seemed to stop as the beautiful machine whooshed through my life, no matter what I was doing—eating, talking, immersed in my smart phone—I always paused to watch as it flew by, and stared as it disappeared. But unlike everybody else, who might give a quick glance and then immediately go back to what they’d been doing, unaware that they’d just witnessed the ultimate freedom, a way to fly without wings, I would stare long after the bike had vanished, remembering what it felt like to be on the back of a bike, holding tight to a man.

Wishing, aching, wanting to be somewhere else, someone else. And yet, at the same time, hating myself because I knew, deep down, I’d never truly belonged in that life.

Sighing, I slumped down in my desk chair, closed my eyes, and tried to remind myself that I’d dodged a bullet. That if I hadn’t had my heart broken at such a young age, who knows how I would have ended up. In all likelihood, I’d be a Hell’s Horsemen club whore just like my mother had been. As it was, I was already the next best thing.

True, ZZ no longer wore his cut. He always ditched his bike before he got back in town, something that made me infinitely curious about what he was doing when he was away, why he needed to stay so inconspicuous, and he didn’t talk about the club other than short, clipped statements regarding Deuce. But he was still ZZ. A face, a name, a man I associated with my childhood, with my mother and all her pain.

“Jeez, Teg, you look like you just swallowed a dick.”

My eyes flew open and met with the denim-clad curvy backside that had propped itself on the corner of my desk.

“’Sup girl.”

Hayley was the closest thing I had to a best friend. We met my junior year in college during a rally protesting cosmetic testing on animals, and had become inseparable. We didn’t hang out as much as we used to anymore, mostly because she’d gotten married recently, but we still managed to get together at least once a week.

“Who let you in here?” I teased. “Where’s security?”

“Yes!” Hayley exclaimed dramatically, opening her arms wide and made an all-encompassing gesture to the small one-room office staffed with the twelve people that made up The San Franciscan Jurisdiction, all seated inside their personally decorated cubicles.

“Someone needs to be protecting all you up-and-coming Pulitzer Prize winners from the hit men hired to off you once your big exposé goes live on human sex slave trafficking, and our dear, sweet politicians that support it!”

“Damn straight!” someone called out. “Fuck the government!”

“‘If you tremble indignation at every injustice,’” Hayley yelled back, quoting Che Guevara, “‘then you are a comrade of mine!’”

Two cubicles in front of me, our sports editor, Christian, jumped up on his desk and thrust his clenched fist in the air. “‘I prefer to die standing!’” he bellowed, also quoting the infamous rebel leader, “‘rather than live on my knees!’”

“Viva La Revolución!” came an answering yell.

“Look what you did,” I said, giggling. “Now they’ll never shut up.”

Hayley waved me off and, placing her palm halfway across my desk, leaned in. Sweeping her long, pink-streaked blonde hair over her shoulder, she laughed. “Girl, I haven’t seen you in forever and I’m demanding you come to dinner tonight.”

Smiling, I rolled my eyes. “We saw each other last week.”

Shaking her head, she waved away my statement. “Last week,” she repeated. “Forever ago. So, dinner. Tonight. And please tell me ZZ is out of town.”

I grimaced. Hayley didn’t like ZZ; actually, no one I associated with on a regular basis in San Francisco liked ZZ. Either he intimidated them or just plain pissed them off. For the most part he liked his solitude, but every now and then he liked to play, only his version of playing was a little hard-core for some of my more happy-go-lucky friends.

Playing to them meant a small party, music, clinking beers and passing green.

Playing to ZZ meant wall-to-wall bodies, eardrum-blasting music, hard-core drinking, blowing lines, and fucking whatever he bumped up against. Or at least it used to, since he was apparently only fucking me now.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that so instead of dwelling on it, I pushed it aside and focused on Hayley.

“No, he’s home,” I said.

“Well,” she said slowly. “It just so happens that I’m having a small dinner party tonight and I think you should come, minus the brooding, anti-social biker who’s always bogarting all of your time.”

I shrugged. “He’s got a big dick, fucks like a slap-happy seal, and doesn’t talk very often. He’s pretty much perfect.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Teg, he’s mean and scary.”

My eyes crossed. It was laughable how “mean” and “scary” she thought ZZ was. God, if she ever met Deuce or Hawk or even Blue, as ancient as he was he could hold his own, she’d probably pee herself on sight.

“He’s moody,” I told her. “It’s different.”

“I bet all serial killers are moody,” she shot back. “It’s probably in their job description.”

Hayley didn’t realize how true her statement really was. There was no doubt in my mind the Hell’s Horsemen had taken plenty of people out over the years. Whereas none of the brothers had openly talked about their business in front of their wives and their kids, that hadn’t been the case with me. Like my mother, after my father had left for good, they were used to me hanging around the club. And either they didn’t notice me, or they considered me so incredibly insignificant they couldn’t have cared less how freely they spoke in front of me.

“Girl, you’re getting that ‘swallowed a dick’ look again.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

“Listen up, Teg,” Hayley said softly, leaning closer to me. “I get that your mom needs you and that you’re in a tough situation, but every time you go back there, to those people, you’re that much more miserable. As for ZZ, he’s not good for you either, slap-happy or not.”

She was right. Hell, she was always right. I was stuck inside a world I wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t seem to shake.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, shaking myself out of my depressing thoughts. “I’ll do dinner tonight. Without ZZ.”

Before I knew it, Hayley was on her feet, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Perfect!” she cried softly. Then she was halfway across the room, waving at me. “My place!” she called out. “Six o’clock! And dress to impress!”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but when they did…

“Great,” I muttered, turning back to my computer. She was undoubtedly trying to set me up with one of her husband’s friends again. And while they were all nice guys, which seemed to be my biggest problem with them, they were pushovers, metrosexual girly men that did nothing for me except make me angry and want to slap them across the face with a lacy thong and ask them what they’d done with their balls.

A thin stack of papers appeared in my line of sight, blocking my gaze to my desktop’s keyboard. “Did you check this out yet?”

I glanced up at Malcolm, the managing editor of the small newspaper I worked for. He was short for a man, in his early thirties, kept his dark hair in a trendy faux-hawk, and wore Buddy Holly glasses. He’d also been trying to get in my pants from way back when I’d still been a lowly intern instead of the lowly copy editor I was today. But whatever, I loved my job, and I loved my coworkers far too much to let Malcolm, the horny hipster, bother me.

His unwanted attentions were infinitely preferable to horny bikers who were five times his size. Whereas a quick punch in the nuts or a restraining order would have Malcolm running for the hills, it would only encourage a certain other group of men I knew who would laugh their asses off if presented with a restraining order. And then fuck to death whoever had the audacity to get a restraining order in the first place.

One horny biker in particular came to mind.

The muscles in my legs tightened and, beneath my desk, my toes began to curl. Fucking hell, I was pathetic. It had been eight fucking years since that horrible night and even worse morning, yet my thoughts always led me back there…to him.

Cage.

Cage Fucking West.

What was it about being invited on the back of a bike that drove women crazy?

It was insulting.

Sexist.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

And it was hot as fuck.

“Tegen?”

My eyes flew open and I snatched the papers from Malcolm, leafed quickly through them, scanning over the articles inside.

“Yep,” I said, handing the pile back to him. “I put the final proofs in Mary’s drop box this morning.”

Nodding, Malcolm eyed me queerly. “Are you okay, Tegen? You seem…off.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, turning back to my computer, mentally berating myself for being so pathetic. I was a pathetic biker slut. Just like my mother.

No, I wasn’t like her. I’d taken off my rose-tinted glasses the very morning Cage had broken my heart.

I’d walked away.

I had walked away.

Me. I’d walked the fuck away.

And every visit home since, I’d made it my goal in life to ensure Cage never got close enough to hurt me again.

That was something.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned back in my chair and glanced up at the ceiling. Maybe whoever Hayley was going to try to set me up with tonight, I should give an actual chance. Maybe I needed a guy in my life who, no matter how many showers they took, didn't still reek of leather and exhaust fumes.

Maybe I needed…

Groaning, I slunk down in my desk chair and wondered if I could squeeze in a quick therapy session with my shrink before dinner. I’d even settle for over-the-phone head shrinkage.

Anything.

Something.

Fucking anything.

CHAPTER FOUR

Feeling stiff and sore, the open wounds on her body burning from the soap, Ellie stepped gingerly out of Dirty’s shower and blew out a deep, shuddering breath. Grabbing the folded towel off the toilet seat, one of two that Dirty owned, she used it first to wipe off the steam-covered mirror and then wrapped it around herself, wincing as the stiff material chafed against her damaged skin.

Then she turned back to the mirror and just stared. Stared at her split bottom lip, at the mottled bruising covering the left side of her face, at her left eye still swollen shut, at the angry red bite marks across her neck.

Feeling suddenly light-headed, her knees began to shake and she gripped the sides of the sink in order to remain standing. What would have happened if Dirty hadn’t shown up?

“You would have been raped,” she whispered to her disfigured reflection. “You would have been raped and more than likely killed.”

Killed, because she couldn’t fathom that the chief of police would rape a woman and then let her live to tell the tale. And considering how violent he’d been just trying to get her to submit to his advances, there was not a doubt in her mind that it only would have worsened.

How could he have possibly thought she’d want to have sex with him? And in an alleyway, no less? She barely knew him! For God’s sake, the only reason she’d kissed him was because of the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, clouding her better judgment. She didn’t kiss men on the first date and that hadn’t even been a date!

And, God, just the thought of that awful kiss…

Her stomach rolled remembering how he’d practically shoved his tongue down her throat while furiously groping her and then, after she’d tried pushing him off her, when he wouldn’t let go, his pawing worsened after she’d realized what was happening and she’d started screaming.

Ellie’s gut lurched and she dropped to her knees. She’d barely gotten the toilet seat up before her stomach emptied. She continued to vomit as the memories assaulted her—Daniel’s fist slamming into her face not once but three times, his hand wrapping around her throat, his other ripping at her clothing, and then feeling his penis pushing against her, unable to stop him, unable to do anything other than lie on the filthy ground and bleed.

She was still bent over the toilet, dry heaving, her stomach long empty, tears streaming painfully down her swollen face, when there was a knock on the door.

“Ellie?”

“I-I’m…f-fine,” she choked out, acid-flavored saliva dripping from her mouth, obscuring her words. But she wasn’t fine, she was so far from fine. She felt disgusting, violated, and utterly terrified. Who did you go to when it was the police who hurt you? What was left?

As it was, Dirty had already attempted to blow the man’s head off. What if Daniel had recognized him as he ran for safety? Was he going to come for Dirty?

One thing was for certain, she had to get out of Miles City as quickly as possible and back to her life in Bozeman. But what if that wasn’t enough? What if Daniel was hell-bent on silencing her and came after her? Then what? Daniel came from a powerful family with loads of money. He would undoubtedly have connections within the law, probably even countrywide.

Oh God, what was she supposed to do now?

“Are you sure?” Dirty asked.

Gripping the rim of the toilet bowl, Ellie pushed herself to a semistanding position and glanced at her pile of torn, bloodstained clothing. She sure as hell wasn’t putting that back on. In fact, the first chance she got she was going to burn it all.

But she absolutely was not going to prance around in only a towel in front of Dirty, an aptly named pervert who’d once demanded she get on her knees and suck him off. Never mind the criminal aspect, she’d never liked going to the club with Danny for the sole reason that all the men there were foul-mouthed and disgusting.

Yet Dirty had saved her, and not just from being sexually assaulted but from being killed as well. And so far, since she’d woken up, he hadn’t said more than three words to her. He’d kept his distance and, strangely enough, looked more uncomfortable with her presence than she felt.

What choice did she have? At the moment, she needed his help. Who knew what Daniel was doing at that very moment? Was he at her parents’ house looking for her? She closed her eyes, suddenly very grateful she’d planned on surprising them.

Suddenly, her rental car came to mind. It was still parked outside the high school just begging for a ticket, and if she got a ticket her name would pop up, and if her name popped up…

Frantic, she grabbed for the doorknob and flung the door wide open, revealing a startled Dirty. “My rental car!” she cried out. “It’s parked outside the school.”

In the process of backing quickly away from her, Dirty paused. “So?” he asked.

“It’s going to get ticketed. And Daniel will know I’m still here! He’ll find me!”

Dirty blinked. “Daniel,” he said slowly and Ellie realized, in her panic, she’d just given the name of her attacker away, something she’d planned on keeping quiet in order to protect herself.

She knew the moment Dirty figured out exactly who Daniel was. His expression went from confused to not only hostile, but frightening. Murderous.

“Mooresville,” he growled menacingly. “Chief fucktard? That’s who motherfuckin’ did this to you?”

Ellie swallowed hard. What now? She obviously needed help and it wasn’t as if her parents could do anything. Dirty, as well as the Horsemen, she supposed, were her only option. The more she thought about it, the more a small sense of comfort began to soothe her tightly strung nerves. If anyone could take on the law and win, it was Deuce West. As it was, Dirty had already tried to kill the man.

“Yes,” she whispered, feeling disgusted with herself. “God, I was so stupid. What was I thinking kissing him?”

The next thing she knew Dirty was grabbing her shoulders, painfully squeezing her bruised skin. The smell of body odor, motor oil, and cigarette smoke hit her like a punch in the gut and she recoiled.

“Fuck that!” he hissed, shaking her. “This shit isn’t your fault. This is that rich, thinks-he’s-fuckin’-entitled-to-anything-he-fuckin’-wants asshole’s fault.”

“Stop!” she cried, her terror from last night resurfacing. “Please, you’re hurting me!”

Dirty froze and a breath later released her. She scrambled backward, back into the safety of the bathroom, and tried to breathe as her heart pounded painfully, wondering how she was going to escape Dirty when he was blocking her only exit. But when she looked back at him, she found him looking nearly as afraid as she felt. Not only was he holding his grease-stained hands out in front of him, he was staring down at them in disbelief.

Then he glanced up at her and his eyes went wide. It took Ellie a moment to realize what was wrong; she was naked, her towel had fallen from her body in her mad scramble for safety. Quickly, she snatched her towel from the floor and held it against her body and the second she did, Dirty suddenly spun around, facing the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” Dirty said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Fuck, I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

Ellie didn’t say anything, just stared at his back, at his hole-ridden T-shirt and the filthy jeans sagging off his body.

“Hang here,” he continued, his voice rough. “I’m goin’ to the club, gonna let Deuce handle this shit.”

As soon as Dirty took his first step forward, Ellie panicked. “Wait!” she cried and Dirty froze.

“Don’t leave me here alone!”

She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to take the chance that Daniel had seen Dirty last night and would come looking for him or her or both of them.

“Fuck,” Dirty muttered. “Fuckin’ fuck.”

Ellie waited with bated breath to see what he would say next, hoping and praying he wasn’t going to abandon her.

• • •

Holy fucking shit. Holy what-the-fuck fucking shit. Dirty was going to throw up. He was going to fucking spew his guts all over the damn place. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why had he grabbed her? He could still feel her skin on his palms, warm and damp from her shower, her body quivering, the fear in her voice.

She’d been nearly raped in a filthy alleyway, beaten unconscious, and he’d only further terrified her. Then, if shit wasn’t already fucking awful, he’d seen her naked.

She’d gained weight since he’d last seen her as a teenager. She’d been curvy before but she was all curves now. Her stomach far from flat, her full breasts hung heavy, and her thighs were dimpled with extra weight.

His brothers, most of them, would have taken one look at her and passed on her in favor of a thinner, more aesthetically pleasing female.

Actually, most of the boys steered clear of black women. Some of them because, yeah, they were fucking racist, others because brothers knew better than to mess with a sister. Most of the black women they encountered were gang-affiliated, and not women who messed around. If you wanted a black bitch in your bed, you’d better have plans on making her your old lady unless you wanted to find your balls no longer attached to your body.

But none of it was off-putting to him. Dirty never discriminated; he didn’t give two fucks who he was fucking because 99.9% of the time they didn’t have a clue they were being fucked, and the other 0.1%…

Tap stepped in front of Deuce. “Hold off a minute, Prez,” he said, looking down at Mama Vi, his mouth slowly curving into a grin. “Lemme have at her first.”

“Fuck you,” Deuce muttered. “This bitch needs to be put the fuck down.”

“Yeah,” Tap said, his eyes never once leaving Mama Vi. “But first I’m gonna show her what the fuck happens when some fuckin’ cunt thinks she can mess with my club.”

“You just wanna fuck her,” Cox said, lighting up a smoke. “Don’t lie.”

Tap shrugged. “That too.”

Dirty had been standing off to the side waiting for it, watching Tap closely, knowing exactly what was running through the brother’s mind, waiting for Deuce to okay it before he jumped on board.

He didn’t get the chance very often to take a woman while she was conscious, a woman he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to, beat her, brutally fuck her like a goddamn animal, relish in hearing her beg and scream.

Because unlike most of the women he fucked, this bitch deserved what she was about to get.

She was a cold-blooded killer; a bitch who had tortured and killed without remorse, a bitch who deserved to go out in the worst possible way, and women like her, Dirty didn’t lose any sleep over what he was about to do.

But he never initiated it. He let Tap or Bucket or Dimebag take the lead. Deuce already knew he was fucked in the head. He didn’t want his prez thinking he was a loose cannon, giving Deuce a reason to strip his patch.

“I’m in,” Dirty said, joining Tap. He kneeled down beside Mama Vi and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head up. “Don’t let the lack of a mustache fool ya, baby,” he said, grinning, stroking his full beard. “I’m always down for a gang bang.”

“There ain’t nothin’ you can do to me,” she hissed, “that ain’t already been done.”

Dirty’s grin grew wider. That’s what she thought. His foster mother had proven useful in situations such as these. The sick bitch had an imagination to rival that of anything he’d ever read about.

“Yeah?” he asked. “You hear that, Tap? Guess we’re gonna have to get creative.”

Whatever, as long as he got to hurt her. Because he needed to hurt her; he needed to hurt someone, anyone, because he hurt so fucking bad all the damn time and it never left him, not once, he didn’t get even five fucking seconds of peace, never, fucking ever. It was always there, a constant reminder that he was a worthless piece of fucking shit, a blight on humanity, that he was trash, used up and broken, unfixable, worse even, because he’d become the monster he’d hated most of all.

“Brother, I am all about creative.”

“Have at her,” Deuce said. Grabbing hold of her bound hands, Deuce yanked her to her feet and shoved her forward into Dirty’s arms. “But it’s me who’s gonna be puttin’ her to ground.”

Dirty didn’t waste any time ripping Mama Vi’s shirt open. Then, while Tap was unbuttoning his leathers, Dirty pulled her jeans down.

“You go right ahead and scream, bitch,” Tap growled, grabbing her neck, squeezing tightly and forcing her to bend over.

And when it was Dirty’s turn, he damn sure made that bitch scream.

But this was different.

Dirty didn’t want to hurt Ellie, he didn’t want to make her scream.

Did he?

Fuck.

She looked so soft and warm. She looked the complete opposite of the women he fucked; the women who reminded him of…

HER.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d looked upon the front of a naked woman’s body for any length of time. He’d never fucked a woman on her back. Not since…

He couldn’t look at them. It was too…

It was disgusting and beautiful all at the same time.

Fuck, he couldn’t look at their breasts, their pussy, without getting nauseous, without his body growing clammy and paralyzing panic taking root inside of him. It didn’t even matter that he dosed the women he fucked, he still couldn’t look at them, even unconscious. Fuck, for the most part he couldn’t even touch a conscious woman without feeling the overwhelming urge to bolt. Or jerk off. Or puke. Or knock her out and fuck her. Or kill them, someone, himself. Or all of the above.

None of which he wanted to do in front of Ellie. Or to Ellie. Jesus Christ, why was he suddenly all fucked-up and confused? Why had it been him to find her? This was the very last thing he needed. He had to get the fuck away from her before he did something very stupid.

“I’ll call Deuce,” he said, hearing the agony he was feeling in his voice. “Tell him to come here, okay?”

For a moment he didn’t think she was going to respond, but there was no fucking way in hell he was going to turn around. In fact, he was going to go sit in the kitchen, in a corner, facing the wall until Deuce got here.

“Okay,” she finally whispered. “Thank you.”

Dirty hightailed it down the hallway, already dialing Deuce. Hitting the kitchen, he fell to his knees and waited for his prez to pick up.

“Yeah?”

“Got a problem.”

“What?”

His voice shaking, Dirty did his best to explain everything that had transpired since last night and then he waited for Deuce to respond.

“Ellie?” Deuce asked. “As in Danny’s Ellie?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure it was Mooresville?”

“She is,” Dirty said. “I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Fuck,” Deuce growled. “I don’t need this shit. We got a huge deal about to go down and I need that fucker in place, and I’m thinkin’ he ain’t gonna be in place if he’s too busy worryin’ ’bout Ellie rattin’ him out.”

That was not what Dirty wanted to hear.

“She can’t stay here, Prez,” he whispered. “You gotta get her outta my place.”

Deuce went silent.

“Brother,” Deuce said after several moments. “Did you do somethin’ I need to know about?”

“No,” he gritted out. “But I need her the fuck outta here.”

“Gimme fifteen,” Deuce said quickly. “And I’ll be there.”

Trembling, Dirty let his phone fall to the linoleum with a loud clatter and then his head dropped and he pressed his forehead against the wall. Fifteen minutes. He could keep his shit together for fifteen minutes.

CHAPTER FIVE

ZZ: Where the fuck are you?

Rolling my eyes, I typed ZZ back a short text.

Me: Fuck you.

My phone buzzed again.

ZZ: Can’t. You ain’t here.

Me: I’ll be home later.

ZZ: Where the fuck are you?

Me: Since when do you care?

ZZ: Answer me.

“Fucker,” I hissed under my breath.

Narrowing my eyes, I glared down at my phone. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Angry, I punched in exactly two letters.

Me: No.

“Teg?”

My head shot up and I found Hayley, her husband Joe, and our mutual friends, Tara and her boyfriend Tim, and two of Joe’s douche canoe friends, Doug and—Scott? Skip? something with an S—all staring at me.

And Hayley looked seriously annoyed.

“What?” I asked, feeling pretty annoyed myself.

She gestured toward Scott or Skip. “I was just telling Steve how much you appreciate motorcycles and it just so happens that he has one.”

Whoopee. Like I fucking cared.

“Oh yeah?” I said, glancing at Steve. “What kind of ride?”

The douche canoe grinned at me, revealing two perfectly straight and glaringly white rows of teeth.

“A BMW,” he said. “R12—”

“A sports bike?” I interrupted, wrinkling up my nose. “How super gay for you.”

The table went quiet as everyone glanced uncomfortably at one another. Rolling my eyes, I stabbed a piece of tofu on my plate and shoved it in my mouth.

When I’d finished chewing and still no one had yet to speak, I glanced around the table. “What?” I asked. “Sport bikes are for pussies. True fucking story.”

Hayley let out a long-suffering sigh and Joe shook his head. Whatever. I shrugged again and went back to eating.

Exactly one extraordinarily painful half an hour later, I was finally on my way out the door, racing through the night with Hayley hot on my heels.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Are you trying to stay single forever?”

I picked up my speed, suddenly pissed off that both my work and my apartment were within walking distance of Hayley’s home.

“Tegen!” she shouted, breathing hard behind me. “I just want to see you happy!”

“I’m perfectly fucking happy!” I shouted over my shoulder. “In fact, the only thing I’m not happy about is you constantly trying to marry me off to Joe’s douchey friends!”

“You are not happy!” she shouted back. “You are so far from happy!”

Oh, hell no. How dare she?

I came skidding to a stop and spun around. Upon seeing my murderous expression, Hayley froze.

“Stop it,” I hissed. “You don’t get to judge me, you don’t even know the half of it, so you do not get to fucking judge me!”

“I don’t need to know any of it to know that ZZ is the problem! You’re like frozen or something, Teg! What’s the plan here? Are you going to marry him? Or are you just going to have meaningless sex forever? When are you going to really start living?”

I stared at her, fighting back the tears burning behind my eyes. I wasn’t frozen. I fucking wasn’t. I had a life here. I did. I fucking did.

“Fuck you,” I whispered.

Hayley’s expression shifted from hard to kind. “Oh, Tegen, honey. Please, I just want you to be happy.”

Happy.

Who was I kidding? Even after all these years, I wasn’t ready to let go. Because if I were, if I really and truly were ready, I wouldn’t still be daydreaming about being on the back of a certain asshole’s bike. I wouldn’t be staring forlornly at passing motorcycles. And I wouldn’t be fucking a man who did nothing but remind me of a life I supposedly wanted to forget. Everything I’d left behind.

But most of all, because he reminded me of…

Shit.

Which meant it was probably time to start being honest with myself, meaning I would finally have to admit what my therapist had been trying to get me to concede for years now.

That ZZ wasn’t just a fill-in, he was a fill-in for something, for someone very specific.

Goddammit, I was still sitting on Cage’s bed the morning after he’d taken my virginity, my heart aching, looking up at him as he looked down at me and said, “It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

Even after all these years.

I left Hayley in the middle of the street staring sadly after me. When I got home, I found ZZ lounging on the couch in his boxers, his cell phone held to his ear with his shoulder, a bottle of Jack in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

I dropped my backpack by the door, kicked off my sandals, and began undressing. By the time I reached him, I was naked.

As I straddled his lap, he stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and let the bottle fall to the floor. Cupping both my breasts, he squeezed them hard and twisted the soft flesh in his hands until I winced in pain.

“How many?” he asked the person on the other end of his phone call.

“Fuck that, Prez,” he continued. “I can handle it.”

“Fuck me,” I pleaded in a whisper, lowering my face to his, grinding my hips over his, feeling him grow hard as I did.

His grip on my breasts tightened and his dark eyes bored into mine, but he did nothing.

Aggravated, I pushed up and off him and dropped to my knees between his legs. Freeing him from his boxers, I took him into my mouth. ZZ threaded his fingers through my hair, digging into my scalp, grabbing fistfuls and pulling as hard as he could.

Yes. I needed this. Pain to make the pain go away.

“Prez,” ZZ said, sounding strained. “I don’t care how many years he’s been running shit through the Cali territories. If you send that motherfucker out here, I will put a fuckin’ bullet in him.”

Still working him with my mouth, I glanced up at him. He had to be talking about Ripper. Ripper had a house in Los Angeles.

“You think I give a motherfuck about him bein’ your son-in-law?” ZZ hissed. “I ain’t workin’ with him. Not fuckin’ now, not fuckin’ ever.”

I took more of him, worked him harder, lightly grazing him with my teeth, all the while watching him.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ got this shit,” he said hoarsely, looking down at me through hooded eyes. “Listen, Prez. I gotta go.”

Releasing my hair, he grabbed his phone and tossed it aside.

The next thing I knew his hips punched up, sending his dick down the back of my throat. Gagging and cursing, I pushed backward only to have him grab my upper arms and haul me up and onto his lap again.

“How was your date?” he sneered, smelling strongly of liquor.

“It wasn’t a date,” I shot back. “I was at Hayley’s.”

“Yeah?” he said, and laughed. “You expect me to believe she wasn’t tryin’ to hook your ass up with one of those dick-suckin’ friends of hers? Those fuckers who got pussies where their assholes should be?”

He kissed me before I could respond, a brutal kiss, all teeth, biting and sucking on my lips, popping blood vessels, and splitting skin. I closed my eyes, reveling in the pain. I wanted it rough tonight, to make me forget for a few minutes what the span of years could not.

I needed to focus on something, anything but the nagging memories.

I kissed him harder, this time plunging my tongue into his mouth, and a throaty, pleased growl erupted from the back of his throat. “We fuckin’ dirty tonight, baby?” he asked.

“Yes,” I mumbled against his mouth.

“Good,” he grunted, shoving me off him and face first onto the couch. Behind me, he pulled down his boxers and then he pushed against my backside.

“Break’s over,” he muttered.

“Make it hurt,” I whispered into the couch, letting my tears fall freely now that he couldn’t see me.

“Not a fuckin’ problem,” he whispered back.

CHAPTER SIX

Cage pulled up to his father’s house, a log cabin that could no more be considered a cabin than a New York City penthouse could be considered an apartment. He cut his engine and glanced up at the home that, for the most part, he’d grown up in, and let out a long-suffering sigh.

Because neither he nor Danny lived at home anymore, weekly dinners were a thing now, mandatory by way of Eva, who was insistent that they all spend some quality time together.

For the most part Cage appreciated her efforts, loved her for trying so hard, but dinner at the West home almost always ended in catastrophe, usually because of his stubborn-as-fuck father always giving him shit. He couldn’t do anything right in his old man’s eyes. Nothing. As far as his father was concerned, he was a useless asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Forget that it was him who, when his old man was off doing whatever the fuck he felt like and their mother was off drinking herself to death, Cage was taking care of Danny. Then later, after he brought Eva home with a difficult pregnancy, he’d left Cage to pick up his slack. And even later, when his old man couldn’t seem to hack it yet again, Cage had been taking care of Ivy too.

Yeah, Deuce liked to conveniently forget all that. It always came back to sex.

And, what the fuck ever, his old man was a hypocrite. Just because, now, the asshole wasn’t sticking his dick in everything that showed his old ass any interest didn’t mean it had always been that way. Before Eva, Christ, even during Eva, Deuce had been fucking bitches left and right.

Cage never understood that. When you had a woman like Eva, hot as fuck and willing to do anything his old man wanted, loved the bastard even, why the fuck would you stray from that?

If he had a good woman, an old lady dedicated to him and the club, someone with a clean past who didn’t spread her legs for every motherfucker out there, he’d never touch another woman.

Shaking his head, Cage swung his leg over his bike and started for the porch.

The door was unlocked, so he kicked his boots off in the foyer and headed left through the living room. In the family room, he found his youngest sister, Ivy; his three-year-old niece, Danny and Ripper’s daughter, Harley; Cox and Kami’s kids, Devin and Diesel; and to his surprise, Christopher, Dorothy’s four-year-old son, all seated around the flat screen TV. With the exception of Christopher and Harley, they all had controllers in their hands, their eyes glued to the violent video game on the screen in front of them.

He nudged his little sister’s leg with his foot. “Yo, princess,” he said.

Ivy glanced up and her perfect little face split into a huge grin. “CAGE!”

The next thing he knew she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, squeezing the holy shit out of him.

“Jesus, you’re gettin’ heavy. How old are you now, twenty-fuckin’-five?”

Ivy laughed. “Nine, stupid! I’m only nine!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and set her down. “Makin’ me feel old, little sister.”

“Cage, when are we gonna work on bikes again?”

He grinned down at his little tomboy of a sister. “Soon, baby,” he said. “Soon.”

He gave the trio of boys a quick chin lift, Harley a hair ruffle and a kiss, then headed through the foyer and into the kitchen area. His father was leaning back against the kitchen counter, a beer in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Eva with his free hand resting on the slight bulge of her stomach. Her long brown hair was piled messily on top of her head, and she was wearing an old pair of sweats and one of his old man’s tees.

She was four months along in another high-risk pregnancy that his idiot father had insisted on. Because for some reason three kids weren’t enough for the asshole, he wanted another, for reasons God only knew why. To make sure the world knew he still had swimmers? Cage would never understand that man.

Cox and Kami were opposite them, Cox sitting on top of the counter, Kami standing between his legs, both drinking beers.

“Yo,” he said, giving a halfhearted wave.

Cox nodded his way, Kami gave him a wave and a smile, but it was Eva who pulled away from Deuce and came at him with her arms wide open. As he folded his arms around her, he locked eyes over her shoulder with his father who, instead of saying hello, grunted something incoherent and turned back to Cox.

Ass. Hole.

“What’s little Kelley doin’ here?” he asked, referring to Christopher.

“Hawk’s on his way,” Eva said as she pulled away from him and gave him another genuine smile. Reaching up, she tugged on a lock of his hair that had pulled free of his rubber band.

“God,” she whispered, her big gray eyes sparkling. “You look just like your dad when he was your age.”

He started to smile at her despite her comparing him to his old man, because, fuck, how could you not smile at someone who loved as hard as this woman did?

“He looks like his fuckin’ mother.”

Cage lost his smile.

His mother might be a club rat turned deadbeat and she might love drinking more than she loved her own kids, but she was still his mother, and half of what had happened to her had been his old man’s fault in the first place.

“Ignore him,” Eva whispered. “And go say hi to your sisters.”

“Speaking of, where’s the brat?” he asked, referring to Danny.

Eva smiled and pointed upstairs.

Looping back around, Cage headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he was standing outside his sister’s old bedroom. Without bothering to knock, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.

“Jesus fuck!” he yelled, slamming the door closed.

“Knock much?” Danny screamed from inside her room, where he’d just seen her naked, on her knees, getting nailed by her husband.

Fucking hell.

It wasn’t the first time he’d accidentally walked in on them, either. Those two idiots couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchen pantries, didn’t matter where they were. Their home, someone else’s home, the clubhouse, a restaurant, the two of them were always all up in each other’s shit, all the motherfucking time.

The door flew open and Danny, looking disheveled but thankfully clothed, stormed into the hallway. “What the fuck!” she yelled.

He rolled his eyes. “Was comin’ in to say hi, you fuckin’ brat.”

The corner of her mouth curved and a dimple appeared. The next thing he knew she was lunging, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.

“Get the fuck off me!” he bellowed, shoving her backward into Ripper’s arms, who was also now thankfully clothed. “You fuckin’ smell like Ripper,” he said, feigning disgust.

Ripper, laughing, swung one of his arms around Danny and held out his fist. Cage eyed it warily before fist-bumping him quickly.

“Don’t know where that shit has been,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Ripper said. “You just get back?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that shit go down?”

“Wham bam,” Cage told him. “In and out. Spent the night at Preacher’s, shot the shit with the Demons for a few, did what I had to do, then took the scenic route home.”

“Nice,” Ripper said. “Prez’ll be happy.”

Yeah right, he thought, scoffing internally. Prez, his never-happy-with-him father, was just that. Never happy with him.

Behind him, two doors down, Cage heard the toilet flush from inside the bathroom. The faucet turned on, then off, then—

The door swung open and all heads swiveled just in time to see Tegen walk out into the hall, wiping her wet hands off on her long white linen skirt.

Glancing up, her cat-like green eyes locked on him and she froze midstep. He was about to say hello when suddenly her small, slightly pointed nose wrinkled up and her mouth flattened with obvious disgust.

“By the way,” Danny said cheekily. “Tegen’s here.”

Cage felt his already pissed-off mood worsen because, Jesus Christ, every time he saw the bitch, it was more than obvious she still had a stick up her ass about what had happened one drunken night, seemingly forever ago. A night he didn’t even remember.

Holding his throbbing head, Cage gingerly rolled from his side onto his back and cracked an eyelid to check out the warm body he felt lying beside him.

The first thing he saw was a big mess of orange-red frizzy hair, and being that his brain was bogged down with the aftereffects of too much whiskey, it took him a moment to process where he knew that hair from. When he did, when he knew exactly who that hair belonged to, he shot up into a sitting position, cursing when his head vehemently protested the movement.

Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe someone else in Miles City had ridiculously frizzy carrot-colored hair, a stick for a body, and freckles everywhere. Feeling sick, he glanced over his shoulder. Jesus fucking shit, motherfucker, fuck his life and everything in it.

God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

Worse, he didn’t even remember doing it. A sliver of hope lit inside of him. Maybe he didn’t fuck her? But then why was she naked? Still gripping his throbbing skull, he turned away from her and dropped his head.

Then his jaw dropped.

No.

His leathers were still on but his goddamn dick was hanging out covered in a light sheen of dried blood. Great. He’d taken her virginity. Worse yet, he didn’t even remember doing it.

That had been one of the worst mornings of his life. Actually, the entire day had sucked balls.

Not knowing what to do, he hightailed it into the shower, hoping she’d wake up and get the fuck out of his room before he got out.

No dice.

She was still there, in his bed, still naked but now awake and covering herself with his sheet, holding his cell phone in her hand. “It wouldn’t stop ringing,” she said softly, unable to look him in the eye, her pale skin flushing. “So I answered it.”

He stared down at her, not really paying attention to what she was saying, trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do with her. Seriously, what the fuck was he supposed to do with some awkward, dorky, titless teenager?

“Uh, listen, Teacup,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as he reached up and began rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not really sure what the fuck to say here, but last night… Are you okay? Does, uh, did you…” He trailed off, not knowing what the fuck he’d been trying to say in the first place and feeling like a jackass.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m glad it was you.”

He continued staring at her, his mind blank.

“It was Ellie who called,” she continued softly.

Ellie? Why the fuck would Ellie call him?

“She, um, she’s really upset…” Tegen hesitated. “She said Danny is, uh, on her way to an abortion clinic.”

What? Danny. Abortion clinic? Cage snapped the fuck out of it. His little sister had gotten herself into trouble and he needed to find her. Right. Now. Everything else, everyone else could go fuck themselves.

“I gotta go,” he said hurriedly, glancing around for his clothing. He zeroed in on his leathers and snatched them off the ground. When he was fully dressed, he crossed the room and grabbed hold of the doorknob. Then he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” he demanded.

Tegen’s green eyes went wide and she shook her head. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Nodding, he pulled open the door.

“Cage?”

Stopping, he glanced back again. “What?” he asked impatiently.

She hesitated, her skin flushing fiercely as she peeked up at him through her eyelashes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Cage froze.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

No. Just…no.

“Shit,” he muttered, suddenly unable to look at her. How the fuck had this happened? He seriously needed to stop drinking so much.

“Listen,” he continued slowly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinkin’ but…it just ain’t like that for me, baby.”

He glanced up, saw the surprise on her face, saw the hurt, saw it all.

Then he got the fuck out of there.

He’d spent the rest of the day dealing with his little sister’s mess. Or rather, Ripper’s mess, and hadn’t given much thought to Tegen or what had happened until enough time had passed and he started realizing that not only was she not speaking to him, she wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she acted like he didn’t even exist.

He hadn’t exactly cared at the time unless he was confronted with it. When he’d find her scowling at him instead of smiling, refusing to speak to him, refusing to speak to anyone.

Watching from a distance as she grew angrier, bitter, and eventually just outright mean.

Then she’d left for college and hadn’t come home for any holidays. In fact, she didn’t come home again until her mother had been shot.

He’d taken one look at her, her new look, and he hadn’t seen the dorky little girl he used to tease incessantly anymore, but a woman, a beautiful woman.

A beautiful woman who wanted nothing to do with him. And maybe that’s what bothered him the most. Tegen was a beautiful woman who’d once acted as if the sun rose and set with him, who’d told him she loved him, yet who now wanted nothing to do with him.

And every time he saw her, it felt like she was slapping on yet another layer of attitude, each visit home worse than the last.

One thing he knew for certain was the woman had one damn long memory and could hold a grudge like a motherfucker. And unfortunately for him, the more time that passed, the more beautiful she seemed to grow. Her extremely slender figure no longer seemed stick-like but naturally lithe, like a ballet dancer. And her breasts, while still very small, had a more rounded fullness to them. His eyes raked over her long copper dreadlocks, the quarter-inch plugs in her earlobes, her slim neck, and the colorful flower tattoos across her chest. Her bare arms were also covered in ink from shoulder to wrist, and the inch of exposed concave stomach between her tank top and skirt, also inked. More so than the last time he’d seen her.

Jesus, the girl had more ink on her now than he had, nearly as much as Cox who, aside from his face, was tattooed from head to toe.

And it was…hot. Cage found his body responding to his thoughts; not physical stimulation, just his goddamn thoughts, something that only happened around Tegen and her goddamn attitude.

Still glaring at him, she flung her long dreads over her shoulders with a flick of her wrists and cocked a bony hip. His fists clenched, readying himself for whatever mud she was going to fling at him. He was not in the mood for this shit. He’d barely been off the road five seconds and now this?

“No one told me that motherfucker was going to be here,” she hissed.

Behind him Ripper snorted and Danny sighed.

Cage’s jaw locked. His eyes darted to the right of Tegen and he quickly calculated how much time he had to grab her, throw her inside his old room, and fuck that attitude straight out of her before anyone tried to stop him.

“We’ll be downstairs,” he heard Danny say and he could hear the damn laughter in her voice.

“But I wanna hear all the fucked-up shit Tegen’s gonna say to him,” Ripper said, laughing.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Tegen snapped, her eyes never once leaving Cage. “I have nothing to say to Deuce Junior.”

His nostrils flared. No bitch ever talked to him the way she did. In fact no one, other than his father, had ever treated him the way she did; he didn’t allow it, would have them eating fist before they got a second insult out. Except Tegen. When she mouthed off, the bitch always had him either tongue-tied or hard as a rock or both.

Like right now.

Tegen smirked at him. “Aw, what’s wrong, West? Did I bruise that inflated ego of yours? Little old me? Just one of your millions?”

“Fuck you,” he snarled.

Still smirking, she rolled her eyes. “No, thank you. Sorry, Cage, been there, done you, don’t care to be a repeat offender.”

“Damn,” Ripper said. “That was a good one.”

“Dinner!” Eva’s voice carried throughout the house, instantly cutting through the tension rolling around the upstairs occupants.

“Finally,” Tegen muttered, shoving past him. “I was beginning to think this family lived off beer.”

His chest heaving angrily, his cock pressing painfully against his leathers, he turned to watch her make her way past Danny and Ripper. Danny glared at her and Ripper had an amused smile on his face.

“Although,” Tegen continued as she descended the stairs. “A beer diet would explain a lot.”

Cage hadn’t even realized he’d started after her until he felt his back hit the wall. He blinked, seeing Ripper’s scarred-up face mere inches from his own.

“Brother,” Ripper said, his voice low. “Let it slide. The bitch is tryin’ to get you riled up and you’re lettin’ her.”

“Fuck her,” he growled, shoving Ripper off him even as his battle lust began to ease. “She’s still fuckin’ pissed at me over somethin’ that happened years ago, somethin’ I don’t even fuckin’ remember!”

“You are an idiot!” Danny snapped, sticking a manicured pink fingernail in his face.

“I was drunk!” he shot back defensively.

Danny shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You really are an idiot.”

He grabbed his sister’s finger and shoved it back in her face. “You got Hello Kitty fingernails, little sister, and you’re callin’ me an idiot? Fuck off.”

Their father’s face appeared between them and—

“DINNER!”

He and Danny jumped apart.

“Daddy!” Danny yelled. “What the—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Deuce growled. “Get your ass and your sorry-ass man’s ass down those fuckin’ stairs.”

Laughing, Ripper grabbed Danny’s hand and pulled her away from Deuce, who turned toward Cage.

“Tegen’s back here for five fuckin’ minutes and you already got her goin’? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Her?” he yelled. “I just got in and you’re givin’ a fuck about her? You didn’t even ask me how the job went! Fuck you!”

Deuce’s eyes narrowed into slits. “I need to ask you ’bout every little fuckin’ thing now? I’m guessin’ the job went just fuckin’ fine seein’ as how your stupid ass is standin’ right in front of me, not bleedin’. So I ain’t too sure what your fuckin’ problem is but since we’re sharin’ shit right now, how about I tell you what my fuckin’ problem is?”

Cage glared at him, torn between feeling like the piece of shit his father was treating him like and punching the son of a bitch in his big fat mouth.

“My problem,” he continued, “is your worthless fuckin’ ass ain’t downstairs at the motherfuckin’—”

Cage shut it out. Just shut down, shut it out, shoved his father out of his way, and headed down the stairs.

Family fucking dinners, his ass.

• • •

This was the very worst part of coming home. Deuce and Eva and their stupid family dinners and…seeing Cage.

Everything had been fine up until five minutes ago when I’d exited the upstairs bathroom and ran smack into the asshole.

It didn’t even matter that Miles City was a small town full of small-minded religious freaks who took one look, a second, a third, and a fourth at my colorfully tattooed body, numerous body piercings, my dreadlocks, and instantly decided I was a freak of nature.

And maybe I was. But that was beside the point.

Even Danny, with her perfect body, her perfect hair, her perfect face—she probably turned girls into lesbians, she was so damn perfect—I was actually getting along with for a change. True, I had to shade my eyes against her ridiculously bright blaring pink getup, but still.

And then I’d gone to pee and…Cage.

Boom.

Every single time, without fail, one look and I was a teenager again, feeling awkward and insignificant. And now I was praying to keep my sanity.

But sanity and Miles City, Montana, were not friendly neighbors. In fact, I was pretty sure they lived on opposite ends of the universe.

Bad mood, here I come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

From her seat on his sofa, curled up in one corner, her knees pulled to her chest, Ellie watched from across two rooms as Dirty popped open his microwave door and pulled out a partially blackened bag of popcorn, waving away the smoke that followed it.

If she weren’t so terrified of what the future held, she would have laughed at how ridiculous he looked. It was his third attempt at making her something to eat; his third failed attempt. The first had been microwavable macaroni and cheese, which he also burned, the second had been two slices of bread, which the toaster had burned, and now the popcorn had burned.

No bones about it, Dirty was no chef. Not that it mattered, she was too wound up and too sick to her stomach with nerves to ingest anything without it coming right back up.

Deuce had come by yesterday, taken one look at her battered face, and started cursing up a storm. Then he’d taken Dirty into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. They were in there for nearly forty-five minutes, quiet for the most part, but she managed to catch a few words here and there.

Drop off.

Deal gone bad.

We need him.

She had no idea what was going on except that something important was going to happen and Daniel Mooresville was involved, and quite frankly it made her even more afraid. Deuce might love his family and his club, but she was neither. If a man like Deuce considered her nothing more than collateral damage, then things didn’t bode well for her.

She’d been so consumed by her foreboding thoughts that she hadn’t even heard them exit the bedroom, didn’t know they were standing right in front of her until Deuce cleared his throat. Startled, she screamed, nearly fell off the couch, and embarrassingly enough when Deuce had reached for her to help her up, she’d scrambled away from him and burst into tears.

He’d immediately retreated, his hands in the air and looked to Dirty, as if seeking help from him. It wasn’t as if Dirty was going to be much help; the poor man looked as terrified as she felt.

Really, the entire scene would have been quite laughable if she hadn’t been so scared out of her mind.

Then Deuce had hesitantly suggested she come to the club until he was able to “figure out” what he was going to do about the situation. Ellie didn’t want to know what he meant by that and therefore didn’t ask, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled about staying at the club with a group of men who’d never been very good at keeping it in their pants. In fact, the very last place she wanted to be was around anyone with a penis and a blatant disregard for the law. She’d vowed never to set foot inside of the club again after she’d learned of the shooting that had happened a few years earlier. The last thing she wanted to get caught in the middle of was some cheating biker and his enraged old lady.

Her ideal would be to hightail it out of Miles City, back to her apartment in her city, and forget that this had ever happened. Only, judging by the look on Deuce’s face, it didn’t appear that would be happening anytime soon.

But she was most definitely not going to that clubhouse. She didn’t care how much security it had. So, where did that leave her?

She glanced at Dirty, who shifted from foot to foot, looking like he might bolt from the room at any second. He also refused to look at her.

He might be a filthy mess of a man, he certainly didn’t smell very good, but his apartment was clean to the point of overkill and he seemed more than happy to continue keeping his distance from her.

“I’ll just stay here,” she said to Deuce, then glanced at Dirty. “If that’s okay with you?”

Dirty’s reaction was unexpected, to say the least. His head shot up and his dark, bewildered gaze met hers.

“No!”

Her mouth fell open. He’d saved her life, brought her to his place, had called Deuce over to help with her situation, but was telling her she couldn’t stay at his place?

“Not gonna happen,” Deuce said firmly. “It’s the club or you can figure this shit out on your own.”

Ellie felt tears welling in her eyes. What had she ever done to them? It wasn’t her fault that the police chief in this awful little town had tried to rape her, something that was obviously interfering with MC business.

“Ah, shit,” Dirty said as he ran his hands through his greasy hair. “Don’t fuckin’ cry. You can stay here.”

Deuce’s head whipped in Dirty’s direction. “No,” he growled.

Dirty shook his head. “No, Prez, it’s fine. It’s…I…just…just stay with her, lemme go to the club for…uh, something.”

Deuce glared at Dirty and Ellie wondered how Dirty wasn’t withering and dying in the face of that terrifying stare, but instead was meeting Deuce glare for glare.

“I got this,” Dirty said firmly. “Just lemme go take care of some shit.”

Ellie watched, more confused than anything else as the two man stared at each other, deeply engaged in a private conversation that only the two of them were privy to. Ellie couldn’t even comprehend how deeply connected two people had to be to reach that level of communication.

It was Deuce who looked away first and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Go,” he barked. “You got two hours, max. I gotta be home for fuckin’ dinner.”

Dirty didn’t hesitate; whatever it was that he had to do was obviously of the utmost importance to him. After he tore out the front door, Deuce stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a six-pack out of the refrigerator, took a seat on Dirty’s lone recliner, and switched the television on.

That was yesterday. Dirty had since returned, Deuce was long gone, and Dirty was…

Well, Dirty was holding up the bag of burnt popcorn, looking quite hapless.

Ellie couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

• • •

Dirty stared at Ellie. Why the fuck was she laughing? He glanced at the bag of popcorn in his hand. Oh. She was laughing at him. Normally if someone laughed at him, he’d pull out his piece and maybe, if he felt like it, blow their fucking skull to bits.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t feel that way with Ellie. Even more surprisingly, he felt…for her.

Earlier, seeing her cower in front of Deuce, seeing the mix of confusion and fear in her big blue eyes, he felt for her.

How could he tell her she couldn’t stay with him? Not when it was obvious this was the only place she felt safe. How could he take that away from her? He knew all too well what it felt like to live in fear, wishing he had just one person, just one place he’d could have gone to, and felt safe.

If he could give that to Ellie… Strangely, it almost felt like he was, in a way, giving himself a little of the same.

But none of that meant it was easy for him to be alone with her. Not after seeing her naked, touching her, knowing what she’d gone through and knowing she was afraid and, goddamn him, being both disgusted and turned on by the entire thing.

His insides were warring. What she nearly went through represented everything he was afraid of, the ghosts that would never leave him, yet the physical urge to overpower her, to take her freedom, her choice, away from her was a burning beacon deep within him, begging to be released.

He’d had no choice but to go to the club.

He had to make it go away.

He was like an addict, growing sicker and sicker, needing his next fix.

As soon as Deuce had relented he’d gone straight to the club, straight to the bar, dosed the beer of the first club whore he found—Amanda, a bitch he’d had many, many times, unbeknownst to her. Once she started slumping against the bar, he’d picked her up and carried her off to his room. Tossing her facedown on his bed, he stripped her naked and, with his eyes burning, Dirty positioned himself behind her, poised himself at her entrance and—

His gut roiled. He always felt sick; it was a feeling he’d gotten more than accustomed to over the decades, but this, this was so much worse. Ellie’s face, her body, her smile, it was all in the forefront in his brain.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hurt her, not her. Not Ellie. She was a good woman and he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

He had to fuck this bitch, he had to hurt her. He wanted—no, needed—to watch himself disappear inside of her knowing she could do nothing about it, that she was helpless, powerless, that he was in complete control, that he was going to get off at her expense.

Not Ellie.

Oh, fuck. He wanted to get off; he wanted it bad. He let the walls down, let the memories come, allowed them to take him over, spin wildly in his head. All the touching, groping, not being able to stop his erection even when he was crying, begging her to stop, and she was drunk and moaning, forcing him to touch her as she held him down and lowered herself down on his cock.

He grew harder just thinking about it, harder and sicker. What was wrong with him? He didn’t understand how something so vile, so motherfucking awful, had become something that perversely turned him on, made hurting women result in easing his sickness.

He had to come, he had to come, he had to fucking come. Worse, he had to think about his foster mother, about the sick and twisted shit she’d done to him, while he tried to come and to do it, to go through with this, he had to remind himself that the bitch passed out facedown on his bed was just that. A bitch. A useless fucking club whore who didn’t do shit with herself except pass her dirty pussy around to his brothers. All except him. But she would, she would fuck him willingly too if she knew what he actually looked like.

But he didn’t want her to want him. He didn’t want her to touch him. He just wanted to fuck, wipe out these fucking thoughts inside of him after a week-long buildup of jerking off…about things no man in their right mind would ever jerk off to.

But he wasn’t in his right mind, had never been. He’d been brutalized at such a young age he didn’t even know what it felt like not to feel fucked-up. Fucked-up was all he’d ever known.

Clenching his teeth, feeling the acidic rise of bile in the back of his throat, Dirty slid inside the whore. His first tear fell along with his first thrust, and then his second, and his third, and then he was silently yet openly crying, his tears landing on the tattooed back of the woman beneath him.

He didn’t care about her; she was just a whore and he didn’t care. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked her harder, envisioning his foster mother, envisioning what she had done to him and then…

Fuuuuuck. There it was, what he’d needed. The image, the memory that would send him over the edge.

Years later, after he’d finally gotten his shit somewhat together, he’d gone back to New York City and turned the tables on her.

His rich, bored, fucked-in-the head, piece-of-shit foster mother.

She hadn’t even recognized him. He’d been twenty-three years old, standing on her doorstep, and she’d looked down on him like he wasn’t of importance, like he was garbage. No, like he was worse than garbage, like he was nothing.

“What do you want?” she’d asked, frowning as she looked him up and down.

He hadn’t answered, he couldn’t. His head was spinning, his thoughts were clouding up, and his eyes began to water. Directly behind her, the wallpaper, the carpeting, the smell wafting into his nostrils, bourbon and Lysol, everything was exactly the same. Even her. She was still beautiful, still so regal, so put together.

And as she went to close the door in his face, his leg had shot out, his boot had slammed into the door, effectively throwing it wide open and catching the bitch off balance, sending her stumbling backward and sprawling on her backside. He’d stormed inside that house of horrors and the pain those four walls still held within them radiated out and triggered something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, something from deep down, from his childhood. Helplessness. Confusion. Fright. Anger.

All of those emotions, they had pulsed, roared, screamed, and shouted; pushing, punching, clawing, and digging their way out.

Before she could get to her feet, he was on her, and she screamed as he straddled her, forced her legs apart, and then pulled his piece and held his gun to her head.

“Shut up!” he roared and her mouth snapped closed as she trembled beneath him.

“Please,” she begged, her voice wavering. “Please, I have money.”

He stroked her cheek with the cool metal as he fumbled with the hem of her silky dress. “It’s okay,” he whispered, unzipping himself. “You’re going to like it, I promise you, I’m going to make you feel good.”

Her pretty hazel eyes went wide and her glossy lips parted. “Michael,” she breathed.

“Not anymore,” he hissed. “You made sure of that.”

Feeling dizzy with adrenaline, drunk on power, combined with the overwhelming need to make her hurt, he shoved the barrel of his gun in her mouth and a mere heartbeat later, his cock inside her.

And when he was done, he blew her fucking brains out.

Now he was attempting to feed Ellie and failing, when he heard her laughing. He stared at her, watched her pretty face alight with humor, and something shifted inside of him. It was such a pleasant sound, so light, so feminine, something he’d heard before but never directed toward him, never because of him. And…he liked it. It turned him on.

Being attracted to women for something other than physical traits was something completely foreign to him. He grew flustered and uncomfortable, his heart started pounding, and he broke out into a cold sweat.

The bag of popcorn fell from his hand and then he quickly crossed the living room, his jaw locked, his fists clenched, refusing to look at Ellie, refusing to breathe until he’d slammed the bathroom door behind him, locked it, and sank down to the floor, his hands already fumbling with his jeans, releasing himself.

With one arm slung across the closed toilet lid, he bent his head down, resting it on his forearm as he began to stroke himself. He focused on Ellie’s torn, bloodstained clothing lying in a small pile in the corner of the bathroom, and his cock surged forward.

Ellie’s sweet laughter echoed in his head, even as he pictured her half-naked, bleeding in the alleyway, and later, bruised and battered, standing naked before him, vulnerable, helpless, looking to him for things he could never offer her. Then he pictured her fully clothed, giggling over burnt popcorn.

And then pictured himself knocking her out, taking away her control, hurting her, listening to her scream, making her cry, fucking her.

His hand squeezed around his cock as he increased the speed of his strokes.

The dual images, the sounds of screams and laughter, continued to assault him. He tried to focus on just one thing, the pain or the…

He didn’t know…

In the end it was the sound of her screaming, crying, the look of fear on her beautiful face that finished him off.

Breathing hard, shaking, Dirty lifted his head and looked down at his lap. And promptly threw up.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Seated at the far end of the dining room table, I watched Cage stomp into the kitchen, past the island that separated the cooking area from the dining area, and grab the closest chair, next to Cox. Fuming, he sat down hard and slumped backward, his thick arms folded across his chest. I knew that look, had seen it a million times on his face growing up alongside him. And if I hadn’t already heard Deuce laying into him, as if everybody in the house hadn’t, I would have already known that was exactly what had happened.

I actually caught my emotions start to lean toward him in sympathy and the urge to touch him, to comfort him arose, the strong feeling every bit as familiar to me, as natural to me as when we were children.

Before he’d—

Oh no, I wasn’t going to feel bad for him like I used to. No way. Cage was a slut and dumbass, and it wasn’t my fault Deuce liked to remind him of that every other second.

Deuce was next to storm into the kitchen, giving out glares as freely as he breathed. As much as I appreciated all the man had done for me financially, he had such a serious caveman complex that I was loath to comprehend what Eva saw in a man that was just so…

I glanced back at Cage, then again to Deuce, and shut down my line of thought. I knew exactly what Eva saw in Deuce. It was the same thing I saw in Cage. It was the reason I kept sleeping with ZZ. They were all just so…

Men. They were fucking men. Hard-core, badass, live by their own set of rules…men.

Goddamn, I was such an idiot.

Taking his seat at the head of the table, Deuce gave everyone his signature once-over, then he growled, “Eat.”

And eating commenced.

I rolled my eyes.

“Tegen?”

I glanced to my right where Kami was offering me a large bowl of mixed vegetables, looking more like a vegetable model than a mother of two, a wife of a heavily tattooed biker just passing a dish full of food. Tall, waif-like, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful, Kami was a runway’s wet dream.

She smiled at me. “It’s nice to see you at dinner, T. You should come home more often.”

Forcing a smile, I accepted the bowl. Avoiding all carrots, I took a small helping before dishing my brother out an equally small, carrot-free helping, and then passed it to Danny.

“Carrots are good for little kids,” Danny said, frowning at Christopher’s plate.

“Carrots are fucking disgusting,” I retorted, my bad mood rearing its ugly head.

“Carrots are fucking disgusting,” Christopher mimicked and Cox burst out laughing.

“See,” I said, smiling sweetly at Danny. “He agrees.”

Danny glared at me, her icy blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Oh, shut up,” she said, sounding every inch like the valley girl she resembled.

“Momma!” Harley cried, looking properly horrified. “You said shut up is a bad word!”

“Mommy tells Daddy to shut up all the time,” Diesel said, pointing at Kami.

“She tells him way worse than that,” Devin muttered.

Ripper started laughing, only stopping when the fork Kami threw at him nearly hit him in the face.

“Hey!” Danny snapped.

“Damn, Ripper,” Cox said, snorting. “You’re so pussywhipped you need your old lady defendin’ you?”

“Cox, don’t speak,” Kami said. “It makes you less hot.”

“Shut up isn’t a bad word,” Ivy said matter-of-factly. “Goddammit is a bad word.”

“It is a bad word!” Harley insisted.

“It is not!” Ivy screamed.

“Stop it,” Deuce growled, looking at his youngest daughter. “You don’t need to be sayin’ it either.”

Ivy’s face contorted into what I liked to refer to as Danny’s prissy angry face. “You like her better than me!” she screamed. “You wish Harley was your daughter and not me!”

Harley grinned at Ivy. “Papa loves me best,” she said, her tiny voice sugary sweet.

Eva closed her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Nobody loves anybody more than anybody else. Everybody loves everyone the same.”

Cage snorted and Deuce turned his glare on him while Ivy stuck her tongue out at Harley, who scowled back at her.

“Fuck me,” Deuce muttered, picking up his beer and taking a long swallow. Setting it down, he looked at Eva and pointed his beer toward her stomach. “That kid in there better not be a girl. And will someone give me the motherfuckin’ salt?”

“You put enough salt on already!” Eva yelled.

I tuned out after that, listening but not really, pushing my food around on my plate as the bickering continued much the way it always had. Nothing had changed, not even with the latest wave of bikers and old ladies-to-be.

Just another generation of aspiring criminals and the sad, pathetic women who will love them despite their inability to keep their dicks in their pants.

Halfway through the horrible ordeal, my endurance nearly shot, the doorbell rang. Ivy shot out of her chair and raced through the kitchen, screaming, “I’ll get it! I’ll get it!”

My head started pounding.

“Hawk is here!” came the high-pitched scream from the foyer. “Hawk is heeeeere!”

The pounding in my head worsened.

Hearing his father’s name, Christopher’s green eyes widened. “Daddy!” he shrieked, jumping up to a standing position in his chair.

Ivy came skidding back through the kitchen, Hawk’s booted feet pounding the linoleum behind her. Surprisingly he was freshly shaven, his mohawk trimmed, and not wearing his usual leathers but instead a clean pair of jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and his Horsemen cut.

“Brothers,” he said gruffly, nodding toward Cage and Cox, then Ripper. He stopped next to Deuce and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Prez,” he said, his voice less stony, his face suddenly full of emotion and something else I couldn’t quite place.

I knew there was deep history there. Deuce had scooped Hawk off the streets decades ago, the same as he had with Cox, Ripper, and Dirty, and the bond between them all was more of a father/son one than Deuce had with his own son.

I glanced at Cage, watched him see the silent exchange of respect between the two men, watched him try to steel his expression before he let the hurt show, but I’d known him too long. I had always had my eyes on him and knew every nuance of his face, what every twitch or appearing line meant.

I was still staring at Cage the way I’d always stared at him, everyone else forgotten, when a pair of thick fingers snapped in front of my face. I blinked, my eyes refocused, and found everyone around the table staring back at me, Cage included. And Danny was smirking at me. Fucking bitch.

My face hot with embarrassment, I glanced up to the owner of the fingers.

“How’s your mom?” Hawk asked while scooping Christopher off the chair and into his arms.

“None of your business,” I snapped. Hawk’s eyes hardened.

“Tegen,” he said quietly, his tone hard. “I get it, baby, I do. You fuckin’ hate me, you hate us all, and I don’t blame you. If that was my mama who’d gotten shot, I’d be hatin’ on everyone too, but she’s the mother of my son and I gotta right to know how the fuck she’s doin’.”

I reacted. Jumped up, shoved my plate forward, pushed my chair backward, and got up in Hawk’s personal space. I didn’t even come close to his height or stature but I’d already been on the verge of a nervous breakdown before he’d shown up, and Hawk had only added fuel to the burning fire.

“Fuck you!” I spat. “You ruined her! You ruined me! My own mother doesn’t even know who I am!”

In Hawk’s arms, Christopher’s face fell and his bottom lip quivered but there was no stopping me once I started. Not even I knew how to accomplish that.

“Tegen!” Deuce bellowed.

“You and Jase!” I screamed, ignoring Deuce and shoving my finger into Hawk’s hard chest. “You both destroyed her, along with this fucking club full of drug dealers and murderers!”

Christopher burst into tears, followed closely by Harley, and feeling like shit, damn near tears myself, I spun away from Hawk and ran from the room into the foyer, pausing while I desperately tried to remember where I’d left my backpack. Cursing myself and my never-ending stupid emotional breakdowns, I ran through the living room into the family room, and locked on my bag.

Snatching it up off a beat-up old leather recliner, I turned to run, heading straight through the front door and to my mother’s car, which would take me far, far away from this house full of awful people who did nothing but hurt one another and destroy lives.

Except I didn’t get very far. I turned to run and instead of running, I smacked into a wall of muscle. Two arms curled around me, one hand pressed firmly against the small of my back and the other slid up into my hair, tightly fisting a handful of dreads.

The smell. I knew it instantly. I’d never forgotten it. Sweat and leather, cigarettes and exhaust fumes, and…Cage.

My stupid heart swelled, my body warmed and—

Oh, fucking shit, no.

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, pulling away, nearly ripping several of my dreads out in my pathetic attempt to dislodge him.

“Shut up,” he growled, yanking me back up against him. “You’ve got all those kids back there cryin’ their eyes out. Yeah, everyone knows you’re hurtin’, Teacup, but…”

Teacup.

Why would he still call me that after all these years, after everything that had happened? I hated it. I hated it so much. All it did was remind me of when we were kids and he’d been so sweet to me, paying attention to me when no one else would.

“Don’t call me that!” I continued to struggle, doing nothing but hurting myself trying to get free.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed, half walking, half dragging me back through the living room while I carried on my pointless struggles.

“What’s wrong with me?” I yelled, my renewed anger drying my tears, shielding my emotions from the one person on earth who had the ability to tear them down in an instant if I weren’t careful. “You’re what’s fucking wrong with me! Your mess of a club is what’s wrong with me!”

Cursing, Cage slammed my body hard up against the hall closet. Grabbing the sides of my face, he forced me to look up at him. Glaring down at me, his teeth clenched, he bent down, bringing us nearly nose to nose.

“Would you please just fuck off!” I hissed.

“Don’t say another motherfuckin’ word,” he growled. “Time to fuckin’ listen, you mouthy little bitch.”

“Why the fuck would I listen to you?”

“Because!” he roared and spittle flew in my face. “It’s about damn time you listened to someone! It’s been years, babe, fuckin’ YEARS that you’ve been walkin’ around life with a chip on your shoulder. You been takin’ it out on everyone around you, shittin’ on the entire club, shittin’ on your mom, makin’ everyone feel even worse than they already do, when you and I both know this shit ain’t even about your fuckin’ mom and it’s about fuckin’ time you owned up to your own bullshit!”

Oh no, no way in hell was he going to get away with this!

“Don’t even,” I snarled. “Don’t you dare think any of this has to do with you!”

But Cage, being Cage, ignored me.

“You’re still feelin’ me, Teacup, and you’re still pissed that I fuckin’ stiffed you all those years ago, ain’t you?”

“No!” I snapped. “I don’t give a shit about you!”

Cage stared down at me, his brown eyes shifting as his gaze swept over every inch of my face. I stared up at him, feeling all of it. Every horrible, rotten, piece-of-shit feeling that came with being around Cage.

“No?” Smiling bitterly, his face suddenly dropped and his lips brushed across mine.

It felt like a sucker punch to my chest. Quick, swift, painful, and utterly unfair. My walls, the same ones that had taken long, painstaking years to erect, fell instantly, and like paper, listlessly floated to the ground.

What? I couldn’t…even…think…straight. Not when he was holding me like this. I could only stand there and shudder through the feelings, the too much of it, the too little of it, all of it, all of him…too close to me, too far away. Never enough.

“You wanna test that theory, you crazy fuckin’ bitch?”

He was already tilting my head to give him better access. I fucking knew that if he kissed me, I would cave completely and end up kissing him back.

“You want me,” he growled.

I shook my head wildly. “No,” I said breathlessly. “No!”

His hand slid from my cheek, straight down over the top of my breast, and landed on my side.

“Yeah,” he growled softly as his right hand slid even lower. “Yeah, Teacup, you do.”

In a moment of sheer panic, just as Cage’s lips met mine, I acted fast, ducking, pushing, and spinning all at the same time, effectively dislodging myself from him.

“You fucking asshole!” I screamed and out of pure frustration, both emotional and sexual, I swung. My backpack flew across the foyer, hitting Cage square in the face. He caught it as it fell, whipped it to his right, and glared at me, nostrils flaring.

Realizing what I’d done, not knowing how he was going to react, I panicked. Whirling around, I ran in the opposite direction, back through the living room, the family room, then yanked open the screen door and fled into the darkness.

I didn’t have my backpack, meaning I didn’t have my cell phone or my mom’s car keys. Which also meant I had no means of transportation or way to call for any, and if I kept running aimlessly, I would more than likely soon be lost in the wilds of Montana.

Just as I was considering either slowing down to get a good look at my surroundings or just giving up my race to nowhere entirely, I heard the distinct sound of heavy, booted footsteps pounding the hard ground behind me.

“Why won’t you just fuck off!” I screamed, coming to a halting stop and spinning around.

Cage came skidding to a stop and nearly lost his balance trying to avoid crashing into me.

“Tegen,” he growled. “Stop your fuckin’ shit, right the motherfuck now.”

“Go away!” I demanded.

His chest expanded as his nostrils flared and he looked so much like his father, only not as hard, his features were softer, his eyes not as cold. His arm lifted, he took a step forward, and I scrambled backward.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned.

“Fuck that,” he growled and his arm shot out, his hand closing around my forearm. He yanked me forward, bringing me flush against him, holding tight to me much the same way he had indoors, and tighter still until I had no choice but to look up at him. “You’re goin’ to shut the fuck up for once and do as you’re told.”

Oh God…no.

No.

Hell no.

Why wouldn’t he stop touching me? I couldn’t think straight when he touched me.

“How many times have I gotta apologize for somethin’ I don’t even fuckin’ remember?” he continued. “You really gonna stay mad at me forever?”

Yes!

“Yes!”

“Why?” he yelled. “You still love me, Teacup? Still waitin’ on me, babe?”

Rage, white-hot, bubbled up inside of me and strength born from anger gave me enough momentum to wrench free from his grip. As he reached for me, I screamed at the top of my lungs, my arm flew forward, and the palm of my hand cracked across his face. Cage froze, just went completely still, and stared at me.

“You think I love you?” I spat, slapping my palms against his chest and, with every bit of strength I had, shoving him backward. “I fucking hate you! Being with you was the worst thing that ever happened to me! It was that fucking awful. You were so pathetic, I barely even felt you inside of me, your cock is so small. You only lasted two fucking seconds, and you have the nerve to think I LOVE YOU? You disgust me! You are the most worthless piece of shit to ever walk the planet and I fucking hate you!”

• • •

When he’d left the dining room to run after Tegen, it had been for two reasons: one, to save her from the wrath of his father, and two, because the crazy bitch had made every single kid at the table burst into tears. She needed to know that shit wasn’t right, her behavior was fucked-up, that she couldn’t just continue to badmouth everyone associated with the club.

Especially when all that hate she’d been spewing for all these years had very little to do with her mother. That shit was all on him. So, first he was going to tell her how ridiculous this hard-on for hating him was, that he’d been only nineteen years old, for Christ’s sake, and what the fuck had she expected. This shit had been going on way too long and it was well past time she shut the fuck up for two goddamn seconds and let him get a word in, let him apologize, because, fuck yeah, he’d been a dick, he knew it, everyone knew it, and it was time they aired it out.

Then he was going to fuck her. He wasn’t sure why he was always so suddenly fuck-happy around her, but fuck, there it was.

Maybe because she made him goddamn crazy with her fucking bullshit, to the point where he wanted to punch a motherfucking hole straight through her pert little face. But he didn’t really want to kill her, so punching a hole through her pussy seemed like the next best alternative.

Or maybe it was because he didn’t remember the first time they fucked and every encounter with her since then had come with a box of misery wrapped up in a big bow of despair.

Or maybe it was because he couldn’t fucking stand seeing the woman, who as a girl had looked upon him like the sun had rose and set with him, now looking at him like he was the biggest piece of shit she’d ever met.

Like his father looked at him.

So, yeah, he was going to tell her off, set her straight, and then fuck her so damn hard she forgot not only that she hated him but her goddamn name as well. And then he’d walk the fuck away, leaving her begging for more.

At least, that had been the original plan until she’d refused to shut the fuck up. Until she’d slapped him across the face. Until she’d continued to run her mouth, every word coming out of it making him feel like a bigger piece of shit.

Cage lost it. His brain blanked out and his emotions took control. The next thing he knew he was tackling her, forcing her down to the ground, onto her back, yanking her flimsy green tank top up, baring her small breasts, roughly palming them before grabbing handfuls of her long skirt and shoving it up over her ass. He ripped her underwear to one side and pulled open his leathers.

“I’ll remember this time, bitch,” he gritted out, palming his cock.

“Fuck you, asshole,” she said angrily. “Fuck you!”

Seething, bursting at the seams with anger, more than sick of this bullshit with her and not really aware of what he was doing but at the same time aware that she wasn’t fighting him, he grabbed her calves, bent her knees, and pushed her legs open, maneuvering his hips so the tip of his cock hit her pussy. Sliding it over her slit, he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Fuck you?” he shouted. “You fuckin’ got it!”

He pushed hard. Pulled back out and pushed harder. Pulling back out, he pushed again, finally sliding inside of her. Three more times and he was fully seated, her pussy clamped tightly around him as he glared down at her.

“You feel that, you mouthy little cunt? You feel my small fuckin’ cock stretchin’ your shit wide open?”

Pulling nearly all the way out of her, he slammed back inside.

Tegen’s lips trembled and her eyes squeezed shut. Cage watched a tear slide from her left eye and down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. His thoughts took a tire-squealing turn in a different direction and he stopped moving and just stared down at her. What the fuck was he doing? Had he lost his fucking mind?

He’d just attacked her!

Cursing, he went to move, ready to pull out of her and get the fuck away from her, when her eyes suddenly flew open and she reared up, grabbing hold of his biceps and squeezing.

“No,” she breathed.

For a moment they only stared at each other, unblinking, not moving.

But while he was staring down at her, into her almond-shaped bright green eyes, taking in her milky white skin glowing in the moonlight, and seeing her lips, pale pink, parted, breathing in…and out…and in…and out, her breath quickening the longer he stared.

He felt a new feeling, one he didn’t recognize. It was lust, but not the sort of lust derived from a giant pair of tits bouncing in front of his face, or because his cock was getting stroked through his leathers, or because some bitch’s skirt was riding up and he was getting a sneak peek of ass.

It wasn’t anger- or adrenaline-fueled. He didn’t know what it was.

But his body did. It recognized something in her and responded in kind, excitement filling his stomach. He breathed in again, suddenly recognizing these responses, remembering them, but also knowing it had been a hundred women ago the last time he’d felt them.

“Teacup,” he rasped, reaching up to cup the side of her face. “You’ve never let me say it before, babe, but I really am sorry for what I did.”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered, trying to turn away from his grip on her face. His thumb shot out under her chin and locked her in place.

“Yeah,” he continued. “I am. I was nineteen. I was a fuckin’ asshole and it shouldn’t have gone down like that. For your first time, baby, you deserved a lot fuckin’ better than me.”

Her mouth fell open and his thumb, already on her chin, slid inside and pulled her bottom lip down.

When she said nothing, made no protest either verbally or physically, just stared up at him unblinking, he quickly bent his head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue slid inside and a soft moan escaped her throat. Her mouth opened further for him and his hand moved, gripped her hair, while the other ran down her back, over her hip, and under her thigh, stopping on one small, firm ass cheek, and squeezed.

Ah, damn. He remembered now, remembered why he’d loved fucking women. That damn feeling—the anticipation, the burn, the need to touch, to taste, to take a female over, to rule her body, outside and in. Not just to come, but to make her want to make him come, to make her want it so bad she worked for it.

“Cage,” she whispered frantically, trying to shove his cut off his shoulders. He pushed off her long enough to shrug out of it, to pull his T-shirt up over his head and toss it aside, and then he was back on her, his mouth closing over a freckled breast, pierced through the nipple.

Sucking first the nipple into his mouth, and then nearly the entire breast, ahh, fuck him. He’d always loved big tits, fat and heavy, with a lot to grab and squeeze. But being able to fit all that flesh inside his mouth and just suck?

It was fucking hot. And what was even hotter, Tegen was mewling—little panting, breathy whimpers. Her hands were in his hair, gripping, pulling, and she arched her chest, pushing more of her into his mouth. Her legs wrapped around him, her thighs cradled his waist, and she ground herself over his cock in jerky, circular motions.

The anticipation, the burn, the need to touch, to taste, to take a female over, to rule her body, outside and in. Not just to come, but to make her want to make him come, to make her want it so bad she worked for it.

He slid an arm beneath her and, holding her close to him, rolled them so she was on top of him. Bracing her palms on his chest, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Astride him, she breathed hard, staring down into his eyes.

“Take it,” he said hoarsely, grabbing her hands and interlocking their fingers.

When she didn’t move, he lifted his hips, circling them, eliciting a gasp and a squeak from Tegen. Her pussy clenched and her slim fingers squeezed around his much thicker ones.

“Take it,” he growled, jerking his hips up hard. “Fuckin’ take it, Teacup.”

Even as her mouth opened in a silent moan, her eyes narrowed.

He stared up at her, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut, hoping she’d take what he was offering her, hoping like hell she’d let go of all that hate and give them what they both wanted.

Jesus, he hadn’t felt anticipation like this in so goddamn long.

“Please,” he groaned. “Just fuckin’ take it, babe.”

Her lips split into a smile and his breath caught. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her really, truly smile and, fuck him if it didn’t transform her completely.

But before he could recover, she started to move. Faster and faster until…

And then she took it.

She worked for it—she worked him hard—and she took it all.

CHAPTER NINE

I awoke in darkness to the heavy weight of a warm body pressed against my back, hot breath fanning my cheek, one large hand palming the flat of my stomach between me and the mattress, another gripping the back of my thigh, and Cage sliding inside of me from behind.

Clutching the pillow, I gasped.

“My turn,” he growled in my ear.

Closing my eyes, I relaxed my body, concentrating only on the slick slide of Cage, slow and gentle, in and out of me.

“Feel good?” he whispered.

Oh, hell yes. It felt like the physical equivalent to an ice cream sundae, the kind my mom used to make me when I was sad. Two scoops of vanilla, one scoop of chocolate, crushed walnuts, sprinkles, cookie crumbles, whipped cream, and drizzled chocolate sauce, topped with cherries.

“Fuck off,” I breathed. “And shut up.”

He laughed and my breath caught. I could feel his smile against my cheek, the vibrations in his chest on my back.

In the woods behind the house we’d come together fast and furious, then we’d fallen apart and lay side by side under the stars, not touching, not speaking, barely breathing, until Cage stood up. He helped me up, helped me dress, and then took my hand in his and walked me around the side of the house where his bike was parked, and he’d said…it.

A string of eight little words, eight very stupid, insignificant words that meant absolutely nothing to Cage and absolutely everything to me.

Get on the back of my bike, Tegen.

How many years had I dreamed of him saying just that to me? Dreamed of being his “old lady,” on the back of his bike and in his bed? Me and only me.

How many years of anguish, of repressing memories and trying so hard to move forward, to shut my feelings off, trying to replace Cage with another, had I fucking spent? Too many.

The first half of my life I’d spent falling in love with him, and the second I’d spent trying to fall out of love with him.

And stupid, STUPID me had just lost the control I’d tried for so hard and so long to attain, all because of stupid Hawk AND REALLY STUPID CAGE. So now, here I was in the arms of the man I’d loved since I was a kid and he was a boy, and there was no way out of this that was going to leave me unscathed.

My resolve had long since cracked, and emotions were seeping inside me at an alarming rate. I felt my anger, my long-time internal suffering, slipping away and my body beginning to ease, welcoming the comfort this man was offering me.

There was no choice to be made now. I’d left my options at the dinner table when I’d allowed Hawk to get under my skin and when I’d knowingly, willingly stopped fighting Cage and let him, finally let him, touch me.

I was going to have to ride this out and hope to God I came out all right on the other side. No, I would come out all right. I’d come this far, suffered through this many years; one night wouldn’t change anything. One night would never again change the course of my life.

So I’d thrown caution to the wind. Silently, I’d climbed on behind him and allowed him to take me home with him.

He led me through the small, dark house, up the stairs and into his room where’d he’d stripped naked, letting me see exactly what I’d never been able to stop thinking about over the years.

He was bigger now, taller, his arms and thighs thickly muscled and his face, his squared features more defined with age and, God, he was beautiful. He was so fucking, unfairly beautiful. He always had been, and I’d always been—

I felt suddenly awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin, and embarrassed by what I lacked in physical beauty. I felt not good enough; I’d never been good enough for Cage.

“It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

From across the room I watched him light up a blunt, flop belly-down on his bed, take two quick drags of the roll before extending his arm and offering it to me.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, reaching for it, but Cage snatched his hand away and his other arm shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me forward. The roll pressed between his lips, he jumped to his knees and yanked me onto the bed.

Then it was me being stripped naked and Cage was taking long, leisurely looks up and down my body. Pulling the blunt from his mouth, he brought it to my lips and I took a long drag. As I exhaled, he took another drag, then he stubbed it out on his nightstand, placed his mouth over mine, and blew the smoke into me.

Then he was inside of me again, rolling us over, bringing me on top and telling me again to “take it.”

I forgot all about my insecurities and my anger and I took him, rode him hard and fast, watching with indescribable satisfaction as he fell victim…to me. Every groan I elicited, every eye-closing, head-thrusting, body-jerking jolt of pleasure I caused, every growled syllable of my name, every desperate stare, his hooded eyes begging me to finish him off. All of it had only increased my own pleasure. I’d never come so hard before in my life.

Then, sexually sated and emotionally exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms.

Now he was taking it, and I was loving it.

As his hips continued their leisurely slide, he gripped my chin, turning my head as far as my neck would allow, and plunged his tongue into my mouth. Slow, sloppy, lip-sucking, tongue-plunging kisses, out of sync with his hip thrusts. And yet, slower still, deliberately prolonging every long, wet stroke.

His mouth was bigger than mine, taking my mouth inside his, pulling on my lips, biting softly, engulfing my lips…my chin…my neck.

Oh God. Nothing, no one had ever kissed me like this. No one had ever fucked me like this.

I reached around me, grabbing hold of his head, crushing him to me, and I kissed him harder, fiercer, needing, wanting, oh God, wanting.

My belly seized, a shiver tore down my spine, and I came hard, crying out against his mouth, shaking beneath him.

“One more, babe,” he muttered. “Gimme one more.”

I cried out again, more so in frustration than from my immediate second release. I cried out because Cage wasn’t just fucking me, he was fucking me.

Because I’d just had an orgasm just by kissing. And then another just because the motherfucker had told me to.

“Fuck you,” I said, half moaning into his mouth as I ground my backside into his groin. “Fuck…you.”

Cursing, Cage pulled quickly out of me and wet warmth shot up over my back as he groaned through his own release. Breathing hard, he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him, settling me on my side into the crook of his arm. I slid my arm over his rippled stomach and curled my left leg over top of his, then laid my cheek down upon his tattooed chest.

“Fuck you, too,” he rasped and kissed the top of my head. “You mouthy little shit.”

I snorted, my lips curving into a smile, and I found myself holding Cage tighter.

“You’re stayin’ all weekend, right?” he asked as he reached to his right, fumbling around with the contents of his nightstand.

My smile fell away as reality began to permeate my lust-addled brain. Why the fuck was he asking me that?

“Teacup?” I heard the flick of a lighter followed by the scent of freshly lit green.

“What?” I whispered, refusing to look at him.

“I asked how long you’re stayin’, babe.”

“I’m not sure.” Which was a lie. I was due to leave on Monday, but I could stay longer if I wanted. I had vacation time at work and if I…

FUCK.

No. No way was I going down this road again, no way was I going to get trapped inside feelings that could never amount to anything but more self-loathing. So I kept my eyes shut and tried to remember every female I’d ever seen Cage slutting it up with. Groping them, kissing them. I forced myself to relive that awful night so many years ago at the clubhouse.

I had to get out of here. Away from Cage. And then I had to get very drunk, very, very drunk and forget this ever happened, because if I didn’t, if I allowed what just happened to sink too deep within me…

Teacup. I would be Teacup again.

So I told myself that, in no uncertain terms, Cage West was a whore, that this was what he did, and that if he hadn’t changed his MO not once in his entire lifetime, he never would.

“’Cause I’m thinkin’,” he wheezed, blowing out a mouthful of smoke, “that if you’re stayin’ for the whole weekend, we could keep this shit goin’ ’til you head out.”

Sex. That’s all he was about. It’s all he would ever be about. If I spent the entire weekend with him having sex, more sex meant more feelings were going to slip out, and more feelings meant I’d end up doing something really fucking stupid.

Like telling him I loved him…again.

Which would mean I had indeed turned into my mother even after all the promises I’d made myself to never be some dirty biker’s second choice. Or third. Or his whore.

Suddenly I wasn’t just mad at myself, I was mad at him and my mother and my father and my grandparents and Jase and the whole lot of stupid bikers that had set this all in motion, all over again. And then I wasn’t just mad, I was fucking livid and suddenly wanted to cry and scream and rip my hair out for being such a stupid girl! Again!

“Tegen?”

“Hmm?”

“Fuckin’ really, woman? I’ve only been askin’ how long you’re fuckin’ stayin’ for the last ten minutes.”

“I’m tired,” I lied, rolling away from him as I faked a yawn. Grabbing the blankets, I pulled them up over my shoulder. “Let’s talk in the morning.”

Muttering nonsense about women and decision-making, Cage rolled over, reached under the blankets, and gathered me in his arms. His large hands slid over my bare body, one stopping on my breast and the other between my legs.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered as his lips found my neck. A shiver tore through me even as I grimaced.

He had fun.

Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? When didn’t Cage have fun? Fun was one of his two middle names, the other being “slut.”

“Lips,” he growled, nipping his way across my face. Unwittingly, I turned my head and met him, countering every stroke of his perfect tongue with one of my own. We kissed for a while, touched, but Cage was spent and even though I’d never admit to it out loud, I was too, not to mention a little sore.

Eventually exhausted, we fell away from each other.

It took all of fifteen minutes before Cage was sound asleep. Then I was up, dressed, and calling my mother from his cell phone.

• • •

The next afternoon, upon arriving at the clubhouse, Cage headed straight for his father’s office holding the small envelope of photos he’d taken from Eva’s room in New York. Things had gotten so out of control so quickly last night, he’d forgotten to pass them along. Finding the office door already partially open, Cage walked in and found Deuce seated behind his desk, looking over a pile of printed pages that looked to him like laundry lists. As in the dirty money the club laundered through their legitimately owned businesses.

“Tell me you didn’t fuck the hippie,” Deuce said, not bothering to look up.

Cage grimaced.

Yeah, he’d fucked the hippie. And then the hippie had taken off and never came back.

So she hadn’t wanted to spend the weekend with him. She hadn’t even wanted to spend the night with him. Which was fine. Whatever. So what if he’d never had a bitch just up and leave in the middle of the night before, not even a club whore. But hey, there was a first time for everything. Which was…fine.

He’d hit her up later today for a re-run.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?” Deuce growled, finally looking at him. “Even after I told you to leave her the fuck alone?”

They stared at each other and Cage felt like he was looking in a mirror thirty years in the future. A cranky, pissed off, judgmental bastard of a mirror.

Cage opened his mouth and Deuce’s hand lifted, then crashed back down on the desk.

“You got any idea how fucked-up D is? She barely sees her daughter as it is and what do you do? YOU GO AND FUCK HER!

“It was real fuckin’ simple,” he continued. “I told you to leave the girl alone, but stickin’ your shit in anything that’s walkin’ by you is more important than followin’ orders, isn’t it?”

Cage didn’t respond. He’d heard this speech enough times that he knew it by heart. He also knew that interrupting his father would only make the man angrier.

“You’re pushin’ thirty fuckin’ years old and still ain’t listenin’,” he continued, looking at Cage with unmasked disgust. “You’re never goin’ to amount to jack-fuckin’-shit, are you?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an answer. He knew it, his old man knew it, and Blue, who was in the front room asleep at the bar, knew it too.

“Here,” Cage muttered, pulling the pictures from his cut as he walked toward his father. He tossed the envelope on the desk.

Deuce’s gaze dropped. “What the fuck is that?”

Cage shrugged. “Found it at the Demons MC, in Eva’s old room.”

Deuce glanced down and picked up the envelope. As he looked over the first photo in the stack, Eva seated next to Blue at the bar, Cage watched his father’s expression shift from indifferent to downright sappy.

“Where the fuck did you find these?”

“Hidden,” Cage said, knowing better than to bring up anything to do with Frankie, or Frankie with Eva, to his father. Shit might be happy-go-lucky between them now, but it wasn’t always that way and Frankie had been the reason.

“Behind a photo,” he finished.

“Fuck,” Deuce muttered, slowly going through the stack, his eyes growing more and more unfocused with every picture. “Look at her…just fuckin’…look at her.”

“She still looks pretty damn good,” Cage said and Deuce’s eyes shot to him and narrowed.

“That’s not what I was talkin’ about,” he growled. “I was talkin’ about how fuckin’ stupid I was. I had that.” Deuce held up the photo he was looking at.

Eva, grinning, wearing a baggy cropped tee and saggy jeans, sandwiched in between Kami and Dorothy, was giving Dorothy rabbit ears while her other hand made the sign of the devil over Kami’s shoulder.

“I had that,” Deuce repeated. “And I fucked it all up.”

Cage didn’t say anything, unable to believe his father was done fucking up, and Deuce went back to looking through the pictures.

Jumping to his feet, his father glared at him. “Did you look at all these?”

Father and son stared at each other.

“Little fuckin’ asshole,” Deuce growled. “Get the fuck out.”

“I’ll be around if you need me,” he said tonelessly, already turning on his boot heel.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he heard Deuce mutter.

He wasn’t going to.

When it came to his old man, he’d stopped holding his breath a long fucking time ago.

CHAPTER TEN

“Stupid,” I muttered as I yanked a frying pan out from underneath a stack of pots and pans, wincing as the following loud clatter echoed throughout the kitchen. My mom didn’t get a lot of sleep; when she did sleep she dreamt of the memories she couldn’t quite access and usually woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and crying. Between that and Christopher, she needed her rest.

After placing the pan on top of the stove, I headed for the refrigerator.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said under my breath as I surveyed the chilled contents. A carton of eggs, a package of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a tub of butter later I was sitting down with a cheese omelet and a side of toast, not eating.

I felt too sick to eat.

I was a first-class fucking idiot. And not just because I’d fucked Cage. Again. I mean, yeah, that was seriously idiotic, but worse, I’d fucked him not once, but three times, and not once did we use a condom. Not once did I even remember to use a condom. Why oh why did I always lose my head around that man?

Goddammit, I probably had AIDS now or at the least some sort of wonky biker venereal disease. Or even worse, I was going to end up like motherfucking Danny and pregnant with a little biker baby that, knowing my luck, would be a boy who’d look just like his father, become a biker just like his father, and break a million hearts…just like his father.

It was official. I was my mother’s daughter. I could bed the man but never wed him. I could suck his cock, make him dinner, do his laundry, and have his children, but I could never actually have him.

Jesus, I’d actually prefer to have explosive diarrhea while wearing a miniskirt, performing a jig onstage in front of half a million people.

My one saving grace was that I had absolutely no reason to see Cage for the rest of the weekend. I closed my eyes and let out an irritated sigh. Why did I absolutely hate the sound of that?

My eyes flew open and I stared down at my omelet. “FUCK!” I yelled. “You look really yummy and I don’t even want to eat you!”

“Tegen?”

Glancing up from my breakfast, I found my mother hovering near the kitchen entrance, dressed in only a knee-length black robe and fuzzy slippers.

“Shit,” I said, immediately pushing my chair back and getting to my feet. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She gave me a small smile. “Is it okay to come in? Or am I going to get an omelet to the face?”

My shoulders sagged. My mother had never been a shy woman and she’d never skirted around sensitive subjects. Unless it had something to do with her relationship with Jase, she’d never had a problem speaking her mind. I took after her in that way, although I was infinitely more vulgar than she would ever be.

Other than that, we were polar opposites. Our hair wasn’t even the same shade of red.

Even at forty-one she was still beautiful; at forty I was pretty sure I was going to look like skin sagging off a stick. But not my mother. She was several inches shorter than I was, petite but not without curves, her breasts were full and her stomach flat.

Her deep red hair hung halfway down her back in soft waves, her pretty green eyes still sparkled with a youthful vitality, and her skin, although freckled, was a shimmering sort of pale, not the sickly sort. Like me.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I said quietly.

“No, baby, I was already up and about to get in the shower when I heard you yell. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m fine.”

She took a step inside the kitchen and folded her arms under her breasts. “Tegen, I may not remember everything, but I still know when my own daughter is lying to me. I already knew something was up when it was Eva and Kami bringing me back my car last night. And then I get a phone call from you from Cage’s phone telling me you’re at Cage’s house and you need to get picked up. Not only that, I am well aware of what a woman looks like after she’s had sex, which is exactly how you looked when I picked you up from Cage’s house. Now, you have one of two choices; you can tell me what’s wrong or you can keep lying to your mother.”

Oh. Well. Now that sounded exactly like my mother. My mother who, memory problems or not, I absolutely did not want to discuss my sex life with. Hell to the no.

“You seem good,” I said, hoping to build a bridge over last night’s ocean full of confusion and regret, and head immediately for dry land. “No more nightmares?”

“Have it your way,” she said, sighing. “I’m going to shower then, I guess.”

As she began to turn, she paused. “You know, baby, I might be older than you, but I still know what pain is. I only wanted to help.”

I swallowed hard. Of course she knew what pain was. She’d had nothing but pain, and why would I want to contribute more to the ungodly amounts already weighing her down?

“Mom, I—”

The sharp chime of the doorbell cut me off.

Glancing to her right, my mother pursed her lips. “It’s too early for—”

“D! ANSWER THIS MOTHERFUCKING DOOR!”

At the sound of Jase’s voice, my mother turned an unhealthy shade of pale.

The doorbell chimed again, one, two, three times. This was followed by a demanding series of what sounded like someone trying to beat a door down with their fists.

I closed my eyes. Without fail, Jase loved making my visits home even more miserable.

“DOROTHY!”

“He sounds drunk again,” she whispered, staring down the hallway, her expression one of sheer terror. “Last time he showed up here drunk, he tried to kiss me.”

WHAT? Oh, hell no.

“Go in the back,” I said firmly, quickly crossing the kitchen, grabbing her car keys off the counter as I passed by her. “I’ll get rid of him.”

“Tegen!” she cried, grabbing my arm. “You know he gets violent when he drinks!”

“Fuck that,” I said, shaking her off. “He’s gonna get a foot to the dick if he tries anything.”

Shoving her car keys in the front pocket of my jeans, I grabbed the doorknob and waited for it. The second Jase started pounding again, I quickly flipped the lock and threw open the door. I ducked Jase’s fist and went barreling into his midsection. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, grabbing for the railing before he went tumbling down the stairs.

“Lock this!” I shouted as I turned to pull the front door closed.

“D!” Jase yelled, having pulled himself back to standing and lunging for the door. I jumped in front of him and grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Stop!” I yelled. “Stop it right now!”

Jase blinked down at me through bloodshot brown eyes ringed in dark circles.

“Tegen?”

Duh.

“Yes, Jason,” I bit out. “Now, turn your drunk ass around and let’s get in the car.”

“What?” He blinked again, looking confused.

“The car!” I yelled, pointing to my mother’s four-door sedan in the driveway. “Get in the damn car! I’m taking you home!”

“I need to see D first,” he slurred, slapping at my arm, trying to pull free.

“Jason!” I screamed. “You will either get in the car or I will go inside, get a baseball bat, and use it to beat the shit out of your motherfucking Harley!”

“Tegen,” he said hoarsely, and his eyes began to fill. “Please, please let me see her.”

Shit.

It was one thing to see a grown man cry, but it was another thing to watch a six-foot-plus, two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man covered head to toe in leather break down in front of you.

Still holding his shirt, with my free hand I reached up and slapped him across the face.

“How many bikers am I going to have to slap this weekend?” I yelled. “Get your shit together! Do you really think she wants to see you like this? No! She doesn’t. You look like fucking shit, you smell like fucking shit, and you’re a babbling, crying mess! Nobody wants to see you like this! Now, get in the car before I call Deuce and he makes you sit in the corner for acting like a douchebag!”

Jase’s mouth flattened. “Don’t call him.”

“I will,” I said, releasing him with a small shove. “If you don’t walk your ass off this porch and get IN THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!”

Jase lost his balance and his boot slid backward off the top step. Any other time, under any other circumstances, I would have found humor in watching Jase fall off a three-step porch and land on his ass. But this was just sad.

“I’m fine,” he said, struggling to get to his feet.

“Great,” I muttered, grabbing his arm. “I can rest easy tonight.”

Once I had him buckled into the passenger seat, I glanced back at the condo and found my mother standing at the window, staring at Jase, tears streaming down her cheeks.

What a fucking mess.

• • •

“Where the fuck is the Patrón?” Cage demanded from behind the bar.

Cox, who was seated opposite him, jerked his thumb over at Blue. “Wake the fuck up, you old drunk!” he yelled. “You’re sleepin’ on top of the Patrón!”

Blue cracked an eyelid and gave Cox a toothless grin. “Get outta my face, ya fuckin’ crazy little spic,” he slurred. “This baby’s mine.” Then the old bastard fell promptly back to sleep.

Cage remembered his father saying once, a long time ago, that Blue had been around seventy-five, but that he wasn’t really sure and could very well have been eighty-five or ninety-five, for all he knew. Which, if that were true, Blue could be well over a hundred now and looked it. Still drank like a damn fish, though.

“Fuck,” Cage muttered as he headed back around the bar and took a seat on the stool beside Cox. Pulling a pack of smokes out of his cut, he shook several out and offered one to Cox.

Accepting, the man nodded his thanks and lit it up.

“So, you gonna spill?” Cox asked after blowing out a ring of smoke.

Cage glanced at him. “Spill what?”

“Brother, you took off gunnin’ after the hippie bitch last night and ain’t never came back. I ain’t stupid, so fuckin’ spill. I ain’t gotten ass in almost two months. Gotta live vicariously through my brothers.”

Cage made a face. “You and Kami? Fuckin’ seriously, dude? Since when aren’t you two maulin’ each other like pit bulls in heat?”

“She wants another kid,” Cox muttered and Cage raised his eyebrows.

What was with all these old fuckers wanting more kids lately? Eva and Kami were nearing forty. But seeing as Eva was pregnant, it made sense that Kami would want to be pregnant too. Whatever those two did, they always did it together.

“I got three damn kids already,” Cox continued, “and I ain’t wantin’ no more. So she cut me off. Says I ain’t gettin’ pussy until I agree to shoot her up. And my little dudes ain’t gettin’ near that hungry-ass pussy of hers, not until she stops actin’ crazy. So, motherfuckin’ spill.”

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Cage stubbed out his smoke on the counter ashtray. “I fucked her. The end.”

Cox gaped at him. “The fuckin’ end? Seriously, brother? No fuckin’ details?”

Cage glared at him. “What the fuck kinda details you lookin’ for? Dude, you’re old enough to be her fuckin’ dad, you’ve been knowin’ her since she was just a little kid, and you really want to be hearin’ about her pussy?”

Cox stared at him, unfazed.

“This is Tegen we’re talkin’ about,” Cage continued, starting to feel his temper rise. “Tegen? D’s little girl? Am I hittin’ a nerve yet, fucker?”

Cox lifted his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I get what you’re sayin’, brother, but look at it from my point of view. True, I watched that crazy-haired, shit-talkin’ little fucker grow up, then she took off for college and when she showed back up, she looked nothin’ like she used to. So from where I’m standin’, that ain’t Tegen, not our Tegen, that’s a hot piece of ass.”

Cage’s already rising temper flared to life and his arm shot out. Gripping Cox’s shirt collar, he pulled them nose to nose. “My hot piece of ass,” he growled. “Which you do not fuckin’ talk about.”

Cage froze. What?

What the fuck?

Why the fuck…

Where in motherfucking-shit-fucking-hell-fucking bullshit had that come from?

Cox started laughing and Cage abruptly released him.

Forget that he’d called her “his,” he’d actually gotten upset to the point he’d just nearly knocked Cox out for talking about her like she was a club whore when in reality she’d treated him like the whore.

Suddenly, Cage was feeling things he wasn’t used to feeling. He was pissed, yeah. He felt kind of slighted too, and most definitely annoyed. But…

Disappointment. Yeah, when it came to women that was a new one.

Inadequacy. Fuck him. Had he been horrible? Had she not been as into him as he’d been to her?

And…jealousy.

Did she have someone else in Cali? Had she taken off because she’d felt guilty?

Suddenly he was hoping like hell she had someone back home. Because that meant it hadn’t been him that ran her off and…

FUCK.

No, no, he was getting pissed off again thinking about her going home to…who? Her boyfriend? He wracked his brain, trying to think if he’d heard Eva or Danny mention a boyfriend and, shit, he didn’t know, he didn’t pay attention to that shit.

The sound of Cox’s hysterical laughter brought him up short.

“Dude,” Cox choked out, clutching his stomach. “Ripper said once you were hard up for that little shit and I didn’t fuckin’ believe him, but holy Mary, Mother of God, you are! Straight up! You should see the look on your face!”

Cage was considering knocking him out when out of nowhere a hand slammed down on the counter between them and they both glanced up to find Deuce glaring down at them.

“That little shit you’re talkin’ about,” Deuce growled, “is at the fuckin’ gate.”

Both Cage and Cox glanced over at the security monitor and sure enough, there was Tegen’s angry face on the screen. It was obvious she was yelling but since the sound button wasn’t being pressed, nobody could hear what she was saying.

“Jase is with her,” Deuce continued, pointing. He sure was. Slumped face forward into the dashboard and all.

“I ain’t gettin’ him,” Cox said. “That motherfucker is heavy.”

“What fuckin’ good are you,” Deuce demanded. “You sit around, drink my fuckin’ booze, eat my fuckin’ food, you’re always talkin’ about Kami this and Kami that, and makin’ my fuckin’ head hurt.”

Cage didn’t hear the rest, he was already out the front door, headed for the gate.

The moment she saw him, Tegen jumped out of Dorothy’s car. “Get this motherfucker out of my mom’s car!” she screamed. “He’s already puked twice and I can’t be certain but he might have shit himself too!”

“Calm the fuck down!” he shouted back as he punched in the sequence of numbers that would open the gate.

“Calm the fuck down?” Tegen shrieked. Cage winced. Jesus fucking Christ, this bitch needed to be strangled.

“He shows up drunk, scaring the crap out of my mom and making her cry, and now he’s puked and possibly shit all over her car, and you want me to calm the fuck down?”

Nostrils flaring, Cage stormed through the open gate and right up into her face.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” he growled. “Ever?”

Tegen closed the remaining inch between them. “Only when I’m taking it up the ass,” she hissed.

He was so used to Tegen’s dirty mouth that he’d thought nothing she said could faze him, but he’d been wrong. That statement caught him so far off guard, he nearly fell over. It also made his cock twitch. And a little pissed off. And, why the fuck did she smell so good? Like soap and…breakfast. Damn. He was seriously hungry. For both food and pussy. Her pussy.

“You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” he asked, pressing into her. As she started to back up, he palmed her back and pulled her flush against him, immediately grabbing hold of her ass and pressing his quickly growing erection into her stomach. The change in her was instantaneous; her eyes widened, her lips parted, and Cage found himself thinking back to last night, when he’d grabbed her in the foyer and then again outside. How every time he would physically touch her, she’d quiet the fuck down and soften, not just verbally but physically.

And suddenly a lot of shit made sense. The way she treated him, always screaming and yelling and spouting off her hard-ass bullshit, always keeping her distance, refusing to be in the same room as him, it could only mean one thing.

Teacup still loved him.

He smiled down at her, watching her drink him in, watching her pupils dilate, and feeling her body relax even further.

“Why are you smiling?” she whispered.

Ha. No fucking way was he that stupid. If he so much as mentioned the L-word to Tegen, he’d have a knee in his groin and a fist in his eye faster than a hooker gave out herpes.

“Stay,” he said, running his hands up and down her body. “Come inside. Back to my room.”

He knew the very moment he’d fucked up. Again. As soon as “my room” had fallen from his mouth, Tegen’s body had gone stiff.

“Let go of me,” she muttered, pushing on his chest.

He didn’t release her. “Don’t start this shit.”

“Fuck you!” she cried, glaring up at him. “I’m not one of your whores!”

“No?” he yelled as she struggled to get free of him but he only tightened his grip. “Then what the fuck are you?”

“To you?” she yelled back. “To you, I’m nothing!”

Cursing, Cage released Tegen and she immediately spun away from him.

“Goddammit, Tegen!” he shouted, running his hands through his hair, hating how crazy she was and worse, how crazy she made him feel. “When are you gonna let that shit go? I was nineteen! I was nine-fuckin’-teen! I don’t even remember it!”

Glittering with rage, Tegen’s eyes went saucer-wide. “You really fucking suck, West!” she spat. “You’re a waste of big dick and a pretty face!”

Cage’s mouth fell open.

What. The. Fuck.

He. Was. Going. To. Kill. Her.

Nostrils flaring, he took a rage-filled, deliberate step in her direction when, “What the motherfuck,” a familiar voice growled. Cage glanced to his left and found his father standing on the opposite side of the car, peering down at Jase and grimacing.

“Wat up, little lovers,” Cox drawled, walking up beside Cage. The asshole glanced between him and Tegen, and grinned.

“You gonna stick around, Tegen?” Cox asked, looking her up and down, his smile full of dirty fucking thoughts, blatantly checking her out, making Cage want to grab the fucker and start ripping all his piercings out. Slowly.

Even so, he couldn’t blame the guy. She looked hot as fuck.

She was wearing a man’s white ribbed beater, the bottom torn off, showing her tattooed midriff, no bra, her nipple piercings showing through the thin material, and shredded bell bottom blue jeans, two sizes too big for her, hung low on her hips. Her dreads had been swept to the side in a long braid that hung over one shoulder and tied together with a beaded strand of hemp.

And she was barefoot, her toes covered in toe rings, which, for some reason, turned him on something fierce.

“Are you serious?” Tegen asked, gaping at Cox. “Because I’d rather grow a dick out of my forehead.”

Cox shrugged. “You want a dick on your forehead, I’m sure little West is up for the job, seein’ as whatever the fuck you did to him with that patchouli-smellin’ pussy of yours has got him all sorts of worked up, calling you his girl and threatenin’ me and shit.”

Tegen’s eyes grew wide and, suddenly embarrassed, Cage cursed.

“Fuck off, old man,” Cage growled, shoving at the crazy Puerto Rican.

Cox shoved him back. “Old man?” Cox shouted, sounding offended. “Old fuckin’ man?”

“Cox!” Deuce shouted. “Make yourself fuckin’ useful for a change and help me get this drunken shit outta D’s car. Cage! Go find me a fuckin’ prospect and have them clean this up for Tegen!”

Embarrassed, pissed off, and horny, Cage stomped off across the tarmac, muttering curses and mentally berating himself for how he’d reacted earlier. But there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

Inside the clubhouse, he grabbed the first asshole he saw, Anger, a relatively new brother. He wasn’t a prospect but he was close enough. “Prez needs you out front,” he growled, shoving the guy in the direction of the front door.

The half-Native American turned his hard, angry, dark eyes on him, glaring, and Cage glared right back. Anger might have been aptly nicknamed due to his volatile temper, but Cage wasn’t scared of him. Quite the opposite. He thought the idiot was rather comical when he was off in a fit of anger.

“What?” Cage demanded, lifting his chin, silently begging the brother to start some shit with him. He would do well to release some of this pent-up…

Aggression? Sexual frustration? Or, how about Aggressive Sexual Tegen Frustration. Yep, he had a bad case of ASTF.

“Nothin’,” Anger mumbled. Cage stared after him, watching as he yanked open the front door.

“Watch it, fucker!”

Anger reared backward as Tegen got up in his face.

“Fuckin’ bitches,” Anger muttered, sidestepping her and heading outside.

“Fucking bikers,” Tegen muttered, glaring over her shoulder at Anger’s retreating figure.

From across the room, Cage took it all in, the too-big arm holes of her tank, baring the sides of her small breasts, her long, sleek body, the small curve of her ass.

All those damn tattoos.

Hell, even her dirty feet were making him crazy.

Goddamn, he had to fuck her again. She damn sure wasn’t going to go to his room, so what did that leave him with? His house? She hadn’t had a problem letting him dick-dive at his place.

Now he just had to figure out how to get her there.

“Tegen,” he called out. “Jase’s ride at D’s?”

“Yeah,” she said warily.

Perfect.

“Once they get the car clean, you give me a ride over?”

Her eyes narrowed; she knew what he was doing, but like he gave two fucks. She liked to play fucking games, he’d play them right the fuck back.

“Yes or no?” he asked when she still hadn’t answered him.

Her teeth clenched. “Fine,” she hissed. “But keep your dick to yourself.”

His teeth clenched.

The second he had her begging him for it, he was going to zip up his fucking pants and walk away laughing.

“Not a fuckin’ problem,” he shot back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Screaming, Ellie bolted upright, her arms swinging out in front of her, her legs kicking furiously. It took her a moment to realize there was no immediate threat, that she was, in fact, still on Dirty’s couch, covered with an old black comforter, wearing the same sweats and tee she’d fallen asleep in.

It took her another second to realize that it hadn’t been her screaming but…Dirty?

Without thinking, just panicking, she scrambled out of bed, tripping over the entanglement of covers as she tried to run from the living room to the hallway, toward Dirty’s bedroom where those god-awful sounds of agony were coming from.

Grabbing the doorknob, she threw open the door and rushed inside and…froze.

Dirty was naked, curled up on his side, gripping his shredded pillow with one hand and the other was…

Oh my God.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks while he periodically cried out in loud gasping sobs.

“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse and strained, sounding more like a little boy than a grown man. “Please don’t hurt me…please…please, Mommy.”

Mommy?

But he’d seen her, his eyes had opened and zeroed in on her, and now he was sitting up in bed, looking straight at her.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he seethed. “You disgustin’ fuckin’ bitch!”

In a flash, he was out of bed and grabbing the gun on his nightstand. Ellie cried out as she spun around, her mind spinning. Where did she go? Right? Back into the living room or left, out his door and down the stairs and into the street? She didn’t know, all she knew was she had to get away from him. In the midst of her panic she made a split-second decision to turn left, deciding to take her chances with the street.

She had her hand nearly on the doorknob when she was slammed into from behind and thrown face first up against the door. The impact caused her surfacing scream to lodge in her throat.

“I dream about hurtin’ you,” he growled, pressing his face into her hair. “Hurtin’ you the way you did me. Doin’ all that dirty shit you did, not carin’ that I was screamin’, beggin’ you to stop.”

Ellie’s breath caught. He was still dreaming or…he was caught up in whatever he’d been dreaming about, hadn’t yet realized he’d woken, or was too entangled in the memories of his pain.

That’s when she felt it, the protruding hardness pressing painfully against her backside and the cool metal of the gun barrel being jammed against the side of her neck.

“I want you to scream for me,” he hissed. “The way you used to make me scream for you.”

Oh God, oh God, he was going to rape her. This couldn’t be happening; how could this be happening to her?

“N-n-no,” she choked out. “D-d-dirty, please, you’re dreaming.”

Her sweatpants were wrenched down and—

She found her voice and screamed at the top of her lungs, desperately trying to turn her body, no longer caring that there was a gun pressed to her throat, only caring that she was seconds away from being nearly raped again and she was not going to let that happen. At the very least, she was going to do everything she could to not let that happen.

The next thing she knew Dirty’s weight was gone and she spun around to find he’d backed several feet away from her. He was shaking violently, his eyes wide, focused solely on the gun in his hands.

Trembling, she reached behind her, trying to find the doorknob, when he glanced up and caught her gaze. She froze, waiting for it, waiting for him to come at her again but he did nothing, said nothing, just stood there looking horrified and terrified and pained and sad and, oh God, so utterly broken.

The gun fell from his hands and dropped to the floor with a loud thud. Ellie used that moment to pull up her pants, yank open the door, and burst into the hallway. She was only five steps into her mad dash to safety when she heard a slapping thud and a superseding grunt of pain. She faltered, paused, and then decided to continue when she heard another noise, this one worse than before, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning.

Dirty had fallen to his knees, his gun in his hand, the barrel pressed up against the bottom of his chin while he slammed his face forward and into the wall. Ellie winced as the meaty thud radiated out of the apartment and into the hall. Blood ran down the side of his face and yet he didn’t let up; he continued to smash his face into the wall over and over again.

Ellie’s skin began to crawl as nausea settled low in her gut. It made sense now; Dirty made sense. Dirty wasn’t the biker pig she’d remembered him to be; in fact, she was pretty sure he wasn’t a pig at all, but instead a damaged, deranged shell of a man more than likely with a past worthy of a Lifetime movie. She’d taken enough psychology classes and had interned at women and children’s shelters to know a history of abuse when she saw it.

Please don’t hurt me…please…please, Mommy.

He’d been crying out in pain yet simultaneously jerking off, screaming and begging for whatever demons his memory was forcing him to relive, to stop…

Bile rose in her throat. Her vision grew fuzzy and her body heavy.

“Oh God,” she breathed, reaching out for the wall, suddenly no longer able to bear her own weight.

His mother. His mother had hurt him. His own…mother.

Her vision swimming with unshed tears, she backtracked her steps into the apartment and shut the door softly behind her.

Blood dripping down his face, he warily watched her approach him, his body suddenly rigid. She made sure to keep her distance for both his sake and her own, and took a seat several feet away from him but still close enough that she was able to extend her arm and offer him her hand.

He stared at her hand, unblinking, unmoving, until eventually the hand holding the gun to his jaw slowly lowered.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice strained.

Ellie immediately retracted her hand and placed it in her lap. Dirty turned away from her, but not before she saw the tears that had slipped from his eyes, joining and blending with the rivulets of blood still streaming down his cheeks. Her eyes traveled from his face to his bare chest where she couldn’t help but stare, horrified by what she found. And then lower, to his groin and his thighs and, oh my God, he was covered, literally covered in scars.

He’d been burned repeatedly. There were small circular burns as well as larger rectangular ones scattered in between long thin slashes, all spaced evenly apart, some running diagonal, some horizontal, all apparently methodically administered.

Releasing a deep breath, she let her head fall back against the wall.

It was so pitiful and yet rage-inducing. How could anyone hurt an innocent child? How could a mother hurt her child?

She didn’t feel safe by any means, but as strange as it was, she felt safer with Dirty than she did knowing that, if she were anywhere else, Daniel could get to her.

Was that weird?

Maybe. But she was too damn exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to really give a damn.

• • •

“You need stitches,” Ellie said, both looking and sounding irritated.

From his seat on the windowsill, Dirty turned to glare at her. “I’m fine,” he muttered and took another drag off his cigarette. He didn’t have a clue why she’d hadn’t continued her screaming run for safety but had instead come back inside and taken a seat beside him, had even gone so far as to offer him comfort.

What the fuck?

He’d been seconds away from raping and killing her and she’d offered him comfort?

Jesus, God only fucking knew what she’d heard come out of his mouth during his nightmare. He could only imagine.

Fuck, he hadn’t had a nightmare in so fucking long. Years. It was all this shit with Ellie, seeing her being attacked, her touching him, seeing her naked.

Then watching her cry while she asked to stay with him. With him? No one needed him. No one had ever once, not fucking once, needed him for anything. But she’d needed him.

And then, hearing her laugh, watching her laugh, knowing that he had made her laugh despite what she was going through, the fear, the unknown. He, a fucking worthless, piece-of-shit scumbag, had made her laugh.

He was so incredibly fucked-up. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, veering off in directions he wasn’t familiar with, new territory, dark and confusing roads lined with guilt and a new sort of pain, one he wasn’t handling well, one he didn’t know what to do with or how to push away or relieve it, because, fuck, nothing was working.

Fucking the whore hadn’t worked, jerking off thinking of Ellie hadn’t worked, no, nothing had worked. He was still thinking about Ellie, about her body, about her laughter, and he was feeling guilty, guilty about the way he’d been handling his thoughts, guilty for the way he’d been living his life because, FUCK, who was he to save a girl from the same fate he’d handed to too many women to count. WHO THE MOTHERFUCK WAS HE?

He was nothing. He was shit. He was a damaged, deranged, sick motherfucker who deserved to be put the fuck down. He shouldn’t have lived for as long as he had; he didn’t deserve to share the same earth with people like Ellie, people who laughed over burnt popcorn even after they’d been stripped of their dignity.

And at the same time, he hated her for all of it. For making these fucking emotions surface, slap him in the face and fuck up everything he’d worked so hard to repress the best he could.

No, it wasn’t a life he’d recommend to anyone, but it was how he’d survived this long and now…

After snapping the fuck out of it, realizing he’d been about to rape her, probably kill her, he knew he didn’t deserve another second of air. Because if she knew, if she fucking knew the man she’d tried to comfort, even after what he’d done to her, that he was no better than the man he’d saved her from, she’d run away screaming and she wouldn’t come back. She wouldn’t laugh over burnt popcorn, she wouldn’t care that he had a giant gash on his forehead, she wouldn’t give two fucks if he lived or died.

WHY THE FUCK DID HE CARE IF SHE CARED?

If he had one iota of intelligence, he would get Ellie the fuck out of his apartment before she fucked him up even more and he ended up doing something he absolutely did not want to do to her, because he needed a fucking place to put all the bullshit she was stirring up inside him.

“Dirty,” Ellie said. “You are bleeding all over the place. If you won’t go to the hospital, at least let me help you stop the bleeding.”

He glanced up from his smoke and found her standing way too close to him.

“Back up,” he growled. “Back the fuck up right now.”

He watched, stunned, as fear momentarily twisted her features, but was immediately replaced by determination.

“Dirty,” she said quietly. “I just want to help you.”

He nearly choked on his own tongue. Help him? Now that was motherfucking priceless. No one could help him. And he was starting to feel like he could no longer help himself.

“You need to wash your face,” she continued. “You’re…um…you need to…clean the area around the wound.”

“I’m dirty,” he said flatly. “You can say it. It ain’t as if I don’t know.”

Her big blue eyes softened. “You’re dirty,” she said softly. “And you’re hurt, meaning you can get an infection.”

He stared at her, at her long, tight black curls, her caramel skin, bruised but still smooth and clear, her big blue eyes ringed with heavy dark lashes, her full lips.

She was so different than what he was used to. She was like his brothers’ old ladies—clean, good women. Women who should never be left alone with a man like him; a man who could, who most likely would, hurt them.

He continued to stare at her, and then suddenly he found himself thinking about fucking her, her thighs spread wide open, watching himself disappear inside of her, watching her belly quiver and her breasts bounce with the force of his movements, and then lastly, looking up into those big blue eyes.

His stomach rolled and acid shot up into his throat.

“Move,” he gritted out, sliding off the windowsill, forcing Ellie to back up or get run over by him.

“Dirty,” she called after him. “You really need to clean your—”

“I’m gonna take a fuckin’ shower!” he yelled as he rounded the corner, hurried down the hall, and all but fell inside the bathroom in his mad dash to escape the fucking nagging. Is this how women were? He wouldn’t know; he hadn’t lived with a woman, hadn’t truly been alone with a woman since he’d been a child.

He needed away from her, away from all of it, from everything she represented, but most of all he needed away from those…those goddamn motherfucking eyes of hers.

Gripping the sides of the sink, Dirty bent down and, in an attempt not to throw up, tried to slow his breathing. Once his heart rate had slowed, he lifted his head and found himself staring back at him. He gingerly touched the wound on his forehead.

Fuck. She was right. He probably did need stitches. Fuck it, he’d sew it up himself; he’d done it before.

But first he was going to have to wash the dried blood from his face. Actually, since he’d been naked, he was covered from head to toe in dried blood. He might not be a big fan of hygiene but that didn’t mean he wanted to walk around looking like he’d just stepped off the set of a B-rated horror film.

He glanced over at the shower and then back at himself. Fuck it, it was just a shower. He took Mexican showers all the time. Water, some soap, get all the important areas.

But when he turned on the water and stepped inside the tub, why did it feel like it was so much more than just a shower?

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Get off me,” I said, breathing hard and pushing without success against Cage’s chest. Fuck, was he made of concrete? What the hell?

“No,” he growled and when I turned away from his kiss, he took a nose dive into the crook of my neck. Before I could protest further, his tongue shot out and then suddenly he was licking and sucking and biting and then his hand was sliding down the side of my body and he was maneuvering himself slightly off of me and his hand was between my legs and his fingers were up inside of me and then I was too busy feeling like I was queen of the fucking universe to care that his sweaty self was lying heavily on top of me or that my back was having serious doubts as to whether it could take another pounding on the uneven wood plank floor. As it was, I was pretty sure my ass had some pretty serious friction burns, but like every other coherent thought in my head, it was quickly flying off to never-never land, never to be heard from again.

Nothing had gone according to plan. At least, not by my plan.

First, Jase, the dumbass, had puked all over my mom’s car, then proceeded to pass out, leaving me unable to get him out of the car and into his house, forcing me to have to take him to the club instead. The club where, as my luck would have it, Cage just so happened to be.

And damn if that man didn’t look as good as a double bacon cheeseburger, after a week spent camping with my vegan friends.

Fuck my life.

Fuck it up, down, left, and right, fuck it straight to heaven and back down to hell, and then fuck it up the damn ass with Satan’s red-hot spiked tail.

The asshole was playing me. For some reason, maybe he wasn’t getting enough pussy lately, Cage had decided he liked fucking me so much since last night that he’d done everything in his power to get me back to his house just so he could fuck me some more.

Not that I was complaining, at least not at the moment. Earlier though, once I realized why he’d demanded on driving the car, that he had absolutely no intention of taking me back to my mother’s place, I complained quite a bit.

And once I realized that he’d taken me from the club back to his house, I complained even more. Yelled and screamed too. Called him all sorts of colorful names. I may have even tried to punch him a few times. But all of that had come quickly to an end when he dragged me, kicking and screaming, from the car and forcefully took me inside his house.

The next thing I knew, we were naked. At least we used a condom this time. Thank fuck.

Oh God. Oh my God. That felt so damn good.

Everything he did—kissing me, touching me, fucking me hard or slow—it didn’t matter. It all felt so perfect.

But now, even as I was grinding myself against his hand, fucking his fingers as fast as my spent body could manage, I was back to yelling and screaming.

Only this time, only I could hear it.

I was silently screaming, berating, and hating myself for being so incredibly weak. All those years spent avoiding Cage, all those years spent avoiding my feelings, all those goddamn motherfucking years.

And here I was again. Being played like a fucking puppet.

It was if I’d never left Montana, never made a life for myself somewhere so far removed from the life. Like no time had passed since I was a sixteen-year-old loser staring up at Cage, thinking he was my whole fucking world, telling him I loved him while he stared at me and said, “It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

No. No. No. Goddamn, no!

How did this happen? How had one weekend turned my entire life inside out?

“No,” I whispered, pushing at the side of Cage’s head, trying to dislodge him from my neck.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” he said, lifting his head. “For two motherfuckin’ seconds?”

“Get off me,” I demanded, pushing at his hard stomach.

“Teg—”

“Off,” I repeated tightly, clenching my jaw, trying desperately to build that wall back up. “You’re even dumber than I thought if you think I’m going to keep letting you treat me like a fucking club whore.”

Cage’s confusion evaporated, turned instantly back to anger. His features pulled tight with irritation, his nostrils flaring.

“Fuck you, Tegen,” he growled. “You were right there with me, babe. You’re lyin’ to yourself if you’re thinkin’ you’re not wantin’ more.”

I glared at him. Sex. Sex, sex, sex. That’s all he was about; all he’d ever be about.

“No, I was not!” I snapped. “Now, get the FUCK off me!”

“FINE!” he roared, and then his weight was gone and he was on his feet.

The second he was off me, I rolled to my left and jumped to my feet. Snatching up my clothing, I quickly began to dress.

“Tegen.”

I didn’t turn around. “What?”

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly. “Don’t keep leavin’ like this. I can’t fuckin’ stand it.”

My heart began to pound.

“Why do you care?” I whispered. “You don’t even know me anymore.”

When he didn’t respond, my heart nearly seized. I hadn’t realized until the actual words had come from my mouth, how badly I wished they weren’t true.

“I know you,” he said. “Did you think I forgot all those damn tea parties? Or you forcing me to listen to all your stories, all those crazy ideas you told me you were goin’ to turn into books someday?”

My heartbeat took a hard right into overdrive. He remembered my stories?

“But now,” he continued. “Every time you come home, you treat me like shit on your fuckin’ shoe and, babe, I can’t fuckin’ stand it. Now, this shit with us happens, and even though you and my dad love callin’ me stupid, I ain’t fuckin stupid. I know when a bitch is gettin’ her rocks off and you were doin’ triple that.”

I spun on him. “No one ever said you were stupid when it came to sex, Cage! You excel at sex! Every female on the planet knows that!”

“Teacup,” he said slowly, staring straight into my eyes. “You gotta know how straight-up jealous you sound.”

It was a double whammy straight to my heart. In one short sentence, he’d shattered my carefully constructed glass house. Oooh, I hated him, or rather, I wanted to hate him. Standing there naked, his long blond hair a mess, his perfectly sculpted features serious, knowing how beautiful he was without one iota of self-consciousness, I wanted to despise him…only I couldn’t.

“I get it, babe, I do,” he continued. “You were just a kid and I did you wrong, but you’re forgettin’ I was a kid too. I was a brand new brother, only a year patched in, and I had bitches throwin’ themselves at me left and fuckin’ right, and, Tegen, you know I was drunk more often than not.”

He sighed. “It’s no excuse either, it’s just the God’s honest truth, but that didn’t mean I didn’t give a fuck about you. Or what went down between us. I gave a fuck, babe, I just didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

Cage paused and bent down to grab his leathers. After slipping them on, he began digging through his pockets. Pulling out a pack of smokes and his lighter, he shook two out, lit them both and held one out for me. I hesitated at first, but in the end realized I wasn’t going anywhere unless either Cage felt like letting me leave or I felt like walking through the Montana wilderness for hours. So I took the damn cigarette and when I did, Cage grinned.

His dimples popped out and it was a trillion times worse.

So. Not. Fair.

“You were never a club slut, Tegen,” he said. “Not once did I ever fuckin’ think that. To me, you were always D’s little girl. You were family and, Teacup, you were my best friend.”

My breath shuddered from my lungs. I was done for. There was no way I was walking away from this weekend intact.

Blindly, I reached out behind me, seeking one of the chairs I knew was back there at his table. At any second I was going to collapse.

Cage had just ruined me for the third time in my life. In the span of a day, he’d ruined me. Again.

The first time had been the day I met him; the second time was the morning after he’d taken my virginity and told me he didn’t love me; and right here, right now, was the third time.

• • •

Cage was getting to her; he could see it on her face. It was the single most vulnerable expression he’d seen on Tegen’s face in the past ten years. And he liked it. She looked softer, more feminine. She looked like his Teacup.

So he kept going. He fired one memory after another her way until he was no longer remembering for her, but for him, or rather he was realizing something that had never really made much sense to him in the past.

Then it wasn’t just Tegen’s feelings for him coinciding with all her bad behavior over the years making sense, but it was his reactions to her as well. Why he’d felt so damn miserable every time she’d come home and treat him like garbage.

“Cage!” Tegen shrieked, hot on his heels. “Give it back!”

Laughing, he kept running through the clubhouse, Tegen’s purple backpack held high over his head. He made a quick left out of the main room and hooked an immediate right through the double swinging doors into the kitchen. The four occupants of the kitchen all turned to stare at him.

“Asshole!” Tegen screamed from behind him. “Give it back!”

“Language!” Dorothy chastised.

Still holding her backpack over his head, Cage grinned down at her. “Aw, Teacup, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t call me that!” she yelled, jumping up and down, trying to reach her bag. “I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“No?” He laughed. “You finally grow outta that trainin’ bra?”

“Cage!” Dorothy snapped. “Inappropriate!”

Tegen’s pale, freckled face turned bright red with rage, an expression Cage knew well. She was ten seconds from slugging him in the balls so he faked left and then went right, darting around Tegen, and headed right back into the hallway.

From back inside the kitchen, he heard Tegen scream. Grinning, he kept running.

“You’ll never catch me, Teacup!” he yelled over his shoulder.

And yeah, he’d been wanting to fuck her for a handful of years now. But still, he missed his friend.

Cage’s thoughts swam. He vehemently didn’t want her to leave with a chip on her shoulder this time. He wanted her to spend the weekend with him and he damn sure wanted back inside of her.

“This is infinitely unfair,” Tegen whispered, trailing off as she stared up at him with those seriously sexy eyes of hers. Glancing down, she stubbed her cigarette out on the table ashtray and gestured with her hand for another.

He tossed her the pack and watched as she placed a fresh cigarette between her trembling lips and, with shaking hands, lit it up.

“What’s unfair?” he asked.

Snorting, she shook her head. “You,” she said. “You are un-fucking-fair.”

Cage watched her take another drag off her smoke, ash it, take another drag.

Crossing the kitchen, he took the seat opposite her, reached across the table, and slid the cigarette out from between her fingers. Tegen watched him bring it up to his mouth and take a drag. Handing it back, he smiled at her.

“Spend the weekend with me,” he said quietly. “You say I don’t know you anymore, then spend the fuckin’ weekend with me, Teacup, and show me who the fuck you are now.”

Staring at him, she shook her head. “Why?” she whispered. “Why does it even matter to you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “It just does.”

“I can’t just leave my mom all alone,” she said, but judging by the look on her face she’d already made her decision.

“Then let’s go pick her up,” he suggested. “And we’ll go out for lunch.”

Tegen’s mouth dropped open. “What? Like on a fucking date or something?”

Uh. Cage thought about that for a split second. Was this like a date? He wouldn’t know; he’d never been on a date. He wasn’t sure whether showing up for someone’s lunch break to get a blow job counted or not.

Whatever.

He shrugged. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dirty stared at his reflection in the mirror. Stared and stared and stared. He didn’t even recognize himself. Without his full beard or his hair, he looked…

Well, he didn’t look anything like he’d thought he’d look. He’d expected to see the teenage boy he’d been. The face his foster mother had loved, the face she’d made sure to never harm even when his body had been fair game. The face she’d called beautiful. Angelic.

That face was gone. He blew out a breath of relief.

Time hadn’t been kind to him. He may have taken a good ten years off his looks by shaving his head and his face, but it did nothing to hide the lines around his eyes and mouth or the tired look in his eyes.

He wasn’t ugly. But he was no longer beautiful. In fact, he liked what he saw. He was just…him. A man.

Hearing his cell phone ringing in the other room, Dirty hurriedly slipped into his leathers and exited the bathroom. He snatched the phone off his bed.

“Wat up, Prez?”

“We got a problem.”

So? They always had a problem.

“What?”

“One of the grunts heard over the police scanner that Ellie’s been reported as missin’. Had one of our contacts look into it and it turns out motherfuckin’ Mooresville wrote up a report sayin’ he’d seen Ellie at Hank’s place, and next thing he knew he found her fuckin’ purse in the alleyway by the bar. Then the fuckin’ asshole took it one step further, went to her parents’ place, told ’em she’d come back home, told ’em about her job interview, told ’em everything.”

Dirty’s jaw locked. “What’s his game? Why the fuck would he want her found after what happened?”

“Fuck if I know,” Deuce said. “Only thing I could think of is he knows we got her. And he wants to use her as leverage or some shit tryin’ to milk us dry. Either that or he’s gonna come for her, take her out, and try to pin it on us.”

Fuck, he hated that fucker.

“What’s the plan?”

“You’re not gonna stand a chance if Mooresville decides to storm your place with his boys,” Deuce growled. “So cover her the fuck up, put her on the back of your bike, and get her fat ass to the club. We’re goin’ on lockdown. This motherfucker thinks he can fuck with my club, he’s about to get a heavy fuckin’ dose of motherfuckin’ reality.”

Deuce hung up.

Dirty frowned at his phone. Ellie’s ass wasn’t that fat. But he was less concerned with how Deuce felt about Ellie’s ass than he was about Ellie being on the back of his bike. Behind him. Where he couldn’t see her.

Worse. She’d be touching him. Not just touching him, her whole damn body would be pressed up against him. He’d never let anyone ride bitch before. He couldn’t stand it, the thought of not being able to control what was happening behind him; the thought of someone being able to restrain him, push him down, and do whatever they wanted to do to him.

“Dirty?”

Startled, he spun around and found Ellie standing in his bedroom doorway. Her eyes grew wide, giving her a bug-eyed appearance, and her lips parted.

“Dirty?” she repeated, sounding shocked.

He said nothing, just watched her take him in, his shaved head, his facial hair gone. He’d actually gone so far as to put on a clean white T-shirt. He’d figured if he were going to be clean, he might as well take that last step. His leathers, however, were still filthy and he had no immediate plans to rectify that.

“Oh my God,” Ellie breathed. “You look…you look…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Dirty didn’t like the way she was looking at him. At all.

“Your parents know,” he said tersely. “Moorseville’s lookin’ for you.” That seemed to snap her out of her stupor.

“Got no choice,” he continued. “You gotta go to the club. We’re goin’ on lockdown.”

“My mother,” she whispered. “She’s really sick; she needs to know I’m all right.”

Dirty held out his cell phone. “Call her,” he said. “Explain what happened, but you gotta make sure they ain’t gonna say shit to the cops. Shit’s about to go down between the Horsemen and the law, and you’re bein’ put in the middle.”

Ellie stared at him, probably trying to figure out what he meant by “shit’s about to go down,” but he wasn’t going to elaborate. She may be in the middle of this fucking mess, but that didn’t mean she had the right to know what the mess was.

Ellie took the phone from him and while she called her parents, he began rummaging through his closet looking for something for her to wear. When she was off the phone and wiping tears off her bruised cheeks, he handed her a pair of leathers, a belt, a white tee, and his old leather jacket.

“Put my helmet on before we leave the apartment,” he told her as he pointed to it, and left her to get ready.

A few minutes later Ellie emerged from his bedroom. The T-shirt was tight around her breasts and the leathers were formfitting.

She looked damn hot. But it was the jacket he couldn’t stop staring at.

Dirty couldn’t explain it, neither did he understand it, why seeing a woman wearing something of his, his very first leather jacket, the very first thing he’d bought for himself after Deuce had brought him back to Montana, made him feel like…

Like…

He swallowed hard.

Like a man. He felt like a goddamn man. It was the weirdest fucking feeling.

“Are you ready?” Ellie asked, sniffling as she wiped the back of her hand under her nose.

“Yeah,” he muttered, turning away. Suddenly he didn’t want to take her to the club. He didn’t want her around the boys; he wanted to keep her here. With him. Well, not with him, but near him, a room or two away, so every once in a while he could hear her laughing. Or something.

• • •

Ellie put the helmet over her head and followed Dirty outside to the sidewalk where his bike was parked. The street was busier than usual; it being a holiday weekend, the townspeople had all ventured into town so Ellie kept her head down and didn’t look around as she waited silently for Dirty to straddle his bike.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she heard Dirty mutter and her head jerked up. Following Dirty’s gaze to the other side of the street, to the front of Hank’s, she found Daniel along with two uniforms and Hank himself, all staring at the two of them. Her heart dropped.

“Flip up the lid on the helmet,” Dirty said under his breath. “He knows it’s you. We’re gonna have to play this shit out right fuckin’ here and now.”

Swallowing hard, with shaking hands Ellie removed the helmet, and Daniel’s hard, narrowed gaze shot straight to her.

“Don’t leave me alone with him,” she whispered frantically as Daniel and his two officers started for them. “Please, Dirty, please don’t let him take me anywhere.”

Dirty turned to her and she balked at the expression on his face. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. It was…it was…anger, determination, and most definitely a touch of crazy.

“I will kill him where he stands if he even tries,” Dirty said tightly through clenched teeth. Ellie gaped at Dirty. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he would in fact kill an officer of the law in broad daylight and in front of half the town, his expression was that terrifying.

“Ellie,” Daniel said, stopping on the opposite side of Dirty’s motorcycle. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Despite the raging anger and crippling fear she felt racing through her bloodstream, Ellie willed her shaking body to remain as still as possible. “Really?” she asked, her voice croaking.

Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Why?”

The corner of Daniel’s mouth lifted. “An officer found your purse behind Hank’s,” he said smoothly.

The more Ellie stared at Daniel, the sicker she began to feel until she had no choice but to place one of her sweaty, shaking hands over her stomach in a failed attempt to stop the rising nausea.

“She’s fine,” Dirty growled as he maneuvered himself partially in front of her. Like a shield, a protective wall, like…the man who’d saved her once and was ready to do it again. Even when facing down the law.

“She doesn’t look fine,” Daniel retorted. “In fact, she looks pretty beaten up.”

Ellie gaped at him. She couldn’t believe the nerve of this man, the audacity.

“How about you give her the purse back,” Dirty growled, “and we’ll be on our fuckin’ way.”

Daniel’s smirk turned grim as he focused on Dirty. “Her purse is at the station,” he replied tightly. “Evidence in what we thought was a missing person case.”

Dirty jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She ain’t missin’, Einstein.”

“Her parents think she is,” Daniel spat back, his hand going to the gun on his belt holster. The two officers standing on either side of him mirrored the action.

So did Dirty. He reached into his cut and—

“No, they don’t,” Ellie said, stepping out from behind Dirty. “I just spoke with them, told them I’d decided to hang with a friend for a few days, and that I’d be by soon. It was supposed to be a surprise.” She glared at Daniel, grateful her anger had taken a front seat to this horror show. “A surprise you fucking ruined.” Those last five words were said through her teeth, punctuated with as much venomous innuendo as she could muster.

“Speakin’ of friends,” Dirty said. “We gotta ride. Places to fuckin’ be.”

“Ellie,” Daniel said tightly, turning back to her.

It took every ounce of willpower not to shrink away, every ounce of sanity not to remember that awful mouth on her, biting her, groping her, tearing her clothing off of her, punching her, slapping her.

“You need to come down to the station with me so we can close the case.”

“Hell fuckin’ no,” Dirty said, leaning over his bike and into Daniel’s personal space. “You want someone to be comin’ to that station, it’s gonna be Deuce. And he’ll be comin’ real fuckin’ soon.”

Daniel’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. Was that fear Ellie glimpsed? Satisfaction roared through her. Daniel was afraid of Deuce. And suddenly she’d never been so happy before that she knew Deuce and the Horsemen.

Daniel waited several tense moments before answering. “Make sure he does,” he replied evenly.

After Daniel and his officers were out of sight, Dirty straddled his bike. Once he was seated, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get on,” he said tightly.

He didn’t want her on the back of his bike; that much was obvious. He definitely had issues with being touched, needing space, and even seemed to have problems with having full-length conversations.

But neither of them had much of a choice at the moment. She just hoped her touching him wouldn’t send him into another flashback or worse.

At first, she tried to get on behind him without touching him, but the last time she’d been on a motorcycle was the one and only time she’d slept with Cage. Years and years ago. Eventually she gave up trying and grabbed Dirty’s shoulder to steady herself as she swung her left leg over the seat and eased herself up.

Once she was seated, she tentatively slid her arms around Dirty’s waist and as she did, his back went ramrod straight. She froze with her hands on his waist, then whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She held her breath and waited for him to react, to get angry with her, to laugh at her even, but instead his body loosened and his shoulders bowed forward. Breathing out in relief, she continued her slow slide around his midsection until she was holding tightly to his lean waist.

“Lean with me,” Dirty said loudly over the roar of his Harley pipes.

“What?” she asked.

He turned his head to the side. “When I hit a corner, lean with me.”

She nodded, he faced forward, and they shot out into the street.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After tossing back the last of my drink, I set the glass down on the bar and turned to glare at Cage. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming here,” I muttered.

Cage smirked before he took a swig of his beer. “Who the fuck was talkin’?” he asked. “All I remember was a lot of fuckin’.”

Glaring down at my empty glass, I silently willed the gin to refill itself. Nothing was going as planned. Nothing.

Stopping by my mother’s house had done nothing except further propel me into Cage’s naked lap. Watching him interact with her, the way he was so careful with her, gentle and sweet, that by the time we’d left we’d barely made to his bike before I was sexually assaulting him.

So what if a guy is nice to your very fragile mother? That shouldn’t mean you’re suddenly craving his dick in your mouth. Or agreeing to spend the rest of the day at his ridiculous motorcycle club with him, still craving his dick in your mouth.

“Do you think she saw us?” I whispered.

“Your mom? See you tryin’ to strip me naked in the driveway?” Cage snorted. “Yeah, babe, I think the whole neighborhood saw us.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?” I demanded.

Shooting me an amused glance, Cage started laughing. “Stop you? Babe, your pussy’s like fuckin’ crack. Been up inside that shit all damn day and I’m still jonesin’ for more.”

Ahhhhh, dammit. That smile, that voice, those crude words that somehow sounded as sexy as fuck.

“Tegen,” he said softly. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, babe, or I’m gonna pick you the fuck up and take you straight to my room. I know you don’t want to go there, but you keep starin’ at me all hungry and shit, I’m not gonna care what the fuck you want. I’m just gonna take it.”

Realizing I’d been staring at Cage, I swallowed hard and glanced away. Seconds later I felt his hand land on my thigh and slide slowly in between my legs, cupping me. “Think I might just take it anyway,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Breathing hard, trying to focus on the conversation instead of his touch, I turned to face him. “Thank you for being so nice to her.”

Cage blinked. “Huh?” he said, taking his hand back. “Your mom? Why wouldn’t I?”

I shrugged. “Everyone else has been pressuring her to come to the club, but you didn’t even mention it. That was really nice of you.”

“You’re forgettin’ somethin’, babe,” he said gently. “I love D. We all love D. Anybody who’s pressurin’ her isn’t tryin’ to hurt her, they’re just missin’ her. I hadn’t seen her in some time and I wasn’t about to be forcin’ the club on her or anything.”

I stared at him, my eyes roaming every inch of his perfect face, feeling so incredibly inadequate to be seated next to him.

Why was he being so sweet?

“Since when are you so nice?” I whispered.

Cage’s nostrils flared slightly. “Only once, since the day I met you, Teacup, that I haven’t treated you right. Am I right?”

My cheeks flushing, I glanced immediately away from him and just as quickly Cage grabbed hold of my thigh and dug his fingertips into my flesh until I whimpered in pain.

“Look at me,” he growled.

I already was. And I was glaring.

“Am. I. Right?” he demanded quietly, staring directly into my eyes. The longer I stared at him, my anger began to abate. He was…right.

Suddenly I felt so stupid, so small, as if all my anger toward him had been a giant waste of time. That if I’d only listened every time he’d tried to talk me down, if I would have actually looked his way, I would have seen the apology in his eyes years ago. A wave of nausea coursed through me. What was happening here?

Would this, whatever this was, between Cage and me have happened years ago if I hadn’t been so unwilling to even speak to him?

Biting my bottom lip, feeling conflicted, I nodded quickly and he immediately let go. Looking satisfied, he leaned back on his barstool and folded his arms across his chest.

“Do you ever wonder if she’s been rememberin’ shit and not tellin’ anyone?”

The abrupt change in subject gave me pause. “What?” I asked, shaking my head.

He shrugged. “Just somethin’ she said durin’ lunch. That Christopher’s been askin’ to ride on Hawk’s bike, but then she said no way is she lettin’ him on, that she didn’t let you get on a bike until you were twelve.”

I stared at him, my thoughts shooting out in a million different directions. Was she remembering? Or had I told her about that during one of many attempts at trying to help her remember? I wracked my brain trying to remember phone conversations and my visits home and…

Shit! I didn’t know! I couldn’t remember.

“Why would she do that?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“She’d been waitin’ on Jase for years, Teacup,” Cage said, “only to end up gettin’ shot in the fuckin’ head by his old lady. Maybe she figures not lettin’ on she remembers him is her way out.”

“Holy fuck,” I said. “Holy motherfuck!”

Cage gave me a quizzical look. “What?”

“She was crying this morning.”

She’d been standing in the window watching me fight with Jase, watching me haul his drunk stupid ass in the car, and she’d been crying. The immediate danger of Jase breaking in had been taken away. She wasn’t crying about the threat of him…she was crying about him.

That wasn’t something a woman who didn’t remember a man did. Why would you cry over someone you didn’t remember? That was something a woman did who’d had her heart repeatedly broken by a man.

I wanted to be mad at her, for not telling me, but at the same time, I wasn’t in any position to judge her. I’d run away from my problems. She was hiding from hers. We were both guilty of the same things.

“You want me to take you home?” Cage asked, his expression full of concern. “Sounds like you and her need to talk.”

I shook my head. “I don’t even know what I would say.”

Looking thoughtful, Cage nodded, then suddenly he was grinning.

“You remember who gave you that first ride, Teacup?”

“Yes,” I said dryly, fighting back a smile. “You gave me all my first rides.”

Cage gave me a look that suggested he was about to haul me off my stool and give me another ride when Deuce’s office doors suddenly slammed open and everyone in the main room turned to watch him storm out. He took in the occupants of the room and stopped his angry gaze on Mick.

“Call in all the boys,” he said. “Tell ’em to bring in their families. We’re going on lockdown, startin’ now.”

Seeking out Eva, Deuce pointed at her. “Babe, go pick up D and bring her ass here.”

Wait. What? Lockdown? D?

Shit.

Oh hell, no.

I jumped off my barstool, slapping Cage’s hand away when he tried to grab me.

“Tegen!” he hissed. “You know lockdown means you too!”

“I’m leaving!” I shouted in Deuce’s direction, ignoring Cage as I quickly hurried toward the door.

“Tegen!”

I kept walking.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Deuce called out. “This is club business.”

Bucket was suddenly standing in front of the front door, shaking his head at me, blocking me from leaving. I stopped walking and glared at him.

“Move,” I ground out.

Bucket grinned. “Ain’t no way in hell,” he said.

“Move!” I shouted.

“TEGEN!” Deuce bellowed.

Bucket spun his index finger in a circular motion, signaling that it was time for me to turn around, something that only pissed me off even more.

Flipping Bucket off, I spun around. “I am not part of your damn club!” I yelled. “And either is my mother!”

As Deuce stalked toward me, his booted steps heavy and deliberate, his nostrils flaring, I did everything in my power not to shrink under his angry glare. Deuce angry was not a pretty sight; it was in fact absolutely terrifying.

“Listen to me,” Deuce growled quietly, having reached me. “I ain’t got time for your mouth right now. We got a problem with the local law that I ain’t got a hold of yet. So if you think I’m gonna let you walk out that fuckin’ door only for somethin’ to happen to you because shit’s goin’ down right now, you’re stupid as fuck.”

Deuce pointed to the bar. “March your mouthy little ass back on over there, sit the fuck down next to King Stupid, and keep on doin’ whatever the fuck it was you were doin’. And get damn comfy doin’ it, ’cause you’re gonna be here ’til Wednesday.”

My jaw dropped. “Wednesday!” I shouted, forgetting in my anger that Deuce’s temper was not something anyone wanted to mess around with. “I have to be back at work on Tuesday!”

“Tough fuckin’ shit,” he said, already turning away from me. Ignoring me. Treating me like I was one of his motherfucking leather-clad minions.

“You fucking asshole!” I screamed, forgetting myself entirely. “You are not my prez! You are not my father! You are not my fucking boss! You cannot tell me what the fuck to do anymore!”

Slowly, menacingly, Deuce turned back around to face me. “I ain’t your father?” He sneered. “Who’s been keepin’ clothes on your back and food in your belly all these years? Who’s been payin’ for that expensive-as-shit apartment in Cali? Who’s been sending cash your way, keepin’ you and ZZ ahead of the motherfuckin’ game?”

“I’ve told you I don’t need your money!” I screamed, uncaring that my voice was bordering on shrill. I was trembling from head to toe and tears were forming. “I tell you every goddamn week when you call and so does ZZ! Whatever jobs you’ve been sending him on, he seems to be doing just fucking fine! But you have to stick your fat head in where it doesn’t belong because God forbid you don’t control every single little thing around you! Well, I don’t need you, Deuce! I don’t need this club! I never fucking did!”

Nostrils flaring, his face red with rage, Deuce stared me down. “Cage!” he bellowed, his eyes still on me. “Get your latest piece of ASS the fuck outta my face before I start blowin’ fuckin’ holes in skulls!”

“You sexist, self-righteous FUCK!” I screamed, and lunged forward, lunging for Deuce. I didn’t know what I was going to do once I got to him, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I wanted to get to him, punch him, strangle him, kick him in the balls, something, anything. I just wanted to hurt him.

But I never reached him. I was tackled from the side, lifted straight up off the floor, and carried quickly from the room.

“I hate you!” I screamed in Deuce’s direction. “I fucking hate you!”

• • •

Cage threw open his bedroom door, stalked inside, kicked it shut behind him, and tossed Tegen’s thrashing body onto his bed. She immediately scrambled into a sitting position and made to jump off the bed but he was on her in a flash, yanking her legs out from under her, straddling her hips, and holding her arms out at her sides.

His heart thudding erratically inside his chest, Cage glared down at her. He couldn’t care less that she’d gotten in yet another verbal brawl with his father. He couldn’t care less that she’d been only inches from slugging Deuce in the face and subsequently getting her ass kicked for it. He couldn’t give two motherfucking shits that Tegen was never going to change; she was always going to act before thinking, mouthing off to anyone, anywhere, not realizing the consequences. He didn’t even care that she hated the club.

All he cared about, all he could think about, the one thing that stuck out over everything his old man and she had shouted at each other was…

ZZ.

No one, not one fucking brother, not even Mick knew where ZZ was. Deuce had told everyone awhile back that ZZ wasn’t their concern anymore and to stop asking questions because he wasn’t going to answer them.

Who’s been sending cash your way, keepin’ you and ZZ ahead of the motherfuckin’ game?

What did that fucking mean? That ZZ was in Cali? Or that ZZ was in Cali with Tegen?

“Get off me, you stupid fuck!” Tegen screamed, trying desperately to pull her arms out from under his grip.

Stupid. Fuck.

He lost it. He just fucking lost it. His head was already a mess, feeling all sorts of crazy shit he wasn’t familiar with, and Tegen’s last stab at him sent him over the damn edge.

“ZZ!” he roared. “Motherfuckin’ ZZ!”

Tegen blinked up at him.

“What?” she whispered.

“You heard me,” he gritted out. “Now, fuckin’ spill. You and ZZ in Cali together? Livin’ together?”

She hesitated; just a tiny shift of her eyes, a movement so small he wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been staring directly at her. Cursing, he shoved off her and got to his feet. Running his hands through his hair, he turned around and before he could think, he just reacted and sent his booted foot straight into the wall. Feelings were coursing through him, feelings he couldn’t decipher, along with a sudden rage he couldn’t control.

He spun back around and found Tegen sitting upright in his bed, glaring at him.

Tegen. ZZ. It wasn’t computing.

It was Tegen, for Christ’s sake. The bitch had been obsessed with him her entire fucking life and now, this weekend, with everything that had happened…

He was feeling her. He was motherfucking into this. And all along she’d had someone back home, not just anybody but one of his motherfucking brothers.

He’d been so sure she still loved him. How the fuck had he read that wrong?

“You fuckin’ him?” he demanded.

Her green eyes blazed with pure rage; she was working up to launching herself straight off his bed, nails ready to claw his eyes out, whatever it took. He had to hand it to her—for being such a slip of a woman, she had balls of steel. But what the fuck ever, he didn’t give two fucks how pissed she was about anything anymore. All these years he’d been taking flack for something he’d done while she’d been secretly shacking up with one of his brothers.

Her bullshit was going to end right the fuck now.

“Answer me, bitch!” he yelled.

She glared at him, unblinking, unmoving, without remorse. He could see it in her eyes. She didn’t give a fuck that she’d just jumped beds. She hated the club that fucking much. She hated him that much.

“Answer me!” he roared.

“Yes!” she hissed.

SHIT! Why did he even care?

She hadn’t been Teacup in a long time, she was just another bitch, another fucking whore who jumped from brother to brother.

So he’d liked fucking her, so fucking what? So ZZ liked fucking her too, who the fuck cared?

He was going to puke. He was going to motherfucking puke.

For the first time he actually wanted a girl to stick around and despite all the fighting, he liked spending time with her. Jesus. He’d wanted more. He’d stupidly wanted what his brothers had, he’d wanted it for a long time now, and he’d stupidly wanted it from Tegen.

He was a fucking moron. His old man was right. He was King fucking Stupid.

“Looks like you turned out just like your fuckin’ mom after all,” he spat, hitting her where he knew it would be the most painful.

He didn’t wait for a response, her eyes went saucer-wide and he whipped around, yanked open the door, and stormed off down the hall.

“You knew!” he yelled as he passed into the main room, pointing to where his father stood. “You fuckin’ knew Tegen was in Z’s bed,” he continued, “and you didn’t say a motherfuckin’ word to me!”

“What? Tegen and ZZ what?”

Cage noticed for the first time that Danny and Ripper had shown up along with their daughter, and Danny looked…not happy.

“Tegen’s what?” she demanded. “With who?”

He ignored her. He was too pumped up; he felt inside how Tegen had looked when facing off with his old man, trembling with rage, ready at any moment to explode and hoping like fucking hell when he did explode he’d be taking his father out with him.

Deuce’s eyes narrowed. “You for real, right now? Am I a fuckin’ datin’ service? You been stickin’ your shit in any hole that’ll take it, so what the fuck makes Tegen any damn different?”

Cage imploded.

“BECAUSE SHE’S TEGEN!” he roared. “She’s fuckin’ mine!”

His father’s unapologetic, unwavering stare did nothing but further upset him.

“Are you gonna fuckin’ say something’?” Cage demanded. “Or you just gonna stand there?”

“Where is ZZ?” Danny interjected, shoving in between him and their father. “In San Francisco?”

Cage opened his mouth, ready to tell her to go fuck herself, when Ripper beat him to it. Glaring, Ripper grabbed Danny’s arm and yanked her out from between them.

“Why do you give a fuck where ZZ is?” Ripper growled.

“Oh, shut up!” Danny snapped, yanking her arm from his grip. “We’ve all been worried about him. Don’t act like this is about anything more than that!”

“Z lives with her,” Deuce said and all eyes shot to him. “When he’s not on the road, and he’s on the road more often than not.”

“On the road doin’ what?” Ripper asked.

Deuce turned to Ripper, staring at the man but didn’t so much as blink. Cage, Ripper, and everyone else in the club knew exactly what that meant.

“Jesus,” Ripper said under his breath. “Z? Z’s doin’ that shit?”

Nobody said a word, because everyone already knew what “that shit” meant. Deuce had Z on the front lines, taking care of all the dirty business and overseeing it firsthand. It was gutter work, mostly bid out to nomads who couldn’t give a fuck if they lived or died.

“How long?” he demanded, referring to Tegen and ZZ.

Deuce stared at him. “Does it fuckin’ matter?”

“HOW FUCKIN’ LONG?” Cage yelled.

“Years,” Deuce replied, his voice tight with anger.

Years. Motherfucking years.

The nausea came back, this time worse.

What the fuck was going on? Did she love ZZ? The very thought of her rolling off him only to hop back on ZZ was making him want to not just slap the bullshit out of her but beat her fucking face in.

He couldn’t even fathom it, it was just so…

Fuck.

Tegen and ZZ…together? ZZ was too old for her. ZZ wasn’t just too old for her, ZZ was in over his head in some dangerous shit. Anybody, any one of the Horsemen’s enemies could follow him home and use Tegen against the club.

Fuck that. No way. She obviously didn’t love the motherfucker if she’d been more than happy to be choking on his dick for the past two days.

His fists clenched.

If Tegen was going to be in any brother’s bed, it was going to be his. It was him who she’d been fucking obsessed with all these years; it was him who’d popped her shit; it was him who’d fucked her, he couldn’t even count how many times, over the past two days. Him. Her. No one else.

Jesus.

Fuck it.

He didn’t even care how ridiculous he knew he sounded; he was just that out of his mind with anger and, fuck him straight to hell, jealousy.

Anger because she was going to split on him the second his old man lifted lockdown. Jealousy because it was ZZ she was going to be going home to. Jealousy because he was pretty positive whatever Tegen and ZZ had together, if it had lasted years already, that she wasn’t just going to quit the guy’s dick cold turkey because Cage had her during the last few days. And more anger because, why the fuck didn’t his old man tell him anything? Anything at all!

If he would have known, he never would have touched the bitch! He would have let her fucking bullshit piss him off as usual, but he would have sat on that shit instead of acting on it. Acting on it, despite the fucking awesome sex, hadn’t gotten him anywhere but dug in deeper inside the mess that was Tegen Matthews.

Now it was too damn late. He was dug in way too deep. He wanted more and he wasn’t going to wait for that feeling to come back again, with someone else, not after years of having boring, pointless sex with far more women than he was going to ever admit to, not after having what felt like the best sex in his entire fucking life with that crazy bitch. Because, shit, what if it didn’t ever come back? What if this was it? Say, he didn’t scoop this bitch up right here and now, and instead he waited for a less crazy bitch, with a lot less baggage, to come along but instead he ended up like Tap. Old and alone.

He was so fucking sick of being alone.

“Ellie?” Danny shrieked from behind him. His sister suddenly shoved past him and went running for the front door where, holy fuck, Ellie was standing, dressed in full leather, holding a helmet under her arm. And walking in behind her…

Cage’s eyebrows popped up.

“Is that Dirty?” Ripper whispered. “Or did Prez start handin’ out cuts to pretty boys?”

“Meeting!” Deuce bellowed.

“First order of business,” Ripper said dryly. “Does Dirty need a new name?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Meeting!” Deuce yelled again, pointing to his office. “Right the fuck now!”

Ignoring the gaping stares of everyone inside the clubhouse, Dirty turned to Ellie, who was still wrapped up in Danny’s arms while the girl jumped up and down and squealed.

“I, uh, I have to go,” he said, frowning at Danny’s back, wondering why the fuck she wasn’t letting go of Ellie.

Ellie gave him a small smile. “I’ll be fine,” she said and let out a little laugh. “I’m in good hands.”

Danny finally surfaced and glanced up at Dirty, and then back to Ellie. “I’m confused,” she said. “Did you two come here toge—”

Danny stopped talking and abruptly swung her gaze back to Dirty. And just stared.

Dirty truly liked Danny; she was one of the few people he could stand to have touch him. They’d gotten to know each other fairly well a few years back when she’d been down and out over Ripper leaving, but she didn’t know jack shit when it came to his past or what he did in his spare time. And he aimed to keep it that way.

“Oh my God, Dirty,” she whispered and Dirty flinched, dreading what she was going to say next. “You look so—”

Ellie snatched Danny’s arm. “Danny,” she said. “Please tell me you have something other than leather I can wear, I’m begging you. I’m sweating like crazy. I think even my knees are sweating.”

“Uh, yeah,” Danny said, looking flustered. “Just let me grab Harley and we can go to mine and Ripper’s room, I have a ton of stuff in there.” Before they walked off, both women shot him one last look. Danny’s was full of confusion but Ellie’s was…

She gave him a knowing smile. And that’s when it clicked.

She hadn’t been sweating, or maybe she had, but that wasn’t why she’d asked Danny for clothing. She’d been protecting him. Just like earlier when she’d very slowly wrapped her arms around his middle, stopping when he’d started to freak out, giving him time to adjust to it.

She was protecting him from himself.

Her wearing his jacket. Her protecting him. Her smiling at him; a secret smile that only the two of them knew the meaning behind it.

His breathing grew uneven. Then he found himself picturing her naked again, seeing her standing there in his bathroom doorway, her hair wet, hanging long down her body, her huge breasts, tipped in large dark nipples, heaving with deep breaths, the dark triangle of hair covering her pussy…

His dick punched forward.

“What…the…fuck.”

Dirty shoved at Cox, whose face had suddenly appeared only inches in front of his own.

“Seriously, brother,” Ripper said, having joined them, studying Dirty. “I didn’t know you had skin under all that fuckin’ hair and filth.”

“You are Dirty, right?” Cox continued, looking him up and down.

“Naw, dude,” Ripper said, grinning. “He ain’t. He’s clean.”

Cox snorted. “Nice one,” he said and held up his fist. Ripper bumped it with his own and then they both went back to studying him.

“Fuck off,” he muttered to both of them. “And back the fuck up.”

Cox shrugged. “Whatever, dude, but you know, I can’t really help myself. You’re lookin’ really fuckin’ sexy.”

The corner of Dirty’s mouth lifted and he started to relax for the first time in days. At the club he could be the man he wished he really was. He could shoot the shit, joke around, talk about women the way the other boys did. It didn’t matter that it was all show and that most of his brothers knew how shit really went down for him in the bedroom. Not that any of them knew why he dosed the club sluts, but neither did they ask.

“Speakin’ of sexy,” Ripper said. “Ellie kinda bottomed out in the ass, yeah? Whatcha doin’ with her anyway? Is that what this meeting’s about?”

“I’d still fuck her,” Cox said. “Her face is still bangin’. Who gives a fuck about her ass?”

Ripper burst out laughing. “Dude, you just miss ass ’cause your old lady ain’t got one.”

“Fuck you,” Cox shot back. “I miss pussy. Period. I don’t give a fuck what’s packin’ in the back, I just want some goddamn fuckin’ pussy. I’m ’bout ready to blow and fill Kami up with all the fuckin’ spank juice she wants.”

“Fuckin’-A,” Ripper said, backing away, looking disgusted. “Keep your Sparky Marky and the Spunky Funk stories to your fuckin’ self.”

“I am!” Cox shouted. “That’s the fuckin’ problem!”

“MEETING!” Deuce roared, spurring the three of them into action, jogging across the room and into Deuce’s office. The table was filled except for Ripper and Cox’s designated seats, so Dirty headed for the back of the room and took a seat beside Anger on one of Deuce’s two leather sofas.

Once everyone was seated and had shut up, Deuce turned to him. He watched his prez give him a long once-over but, unlike everyone else, Deuce didn’t comment.

“Tell ’em,” Deuce said. “Start from the beginnin’.”

As if it weren’t bad enough they were all staring at him like a circus sideshow freak.

But he sucked it up, his all-over-the-place emotions and crazy thoughts, and explained to everyone what had gone down. From his ride, to hearing Ellie scream, to finding her in the alleyway with Officer Dipshit, to today on the street. He told them all of it and what he missed, Deuce filled in for him.

“Yeah,” Tap said. “Fucker is definitely playing games. He musta made you in that alleyway, Dirty, knew the Horsemen had her from the get-go. Ain’t no man stupid enough to take it to this level on a fuckin’ hunch.”

“He knows we need him for this deal to go through,” Ripper said. “I guarantee he’s gonna play that card tryin’ to get at Ellie.”

“You think he’s gonna try and pull a trade?”

“What fuckin’ else? He might have a hate hard-on for us, but we’ve been fillin’ his pockets for too long now, him and his parents. Ain’t no way he’s gonna bite the hands that feed him by tryin’ to turn us in to the Feds. Nah, this is about him gettin’ to Ellie.”

Dirty stayed silent, just listening to his brothers talk it out, shooting ideas and possible scenarios back and forth, trying to figure out what Mooresville was really up to, until someone said something and he lost his shit.

“Who gives two fucks about the fat black chick?” Bucket said around a mouthful of smoke. “We need this fuckin’ deal to go down easy. We got too much cash ridin’ on this shit and if anyone, the Feds, the ATF, anyone gets wind of what’s about to go down here, we are fuckin’ through. We can all kiss this club good-fuckin’-bye. Let’s cut our fuckin’ losses and just give ’im the bitch.”

Dirty didn’t think, he just reacted, and he wasn’t even too sure as to what he’d actually done. One minute he was listening to Bucket run his mouth, and the next everyone was shouting and he was hauled off Bucket, his fists still swinging. Bucket jumped to his feet and Dirty tried to lunge for him again.

Deuce slammed him backward into the wall and held him there.

“What the fuck, brother!” Bucket yelled. “What the fuck I do to you?”

“First off,” Deuce yelled, pointing at Bucket. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth. Been knowin’ Ellie her whole damn life. She’s Danny’s friend and no one’s givin’ her to Mooresville if I can help it!”

Then Deuce turned back to him. “Second,” he yelled. “You keep whatever bullshit you got goin’ on inside that bald fuckin’ head of yours REELED THE FUCK IN! We’re discussin’ business, you dumb motherfucker. You wanna knock heads, you do it after the fuckin’ meetin’. You fuckin’ feel me?”

He nodded.

Deuce leaned in. “You got somethin’ you need to tell me? Somethin’ like why the fuck you ain’t got no hair and don’t smell like my fuckin’ toilet after Cage comes to visit?”

Dirty didn’t respond and the moment Deuce figured out he wasn’t going to, the man nodded once and released him.

“Everyone sit the fuck down!” he shouted and everyone sat right the fuck down.

Glaring at everyone in the room, Deuce shook his head in disgust. “Don’t see how,” he muttered. “I’m always the voice of fuckin’ reason in this circus.”

• • •

“Ellie?” Danny asked, pausing in rummaging through her clubroom closet. “I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, but how did you get those bruises? Are you the reason we’re on lockdown?”

Ellie nodded, but was unsure of what she should or shouldn’t tell Danny. She didn’t know the ins and outs of the MC, and honestly did not want to make any more waves than she already had.

Danny pursed her lips together. “Okay,” she said softly. “I get it. I’ll get the scoop from Ripper, but I’m here if you need to talk, okay?”

Ellie stared at her old friend who, unfairly enough, didn’t look a day over twenty-two. If there wasn’t an adorable little blonde girl sitting on the bed right next to her, who looked like yet another drop-dead gorgeous direct descendant of Deuce, Ellie would have never guessed Danny had been pregnant.

“You look great,” Ellie said. “And your daughter is beautiful.”

Danny’s eyes found her daughter and her lips split into a smile. “Thank you,” she said.

Ellie suddenly felt very uncomfortable, like she was intruding on a private moment, one she couldn’t even relate to. She had experienced moments like this with her own parents, catching her mother or father watching her, a small smile on their face, lost in thought.

But she’d never witnessed it as an outsider, a third party, watching a mother gaze at her daughter, the look in Danny’s eyes telling Ellie that this little girl was Danny’s whole world.

She felt inexplicably lonely too. She missed her parents, yes, but watching this, it felt like more than that. Thirty wasn’t right around the corner but it was close enough, and what did she have to show for it? No husband, no child, not even a boyfriend. She had a career that wasn’t going anywhere and a crazy chief of police after her, and now she was locked up inside a criminal motorcycle gang’s clubhouse for God only knew how long.

And this was her life?

Shame enveloped her for ridiculing Danny when she’d heard of her marriage to Ripper, of her pregnancy, of never leaving Miles City, for settling.

But Danny hadn’t settled at all. Danny was happy and whereas she’d thought she’d been, Ellie now knew that she was not.

“Speaking of beautiful,” Danny murmured, looking away from Harley. “Dirty is…just…oh my God.”

Ellie nodded. “I know,” she said. “I never knew he was so…” She trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Beautiful?” Danny suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Yes. Beautiful just about covered it. Dirty was, for lack of a better description, symmetrically flawless. Not only that, he was the very definition of masculine beauty. His forehead was broad, his cheekbones defined, his brow and chin both prominent, and his jaw chiseled to perfection.

Yet, at the same time there was this…almost innocent aspect to him. Something that seemed untouchable despite his age. The combination of the two, the masculine beauty and that innocence, were what made the man breathtaking.

The shower and shave hadn’t hurt either.

The sound of screaming had Ellie jumping off the bed in a panic. “What’s happening?” she cried, looking toward the closed door.

Danny let out a long-suffering sigh and shook her head.

“That’s Tegen!” Harley exclaimed from her seat on the bed. “She yells alllllll the time!”

Ellie glanced over at Danny, who shrugged in response. “She’s right. Tegen yells all the time and right now she’s extremely mad at my father and my brother…whatever…they are all crazy.”

Danny turned back to the closet, then suddenly spun back around. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot! Apparently ZZ and Tegen have been living together in San Francisco! We’re like one big happy family!”

It took Ellie a minute to figure out Danny wasn’t actually happy or excited about this information but instead was overdoing it on the sarcasm.

“Are you actually upset about it?” Ellie asked. “Because you chose Ripper, right?”

Sighing, Danny sat down on the bed and dropped her hands into her lap. “This is going to sound weird, but it’s not that I’m upset. I mean, I was worried about him for a long time and all this time my dad knew where he was and with Tegen? Ugh. Seriously, it’s just gross. I mean, I slept with Ripper, then ZZ, and Cage slept with Tegen and then Tegen slept with ZZ, and it’s sort of like we all slept together.” Danny wrinkled up her nose and shuddered. “It’s just skeezy, you know?”

Ellie started laughing. “I think you’re seriously overthinking this.”

“I know,” Danny said, sighing. “But he left because of me…and now he’s living with Tegen? I mean, he must be miserable.”

Ellie laughed even harder. She didn’t know Tegen particularly well; the girl had been two grades below her, but the few encounters she’d had with her, she had to agree, the girl was very volatile.

“So, her and Cage now, huh?” she asked. “Well, that’s…interesting.”

Danny rolled her eyes. “Oh God, who knows. They are a hot mess together. He screwed her over a long time ago, then she comes back from California after D got shot, looking like a dirty hippie, and suddenly Cage is all, ‘Oh, she’s hot, blah, blah, blah,’ but Tegen’s all, ‘Don’t touch me or I’ll kill you,’ and ever since then every time they are in the same room together, all hell breaks loose.”

Ellie wrinkled up her nose. “Sounds fun.”

“Yeah. Tons. Personally, I think they’re both in love with the other. I mean, Cage has never had a serious girlfriend, ever. He doesn’t have any interest in any female other than for…” Danny trailed off and glanced at her daughter. “Other than you-know-what,” she said in a whisper.

“And I wish they would just beat the crap out of each other, kiss and make up, and be done with it, but whatever.”

Danny shrugged again and got to her feet. “Welcome to the insane asylum,” she said, and went back to rifling through her closet.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That motherfucker.

That stupid motherfucker.

Looks like you turned out just like your fuckin’ mom after all.

I was livid. Fucking furious. I was past the point of angry, past the point of anything resembling sanity. What was wrong with me? First I’d come home and did what I’d promised myself FOR YEARS to never do again. Then I’d stupidly come to the club and DID IT AGAIN, then I’d actually agreed to go on a FUCKING DATE with that asshole, and THEN I came back to the club with him.

“What is wrong with me?” I screamed at my reflection in the mirror hanging over Cage’s dresser, where behind me I could see his bed. His stupid, fucking, god-awful bed. The bed he’d destroyed me in.

Wait. What the…?

I squinted at the mirror and my eyes went wide. Whipping around, screaming at the top of my lungs, I lunged for the unmade bed, for the red lacy thong lying dead center. Grabbing it, I clutched it with both hands and pulled as hard as I could. The chintzy lace gave and I sent the two pieces of fabric flying across the room.

Breathing heavily, my heart pounding through my chest, I surveyed the room.

Posters of huge-breasted, mostly naked women straddling motorcycles lined the walls, a box of condoms sat atop the nightstand, and condom wrappers littered the floor beside his bed.

How many had come before me? How many fucking whores had he fucked in that bed before he’d taken away the only thing that I’d had to give him and he hadn’t even cared?

And how many women had come after me?

How many more women were still to come?

“Stupid!” I screamed. “You stupid, stupid, stupid bitch!”

I snatched the box of condoms off the table and whipped them across the room. Then I grabbed for the bedcovers and the pillows and I did the same. After that, I couldn’t stop; everything I came into contact with was instantly torn apart, shredded, or smashed. I ripped posters off the wall, yanked drawers out of the dresser, sent clothing flying in all directions, and then when there was nothing left to destroy, I grabbed a gun from Cage’s sock drawer, was about to send it flying into the rectangular mirror on the wall, when the door burst open.

Cage took one look at his room, one look at me, and his body went instantly taut. His nostrils flaring, his fists clenched, the veins on his neck and arms bulging, he charged me. Screaming, I spun around, leapt on top of the bed and quickly rolled off the other side. Raising the gun, I pointed it at Cage.

“STOP!” I screamed.

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. Who stopped what they were doing when they had a gun trained on them? Not Cage.

“Fuck that,” he said, walking around the bed. His pace was slower now, his eyes on the gun, but he was still coming at me. “Put that shit down before you accidentally blow a fuckin’ hole in yourself.”

“Fuck you!”

He paused and his eyes reached mine. “Put it down,” he said slowly. “Or when I reach you I am going to beat the fuckin’ shit out of you with it.”

He sounded so crass, so goddamn cold and unfeeling just like his fucking father, that I couldn’t help myself. My lower lip began to tremble and a whimper escaped me.

“God,” I whispered frantically. “I hate you!”

“Put it down,” he repeated, and resumed walking.

“Goddammit, Tegen,” he growled, mere seconds from reaching me. “Put it the fuck—”

“FINE!” I screamed and just as he made to grab for it, I flung it to the left of me.

Cursing, Cage changed direction, grabbed for my shoulders, and with a hard shove sent me down to my knees. Then he bent down in front of me.

“You love him?” he growled.

It took me a moment to catch up. I was still reeling from the gun episode. But when I did, the very second I knew he was referring to ZZ, my anger resurfaced tenfold and I exploded.

“No!” I shouted. “He’s my fucking friend!”

“Pretty good fuckin’ friend,” he said angrily. “Seein’ as you been fuckin’ him for years!”

“Do you love everyone you fuck?” I screamed.

“I don’t love ANYONE I fuck!” he yelled back.

Ouch. That seriously fucking hurt.

“Good!” I screamed. “And I don’t limit myself to just one cock either!”

Cage’s brown eyes went wide and a muscle near his jaw began to twitch.

“You like bein’ a whore?” Cage leaned forward, bringing me nose to nose with him. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “You like bein’ passed around, you little fuckin’ hypocrite?”

I was so offended, so hurt by that comment, that it took me a moment to realize what Cage’s hand was doing between us, but when he reached for my jeans and I saw that he’d freed his cock, I balked and immediately tried to dive to the side. But Cage was faster, his arms shot out, grabbing my ankles, sending me sprawling onto my back.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” he said darkly, whipping my jeans straight off my legs. Then grabbing hold of my calves, he flipped me onto my belly. With one palm pressed firmly into my back, Cage maneuvered his hips between my thighs.

“First,” he hissed. “You’re going to shut the fuck up for the first time in your life and listen for a change. And seein’ as the only time you ain’t yellin’ or screamin’ or tryin’ to knock somebody out is when you got dick inside you…”

Cage’s chest replaced his hand on my back and I felt his lips press against the back of my neck.

“You’re going to rape me?” I screamed as loud as I could.

“Rape you?” he said, sounding offended. “Seriously, Tegen? All I gotta do is smile at you and you’re wet and ready for me.”

Between our bodies, Cage’s fingers slid into the crotch of my underwear.

“Right, Teacup?” he whispered, lightly touching me.

A full-bodied shiver tore through me and my breath left me in a rush of hot, humiliated air. He continued stroking me, wetting me with my own moisture, making me quiver and tremble with every touch, until I was burning with need, wanting him to stop just touching me and to just fucking take me.

Behind me, Cage laughed softly. “You want it?” he whispered, teasing with the tip of his finger, circling it over where I needed him most of all.

My insides were instantly throbbing with a single-minded need, no longer caring what Cage wanted from me, to be silent, to listen to him, to do his damn laundry or shave his balls, I didn’t care. I didn’t give a fuck about anything as long as he planned on relieving this incredibly, beautiful, agonizing ache he’d created.

“Yes,” I whimpered, lifting my hips off the ground, pushing back against him.

The next thing I knew I was being flipped over again and Cage was yanking my underwear down my legs and my tank top over my arms. I watched him pull his own shirt up over his head and toss it aside, then hungry for more of him, I reached for him. His arm shot out, his hand wrapped around my throat and he brought us face-to-face. “You suck Z off?” he whispered.

The fog that had begun to cloud reality began to clear and I snarled at him. “What the fuck?” I hissed.

Cage jumped to his feet, bringing me with him, and shoved me in the direction of his bed. Still holding my neck, he shoved me down to a sitting position in front of him.

“Answer me,” he growled.

My jaw locked. “Yes,” I bit out.

His answering smile was brutal, but also…pained? What was going on? Why the fuck was he doing this?

“Already know he’s been up inside that pussy,” he said tersely through his teeth. “He been up inside anywhere else?”

“Yeah,” I said with a snarl. “I let him fuck me in the ear almost daily.”

His fingers tightened around my neck and I felt my throat hiccup with the loss of air. My hands flew to my throat and my fingers worked, trying to pry his hand off me.

“Where else?” he growled.

“My ass, you fucking psychopath,” I rasped, coughing. “He loves fucking me in the ass!”

“Good,” he ground out, leaving me even more confused as to what he was getting at or why he was doing this in the first place.

But as he palmed his own cock and his grip on my throat moved to my hair and he yanked me forward, bringing my mouth to the tip of his dick, I knew exactly what was going on. Having just succumbed to the mere touch of his fingers, there was no way in hell I was going to let him get away with further humiliating me.

“I’m layin’ fuckin’ claim to you, Tegen, every single fuckin’ part of you, right the fuck now.”

“You can’t have any part of me!” I cried, trying to turn my head but his grip on my hair was too tight. Grunting, he yanked my head backward, forcing me to look up at him.

“Wrong,” he growled. “I’ve always had you. Only difference is now, I’m takin’ you.”

Oh my God, what did that mean? What the shit did that mean?

“Take it,” Cage gritted out, trying to force his cock between my lips, “or get the fuck outta my life right the fuck now and stay the fuck out.”

My heart began to pound, my stomach fluttered, and tears pricked the back of my eyes. He pulled his hips back slightly.

“I don’t want to be like my mother,” I whispered.

“I’m not Jase,” he whispered back. “I’m not Hawk, I’m not my father, I’m not any of them.”

Staring up at his big brown eyes, I choked back a sob. He already was like his father, in so many, many ways. But at the same time, he wasn’t.

“Take it, Teacup,” he said hoarsely. “Be my girl.”

My breath left me. Be. His. Girl.

Be Cage’s girl.

My eight-year-old self, my nine-year-old self, my twelve-year-old self, my brokenhearted sixteen-year-old self, and my bitter, broken-down adult self, they all converged together…and…

I took it.

I grabbed hold of him and took as much of him into my mouth as I could. Both his hands were in my hair, gripping tightly, pulling painfully hard, and jerking his hips forward, gagging me, forcing me to take more, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t care because I wanted more. I wanted all of him. I always had; I’d never stopped.

My hands flew to his hips in an attempt to hold on to him. My nails dug down deep and deeper still until he was grunting in pain yet thrusting faster, and I couldn’t breathe and his grip on my hair had reached scalding levels and…

“Tegen,” he said, groaning, breathing in and out in hard, erratic bursts. “It’s never been like this for me, babe, never. Nobody’s ever been this good…felt this good.”

Oh God, I knew; I had always known. How fucking long had I prayed for this moment? For as long as I could remember, forever even.

It had always been him. It would only ever be him.

My tears spilled over. My longtime broken heart was breaking again, shattering, falling to pieces and disintegrating. And in its place was a brand new heart. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

When it was over—after Cage had taken everything, every part of me he could take, making me take him inside my body everywhere I could take him, after falling away from one another—we lay side by side on the floor of his room, sharing a cigarette.

“Now what?” I whispered.

Cage’s head lolled to his right and his half-lidded eyes found mine. “Now, nothin’,” he said.

“Nothing?” Panic flooded me. Had he just fucked me over? Again?

“It’s me and you, Teacup,” he said, rolling to his side and sliding his hand over my bare stomach. “And nothin’. ’Cause nothin’ else fuckin’ matters right now.”

• • •

Cage lifted Tegen off the floor and set her down on his bed. He stared at her for a while, running his gaze up and down her naked body, just watching her sleep.

He’d lied. When he’d said he’d never loved a single woman he’d fucked. He’d lied.

He’d loved before. He’d loved exactly one of them. He just hadn’t realized it until right now.

He loved Tegen. He’d loved her most of her life, actually, but just hadn’t known the feeling for what it truly was until now.

Love wasn’t something he’d measured by how many days you spent around a person, or how long you’d known someone, and it sure as fuck wasn’t measured by whether you fucked them or not or how many times.

Cage only measured love by what he would do for someone, the lengths he was willing to go. How much he cared about their well-being and their survival. And he’d always cared about Tegen; he’d never stopped. She was family, she was his best friend, and just like he’d take a bullet for his sisters, for his brothers, even for his old man, he knew, in that moment, staring down at her, he’d take one for Tegen too.

No way was she going back to California. Not a chance in hell.

He’d tie her to the fucking bed if he had to.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dressed more comfortably now in a pair of black leggings and an oversized, slouchy pink tee that hung off one shoulder and had a pair of silver angel’s wings printed on the back, Ellie followed Danny out of her room.

The club looked exactly as it always had. The back hall of bedrooms had the brothers’ names on the doors, pictures of the boys with their families or on their bikes lined the walls, and it smelled of cigarette smoke, spilled booze, and men who preferred smoking and drinking over bathing on a regular basis.

Every visit to the club before she’d left for college had been barely tolerable and had always left her with a bad taste in her mouth. But instead of feeling any sort of negativity, she felt more at home than ever before. Safe, too.

The telltale sounds of sex, from both a male and female, flooded the hallway and Ellie flushed with embarrassment as she recognized Cage’s deep voice, and heard Tegen crying out in response to his quite frankly mouth-watering sexual demands of her.

Thinking back to high school, to her own experience with Cage, she smiled to herself. If there was anything Cage excelled at, it was women. Or rather, sex with women. And from the sounds of it, Tegen was being thoroughly excelled.

Danny, with Harley in her arms, shook her head in disgust and picked up her pace.

“Guess crazy #1 and crazy #2 made up,” she muttered. “Give them five minutes and they’ll be at each other’s throats again. I swear, it’s like Kami and Cox all over again.”

Ellie gave her a sideways glance. “Have they finally calmed down?”

Danny snorted. “Actually, yes. But I think it has more to do with the fact that Kami wants more kids and he doesn’t, so she’s taken to ignoring him entirely.”

“And you?” Ellie asked. “And Ripper? Things are good?”

Danny stopped walking and looked into Ellie’s eyes. “They’re better than good,” she said softly. “I-I’m so happy Ellie. I really, really am.”

Ellie stared at her old friend, feeling the sharp, unwelcome pang of jealousy rear its ugly head. What was wrong with her? First she was having baby envy and now this? Being beaten and nearly raped had seemingly stirred up doubts about her priorities in life, making her wish she’d maybe taken a different path.

No, she would never regret putting school and a career first. But maybe she sort of regretted not going on any dates in college, not really doing much of anything except studying. Her only boyfriend to date, a millionaire with a kink fetish who favored cream-colored cable knit sweaters…and existed only in the pages of a book.

Not that she was into kinky sex…or anything.

“Talkin’ ’bout me, beautiful girl?”

Ripper turned the corner, smiling at his wife and daughter, Dirty and Tap close behind him. But Ellie was only focused on Ripper. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been carting around his usual bottle of tequila and looking miserable. That was definitely not the case anymore. This was an entirely different man standing in front of her; a man whose entire world consisted of two heads of blonde hair, two sets of blue eyes, and dimples as far as the eye could see.

“Maybe,” Danny replied, smiling coyly. “If you’ve stopped being stupid about ZZ.”

Ripper’s smile melted into a soft, yet serious expression. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly. “I’m good.”

“So fuckin’ glad you’re both good,” Tap said, pushing past Ripper. “I for one ain’t fuckin’ good. We’re locked the fuck up for four more days and all the pussy inside this motherfuckin’ club is all taken.”

“Shoulda stayed true to your old lady, brother,” Ripper said as he took Harley out of Danny’s arms and swung the little girl up over his head, setting her down on his shoulders. “Then she’d be locked up with ya instead of married to some fuckin’ asshat down south.”

Opening his mouth, about to respond, Tap’s eyes landed on Ellie and his mouth abruptly closed. The grin that followed made her skin crawl. It wasn’t that he was a bad-looking man, maybe a little shorter than Ellie liked, but he was fit, clean, his long black hair was well taken care of, but the fact remained that he was old enough to be her father. If not older.

“Forgot about you,” Tap said, stepping forward. Ellie took a quick step back.

“Like big black asses and chocolate pussy,” Tap continued. “Don’t get enough of it ’round here.”

“Oh my God, Tap!” Danny shouted. “Little ears!”

Tap glanced over just as Dirty stepped forward, immediately dropping his head into Tap’s personal space. “Back the fuck off her,” Dirty said darkly. “Or the only pussy you’ll ever be seein’ again is gonna be you cryin’ on the fuckin’ floor after I drop your ass on it.”

Tap’s eyebrows shot up at the exact moment Ellie’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t grown up around the club life like Danny had, but she’d seen enough, knew enough to know that Deuce’s boys loved one another fiercely, that unless it was their women or their kids in question, they banded together. Them against the world.

Ellie wasn’t anyone’s woman; she wasn’t a biker brat, she wasn’t even friends with Danny anymore, not really, yet Dirty had just threatened Tap. For her.

“Come on, Ellie,” Danny said, sounding irritated. “I’ll find you a room. One of the boys can crash on a couch.”

Ellie yanked her arm back, a knee-jerk reaction out of fear, partially because she was more than jumpy lately and Danny had caught her off guard, but mostly because of Tap’s behavior.

“No,” she said. “Thank you, but I’ll, uh, stay with Dirty.”

“What?” Danny asked, gaping at her. In fact, everyone was gaping at her. Even Dirty.

Why was everyone staring at her as if she’d suddenly lost her mind? She felt safe with Dirty; he’d saved her life, for God’s sake. So what if he had issues? She had plenty of issues herself lately and Dirty, of all people, understood. Whatever had happened to him as a child, he knew exactly how she was feeling, maybe even better than she did.

“You can have the room,” Dirty said as he backed away from Tap. “I’ll sleep up front.”

Ellie didn’t like that idea either. With men like Tap crawling all over the club, she didn’t want to be alone in the middle of the night. In fact, the more she thought about it, she never wanted to be alone anywhere ever again.

God, she felt pathetic. Helpless, powerless. She couldn’t even save her own life.

“You don’t have to,” Ellie said quietly, her eyes focused solely on Dirty. “I would feel…better…if you stayed with me.”

• • •

Dirty tried his best to ignore the three shocked sets of eyes burning holes into him as he stared back at Ellie, but there was no ignoring the thundering rattle of his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest.

What was wrong with this bitch? First, she came back to comfort him after he’d attacked her. Next, she saved him from having to explain to Danny why he’d cleaned himself up. Not that he could have. He honestly didn’t know why he’d done half the shit he’d done lately.

And now, she felt safe with him; so much so that she wanted to bunk with him. Out of everyone here, Ellie felt safe with him.

Jesus fucking Christ. He was the one man in this club no woman should ever feel safe around.

What was going on? Up until now, his world had made sense. It wasn’t pretty, or sugar-coated. He damn sure wasn’t envied.

But to him, it was all he knew, it was how he lived to see another day. To him, it worked.

Until now. Until her. And suddenly, nothing was working and none of it made any fucking sense.

He knew that if he tried to speak, his voice was going to crack and give away how fucked-up he truly was to everyone standing in this hallway. So, instead of speaking, he pulled his pack of smokes from his cut, lit one up, and as he was putting the pack away, glanced back at Ellie and jerked his chin toward the other end of the hallway. Then he took off down the hall, feeling something akin to masculine satisfaction when he heard Ellie’s bare feet slapping the concrete floor behind him.

Not that he’d ever wanted the attention of a female, but Ellie choosing him over his brothers, him over sleeping alone in a room, following him down the hallway, fucking shit, he liked it. It felt like power and not at all like the sort of power he was used to exerting over women. This was different, softer, it flowed smooth and hot through his veins, improving his posture and twisting his lips.

Was this what it felt like to have a woman of your own? A woman that actually welcomed a man’s physical strength, wanted his protection, would be submissive to only him.

Stopping in front of his room, Dirty pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. As he held the door for her, Ellie slipped past him and into his room. His eyes moved over her bare shoulders, down the curvy lines of her hourglass figure, stopping at her ass. It was a juicy-as-fuck ass; it looked soft and jiggled when she walked, much like her breasts did.

And none of it was off-putting. In fact, the more he watched her, the more he liked her imperfect body, her darker skin, and jet-black hair. She looked nothing like the club whores, those fake blondes with fake tits, their bodies covered with tattoos and leather.

More importantly, she looked nothing like his foster mother. She was nothing like his foster mother. She would never hurt a child. She was kind even when she didn’t have to be.

“Dirty?”

Dirty’s eyes traveled up the front of Ellie’s body, raking over her generous breasts before landing on her beautiful face.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your real name?” she asked. “I feel so strange calling you Dirty.”

His stomach flipped. No one but Deuce knew his real name, and no one had called him by his real name since her.

Agitated excitement rose from his gut to his throat. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to know, but he wasn’t sure why he wanted her to know, or what the repercussions of her knowing would be.

“Michael,” he said quickly before he could talk himself out of it.

Ellie’s eyes widened in surprise and then just as quickly, her lips split into a smile.

“Michael,” she murmured. “A great prince of Heaven and the protector against the forces of evil.”

Dirty stared at her. Did she just liken him to a motherfucking angel? A protector? Him? She really was insane. Or maybe that beat-down she’d taken had left her with some fucking brain damage?

“Thank you, Michael,” she continued softly. “For protecting me.”

He swallowed hard. She had no idea who she was thanking, that the monster she thought he was protecting her from in fact lived inside of him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Get the fuck off me,” I whispered, shoving at Cage’s wandering hands. “Everybody is staring at us.”

Actually, staring probably wasn’t the right word. Everyone who was currently in the main room was gaping at us. Or snickering. Bikers, their old ladies, and kids had all piled in for lockdown and the ones who hadn’t been here when Deuce and I had gotten into it, had quickly been informed. To make matters worse, Cage was groping me 24/7.

It was everything I’d always wanted growing up.

But now, it was embarrassing as all hell. The only people who didn’t seem to think our sudden coupling was the best comedy show of the season were Deuce and Eva. Deuce was ignoring us entirely and Eva was sending warm smiles in our direction. Smiles that were nearly as embarrassing as all the laughter.

And then there was Danny. She hadn’t said one word to me, hadn’t even so much as looked my way.

ZZ.

She’d heard everything and probably then some.

Strangely enough, I actually felt guilty. As much as I couldn’t stand Little Miss Perfect, I’d grown up with her and the thought of her hating me, really hating me instead of just being irritated with my usual shitty attitude, wasn’t sitting well with me.

Although Dirty’s initial appearance at the club, looking eerily like a Calvin Klein underwear model, and Ellie—of all people—staying with him, had taken the attention off Cage and me, Dirty was only making brief visits out of his room, mostly to the kitchen, so all attention was back on us again.

Stupid fucking lockdown. Stupid motherfucking lockdown. Not only was I trapped here but I was trapped here without my own clothing, forced to wear Kami’s, the only other woman here who was as thin as I was. The skinny jeans weren’t so bad, despite them being tighter than I liked, but the nearly sheer camisole, a silly and shimmering purple, was repulsive. I was literally counting down the minutes until the washing machine was freed up and I could put my own clothing back on.

And it was only Monday. I had two more days to endure. Maybe longer if whatever Deuce had going down on Wednesday didn’t go according to plan.

To make matters worse, my mother refused to leave Deuce and Eva’s room and Jase was practically camped out in the hall, hoping that she’d eventually come out. Hawk, thankfully, was keeping his distance, staying quiet and keeping Christopher busy. I had to give him credit for that; my poor mother wouldn’t stand an emotional chance if both of them came at her at once.

Speaking of emotional chances, I was still trying to figure out how to bring up the matter of her memory without upsetting her further.

As usual, the Hell’s Horsemen Montana Chapter was one big fat hot mess.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Cage growled, slapping my hands down as he used his body to push me backward. My back hit the bar counter and Cage’s arms came down around me, locking me in place.

“I’m hungry,” he said, his voice low as his face dipped into the crook of my neck.

“I’m not a kitchen,” I hissed, even as my eyelids fluttered from whatever his tongue was doing behind my ear.

“No?” he asked, laughing softly as his teeth grazed my neck. “So, all that pussy I been eatin’? That wasn’t you grindin’ my face like you were diggin’ for gold?”

Loud laughter erupted to my left and my cheeks heated with mortification. Cage, however, was completely oblivious or just didn’t care one way or the other.

“Please, Cage,” I begged, shoving at him again. “Please, not in front of everyone.”

Cage lifted his head and pulled himself to his full height, towering over me. “I want ’em all to know,” he whispered. “That you ain’t with Z. That you’re fuckin’ mine.”

Mine. His.

God, he was killing me. Slowly. I was a mere bystander to my own death, unable to move, only able to watch all the time knowing exactly what was coming.

“Gimme those lips, Teacup,” he whispered, bowing his head, pressing his mouth to mine. His tongue slid past my lips, his hand came up, and his fingers slid through my hair. Before I knew what I was doing, I was up on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal eagerness, forgetting where we were, forgetting that we were far from alone.

Out of all the men I’d been with, not one of my sexual experiences had been quite like this. Where I just couldn’t seem to stop myself, to say no—no matter what Cage was demanding of me, I still wanted more and more and more.

It was so good. So sexually satisfying and yet I still couldn’t keep my shit together around him. I had to have more.

His right hand slid up my back, under my borrowed shirt, and up my side, landing on my breast. My eyes went wide. Enough was enough.

“Stop it!” I yelled, shoving at him with all my strength, managing to at least dislodge his grip on my breast.

Shaking with laughter, Cage raised both his hands in the air, palms forward. “Calm down,” he said.

“Yeah, Tegen, calm the fuck down. It ain’t like we all ain’t seen Cage with his pants around his ankles a million fuckin’ times before.”

I turned to Anger, whose evil smirk only worsened as I glared at him.

“What?” he asked, shrugging. “You ain’t the first bitch he’d be havin’ on top of that bar. Ain’t the second, third, tenth, or forty-fifth either.”

My glare swung toward Cage.

No longer laughing, Cage let out an irritated growl. “Thanks a lot, fucker,” he shot in Anger’s direction. “It’s gonna take a fuckin’ crowbar to pry those legs back open now.”

My jaw dropped.

“What the fuck!” I shrieked. “What is wrong with you?”

Shoving past him, I ran from the room, hurt and humiliated. Again. God, he just kept doing it. And I kept letting him. Pissing me off, soothing the hurt with a few words, pissing me off again, embarrassing me, and then kissing away the sting.

Why was I such a dumbass when it came to him?

When I’d finally been able to sit down and think about everything that had happened, all in such a short period of time, all of it felt so off. Like this wasn’t my reality but instead a fling during a summer vacation, something I couldn’t take home with me, something that would leave me with only memories.

What was going to happen come Wednesday? Would Cage come to see me in San Francisco? Would I start making regular visits home again? A weekend here and there? Holidays? Would I stay with Cage instead of my mother from now on?

And what were we exactly? He’d said he wanted me on the back of his bike, that I was “his,” but had never elaborated.

As it was, any time I tried to bring this up with Cage, he wasn’t even trying to listen to me, just groping, kissing, and fucking me incessantly.

“Tegen!”

I stopped midrun and took a deep breath, not really sure what to expect, before turning around to face Danny.

Standing about ten feet away from me, Danny gave me a small smile. “I thought maybe you’d want some clothing,” she said and pointed to her room. “That wasn’t imported from a high-end designer in France.”

I blew out a breath of relief. No confrontation. I couldn’t handle any more confrontations. I was an emotional train wreck every time I came home and this time, oh God, this time was so much worse. Both good and bad. A confusing mess, both ugly and beautiful, and one I could no longer deny.

“But first,” she said as I began heading toward her. I stopped walking. Here it comes.

“What?”

“Is he okay?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “Is he happy?”

I stared at her, watched her shift uncomfortably, unable to meet my eyes. She did care about ZZ, that much was obvious.

“He’s okay,” I said. “But happy? No, he’s far from happy.”

She nodded listlessly as if I’d given her the answer she’d expected. Taking a deep breath, she again gestured toward her room. “Clothes?”

“Hell yes,” I muttered. “Hell fucking yes.”

• • •

Shaking out his fist, Cage glared down to where Anger lay sprawled out on the floor with a bloody nose and a split lip. “Don’t fuck with me,” he growled. “Don’t you ever fuck with my shit again.”

Anger turned his head to one side and spit out a tooth along with a mouthful of blood. “Fuck you,” he said, coughing. “Since when is Tegen your shit? Been soundin’ to me like the bitch jumped beds, which makes her nothin’ but club ass.”

Cage could feel the black veil of rage begin to take hold. It always started out with a slight tremble, growing and growing, until it was a full-body rumble from deep within, one he couldn’t contain, one that left him waking up in the midst of a full-on brawl and not quite sure how he’d gotten there.

“Not seein’ why you’re givin’ a shit, brother,” Anger continued as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “The bitch ain’t even all that hot.”

The next thing Cage remembered was yelling. Yelling and screaming and his arms being wrenched behind his back, his feet flying out from under him as he was dragged backward across the room.

Eva appeared in his line of sight, peering worriedly at him. “Cage!” she yelled, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Cage!”

Confused, he blinked up at his stepmother.

“Calm the fuck down!” she demanded.

He calmed right the fuck down. Eva was damned pissed. And pregnant. The last time Eva was pissed and pregnant she’d nearly lost Ivy and almost died in the process. Glancing over toward the bar, he found Anger slumped against it, holding a beer to the side of his face, giving him the stink eye.

What the fuck ever.

Whoever was holding him suddenly yanked him upward and onto his feet, then shoved him not so lightly off to the side. Cage turned to glare and found Hawk glaring back at him.

“I’ll knock you out, brother,” Hawk boomed. “This club is packed solid with women and children and if you’re gonna be actin’ straight-up crazy, I will knock you the fuck out.”

Yeah. Hawk would knock him the fuck out, if he didn’t knock Hawk the fuck out first. But after one more glance at Eva, who knew exactly what he was thinking and didn’t appear to be very happy about it, he shoved his thoughts aside and gave them both a brisk nod.

“You’re lucky your dad’s in the back,” Eva hissed. “Not sure I could have saved you from his fists this time.”

Cage’s jaw locked up tight. Save him? The old bastard had taught him how to fight. They were the same fucking size, had the same hot angry blood flowing through their veins. Forget that his old man was closing in on sixty too.

Fuck. Who was he kidding? That tank of a man could still take out six men if he had to. He’d always looked up to his father for that shit. Wanted to be just like him when he was older.

Now he’d just settle for a thank-you or a “job well done” tossed his way. At least once before one of them kicked it.

“Cage,” Eva warned. “Do I need to make you listen to some Billie Holiday? Because I will, you know I will.”

His lips twitched. Seeing this, Eva outright grinned. “Go fix what you just did,” she whispered, leaning in close to him and shoving him in the direction Tegen had run off in. “And by fix it, I don’t mean try and get her naked. I mean actually fix it.”

“She’s gonna kick me in the junk,” he muttered, wincing just thinking about it.

Hawk’s hand came down on his shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t be a fuckin’ jackass,” the man said. “You sittin’ pretty ain’t gonna win you any favors. You’re just gonna end up sittin’ alone in the end. And, brother, the way you been actin’ with the hippie, you and me both know you ain’t wanna be sittin’ alone no more.”

Both Cage and Eva watched as Hawk turned on his boot heel and stalked silently through the club. The brother was hurting bad, it was in his expression, in his voice, in the way he walked. His shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested upon them.

Cage turned back to Eva. “For real,” he said. “She’s gonna kick me.”

Eva shrugged. “Take a look around you, Cage. From chaos, the strongest sort of love is usually born.”

Chaos. Well, he and Tegen definitely had that shit down.

But real love, mutual love, the sort of love Eva was talking about? How did you know if you had something like that?

Time, he figured. Over time, you would know. And then it dawned on him…

Wednesday! I have to be back at work on Tuesday!

Tegen didn’t live in Miles City anymore. Tegen lived in motherfucking California. She had an apartment, a job, and probably friends. She’d spent years building a life there.

Fuck, he’d been so caught up in her, inside of her actually, he hadn’t given much thought to what was going to happen when lockdown ended.

He didn’t have time.

Cage stormed off in search of Tegen. Several short breaths later, he found her closing Danny and Ripper’s bedroom door with a bundle of clothing in her arms.

“Was that fuckin’ necessary?” he demanded, marching up to her. “Actin’ like a goddamn lunatic?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said. “You’re mad at me for reacting to what you did? Groping me like club ass in front of everyone! Then saying you’d need a crowbar to pry my legs back open? You’re a sick, sexist motherfucker and, what? Did you expect me to do a fuckin’ jig? Or giggle and swoon and bend over the bar so you could fuck me in front of everyone?”

Cage opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. What the fuck did he say to that? She was right. He had been doing exactly what she was accusing him of.

He just hadn’t thought…

Fuck. He hadn’t thought. Period.

Snorting, Tegen pushed past him. “You think I don’t hear half the boys talking about how I jumped beds? I know they think I’m a slut, but you know better, don’t you?”

Pausing in front of his door, she glanced over his shoulder. “You do know better, right?”

Jesus, he was not going to get into another argument about whether or not Tegen was a club whore.

“Get inside the fuckin’ room,” he demanded, stalking toward her. Grabbing her arm, he pushed open his door and shoved her inside.

“Goddammit, Cage!” she screamed as she threw her armful of clothing at him. “Stop treating me like that! Stop shoving me into rooms, stop talking about me as if I’m not right there and, seriously, stop acting like your Neanderthal father!”

“What are you going to do about Z?” he demanded, ignoring her. “You need me to make that call, or you got that shit covered?”

Tegen went still. “What?” she asked.

“You dumb?” he shot back, feeling his patience quickly waning. “You need to tell him the two of you, whatever shit you had worked out, is done with. Give him the apartment, whatever, just get it done. We can worry about gettin’ your shit outta there later.”

Tegen’s eyes flared wide and Cage got the answer he’d been seeking. She’d planned on returning home.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tegen asked. “Why would I give ZZ my apartment?”

And stupidly, he took it one step further. “I told you I wanted you to be my fuckin’ girl. You agreed.”

“I know that!” she snapped back. “I still don’t see what any of that has to do with my apartment?”

Cage lost it. For such a smart kid, she sure as fuck turned out to be a dumbass adult.

“Because ain’t no girl of mine is gonna be livin’ three states over! Especially with another dude! What the fuck kinda shit you thinkin’, Tegen?”

“Oh, really?” Tegen sneered. “Can you tell me what else I should or shouldn’t be doing? Is there a back-of-the-bike handbook around this fucking dump that I should be reading?

“Oh, no, wait,” she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I forgot. None of you fuckers even know how to read. Except ZZ.”

“If you think,” he bit out, “that you’re gonna be jumpin’ beds again after this shit with us, you are fuckin’ wrong.”

“Jumping beds?” she shrieked. “Before this weekend, we were together once, Cage! Once, for a whole two minutes after which you basically told me you wanted nothing more to do with me! I did not jump beds! I was kicked out of yours and went happily to someone else’s!”

God, fucking, shit! Why was she so damn crazy all the time? Why couldn’t she manage to scrape together more than five seconds of normalcy for him?

“Are you hell-fuckin’-bent on drivin’ me to blow your fuckin’ skull wide open?” he shouted. “What the fuck do you want from me, bitch? Fuckin’ tell me so I can give it to you and you can SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

He was hardly surprised when, out of clothing to throw, she launched herself at him. He waited a beat before quickly sidestepping her, then hooked an arm around her stomach as she blasted by him. He lifted her right off her feet and heaved her across the ten feet between him and his bed.

“Cage!” she screamed as she jackknifed into a sitting position. “Stop manhandling me!”

Cage suddenly felt drained. She was exhausting. The constant back-and-forth, he hated it. It reminded him of his father, of their fucked-up relationship, and that was the last thing he wanted this shit with Tegen to become.

“Jesus,” he said, running his hands through his hair as he turned away from her. “This is not how I want this shit to be.”

Why the fuck were women so motherfucking fucked-up?

He knew this shit wasn’t just a weekend fuck fest. He could feel that truth, knew it in his gut every time he’d been inside her, working her over, watching, feeling her body tighten and release, feeling his reaction to her, and what a motherfucking awesome reaction it was.

He was so into her; she was so fucking into him. You couldn’t fake that kind of shit. He’d been with far too many women, he knew what was what.

And yet she was still acting like a nut job.

Jesus, this bitch was fucking him up. Had him thinking one thing and then another and then another and then he was back at the beginning again feeling all sorts of confused. His brain felt like it had been tied to a whipping post.

From chaos, the strongest sort of love is usually born.

When did Eva become motherfucking Buddha? But…coming from the woman who’d reined in his old man, he figured there just might be some truth in that statement.

When Tegen had yet to respond with another smartass comment, Cage turned around and found her standing only inches away from him. She went instantly up on her tiptoes and slung her arms around his neck, bringing his face down to hers.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, kissing him softly. Her tongue slid inside his mouth and tangled with his own as her hands dropped from his neck to his shoulders and then traveled lower, over his chest and stomach and then…

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrists and holding her hands still. Startled, she glanced up at him.

“Did you just say…you’re sorry?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “Yeah.”

He gaped at her. “You, Tegen Louise Matthews, just said…you were sorry?”

Her upper lip curled. “Yes,” she bit out. “I figured if the world’s most renowned man whore can apologize, so can I.”

It was his turn to grimace. He was really sick of all her digs in reference to his sexual history but he didn’t want to fight anymore, so he kept his mouth shut and let it slide.

“Can I resume taking your pants off now?” she asked.

“If I let you, will you wipe that dirty fuckin’ look off your face?”

“Maybe.”

“Babe, I’m gonna need a guarantee or it’s a no-go. I can’t be fuckin’ some bitch who’s lookin’ like she’d rather be doin’ laundry. Not sure my man-whorin’ ego could take a blow like that.”

It started out with just a mere twitch of her lips but quickly escalated, and Cage found himself staring dumbfounded at the woman in front of him. She was giggling.

Tegen.

Giggling.

He went insta-hard.

“Keep laughin’,” he growled, walking her backward. “That shit looks good on you.”

“Shut up,” she said, grinning. “And fuck me.”

He shoved her back on the bed and jumped on over her.

“Way ahead of you, Teacup,” he said, fumbling with his zipper. “While you been bein’ crazy, I’ve been fuckin’ you for the past twenty minutes at least, might even finish before I get up inside that hungry pussy of yours. And I ain’t the little engine that could; when my shit is outta fuel, that bastard is in for the night. So, fuckin’ sucks to be you.”

Giggles turned into full-on hysterics and Cage stopped what he was doing and just watched her laugh. Hell, she looked young. Her nose scrunched up, pink-faced, and trying to breathe in between bouts of full-bellied laughter.

No scowl. No angry lines. No narrowed eyes or flat lips. She looked young, fresh, and fucking beautiful.

Cage propelled himself into action. Not knowing when he was going to get a chance like this again, he wasn’t going to miss it. After undressing her as fast as he could, he reached over, grabbed a condom off the nightstand and—

Tegen gasped at his harsh entry. Then her surprise bled quickly into a smile.

“Better, babe?” he asked, grinning down at her.

“Your dick should become a United Nations dignitary,” she said. “That fucker could put the smackdown on the world peace holdup.”

Cage’s body shook with laughter.

“I love you, Teacup,” he said, smiling. “Always have,” he said. “Just didn’t realize it until now.”

Her surprised whimper made him grin.

“Now, about that fuckin’ apartment in Cali?”

Beneath him, Tegen’s body trembled violently. When her chin began to shake, he cupped the side of her face and held her still.

“Babe?” he asked gently.

“What am I going to do here?” she whispered.

“You know exactly what you’re gonna fuckin’ do here,” he whispered back, pulling out of her slowly and then sliding just as slowly back inside.

“You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my fuckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean and you’re gonna fuck me whenever the fuck I want it.”

When her eyes flared with anger, he growled, “Shut up.” After a pause, during which he managed to glare tenderly at her, he continued. “Other than that, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Get a fuckin’ job, or fuckin’ don’t, or start writin’ those books you were always talkin’ about.”

For a moment neither of them moved, then Tegen’s mouth opened and Cage internally winced, waiting for her to lay into him. But instead of speaking, her breath shuddered heavily from her chest and her mouth closed. Opened again. Closed.

“Okay,” she whispered and he could see the fear in her green eyes. It matched the fear inside of him, the fear that he was making the wrong decision, that they didn’t work together, that this would end up in a catastrophe of fucking and fighting.

Only thing was…the happiness he felt far outweighed his fears.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Muttering curses, Deuce continued quickly down the back hall until he reached Jase’s room. Grabbing the knob, he twisted and pushed open the door. As soon as it closed behind him, he shrugged out of his cut and pulled his T-shirt over his head, then flung both garments across the room. Still cursing, he reached for his belt buckle, stopping when a pair of small, soft hands covered his own.

Eva’s big gray eyes met his. “Baby,” she said softly. “You need to calm down.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, pushing her hands away. “Not gonna happen, babe. I’m the stupid fuck who knocked your ass up again. Already got enough fuckin’ problems, don’t need to add losin’ you to my fuckin’ list.”

“You wanted more kids.”

Shoving down his jeans, Deuce stepped out of them and, turning away from his wife, headed for the bathroom.

“Yeah,” he mumbled to himself. “’Cause I fuckin’ look at your ass and get hard. Fact remains that you shouldn’t be havin’ babies.”

“Hey!” Eva snapped and he stopped walking and turned to look at her.

“Plenty of women have children when they’re older than I am.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “I ain’t just talkin’ about you. I ain’t callin’ you old, babe. I’m callin’ me old. Almost sixty, Eva. What kinda fuckin’ father am I gonna be to that kid? Be teachin’ him or her how to ride when I can’t even fuckin’ walk myself?”

Eva burst out laughing. “Can’t walk?” she said between gasps. “You? Baby, you are more in shape than half your boys! I mean…” She trailed off and Deuce watched her eyes roam slowly down and back up his body. Her eyes darkened and her expression changed.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

His nostrils flared. “Don’t start your shit with me, bitch,” he said, his voice low, his eyes shooting toward where his youngest daughter lay sleeping on the couch. “When you can’t fuckin’ finish it.”

Eva’s answering grin caused his body to tighten. Even now, he was almost sixty and her pushing forty and he still couldn’t fucking get enough of her. Or that crazy way she looked at him. Soft. Needy. Full of everything he lacked inside of him. It was the same way she’d looked at him when she was sixteen years old, sitting on a picnic table, ready to throw away her entire life…for him. A beaten down, bitter criminal eighteen years older than her.

“Bathroom,” she said, pointing.

He shook his head. “Only thing I’m gonna be doin’ in that bathroom is washin’ the stink off my old fuckin’ body.”

Eva’s nose wrinkled. “I’m pregnant and horny and you are so, so, no fucking fun.”

Laughing softly, he resumed walking. “Told you, babe, I’m fuckin’ old.”

“Old-fashioned,” she muttered, following behind him.

Inside the bathroom, Deuce bent down over the tub and turned the shower on while Eva pushed herself up onto the bathroom counter top. Leaning back against the wall, she placed both her hands on her still small but swollen stomach and sighed.

“It’s a boy,” she said, smiling fondly.

Deuce’s eyes flared. “You fuckin’ found that shit out even after I told you I didn’t want us knowin’?”

Smiling cheekily, she shook her head. “Nope. I just have a feeling.”

Shaking his head, he dropped his boxers and stepped inside the tub. Leaving the curtain open, he watched Eva watching him.

“He looks like you, you know.”

“You got x-ray vision?”

Laughing, Eva shook her head. “No. Cage. Cage looks just like you at that age.”

Deuce grimaced. “Fuckin’ great. Too fuckin’ bad he ain’t got his head on straight.”

Eva lifted her shoulder. “Tegen may change that,” she said, studying him.

Closing his eyes, Deuce tilted his face up under the steady stream of hot water and breathed out a sigh. “’Bout fuckin’ time those two worked out their crazy fuckin’ bullshit. Now maybe we can all get back to livin’ instead of dwellin’ on bullshit none of us can fuckin’ change.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Eva continued. “Mick told me how upset he got when he found out about ZZ.”

Grabbing the bar of soap on the ledge, Deuce ran it quickly up and down his body. “Better not be,” he grumbled. “Bitch like Tegen ain’t cut out for this life. When I pass that fuckin’ gavel, Cage is gonna need an old lady that’s gonna stand by him, not be bitchin’ ’bout every little thing.”

“Cut her some slack,” Eva said. “Look what happened to her mom.”

Deuce’s eyes cut in Eva’s direction. “Babe,” he bit out. “No fuckin’ shit. I feel for the kid, you know I do. Been takin’ care of her as much as she’ll let me but the truth fuckin’ stands, she ain’t old lady material. Her endin’ up with Cage means she’ll be where you are now and she ain’t got the right attitude for it. She’s still spittin’ mad, probably always gonna be too. Can’t have my club and my boys’ families fallin’ apart ’cause Tegen don’t know her fuckin’ place.”

“She loves your son, Deuce,” Eva said softly. “Always has. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Cursing, Deuce slammed the water off and stepped out of the shower. Reaching over the counter, Eva snagged a towel from the rack and tossed it in his direction. He dried off quickly and tossed the towel to the floor. Crossing the small distance between them, Deuce placed his hands on either side of Eva and leaned forward.

“Don’t count for shit,” he said gruffly. “Not here, babe. You love the man, you love the life. Simple as that. You know this fuckin’ shit.”

“And what if he loves her, too?”

Deuce paused. “You fuckin’ shittin’ me? Cage? You think he’s hard up for that little shit?”

Eva shrugged. “I think he could be. From what I saw, I think he’s nearly there.”

Not good. The last thing he needed was his only son falling balls-deep into something with a crazy hippie. Next thing he’d know, Cage would be running off to San Francisco wearing flowers in his hair or some stupid shit and then what? He’d be handing his club over to Ripper?

Fuck that bullshit. Ripper got his baby girl and that was all that fucking asshole was getting.

If what Eva said was true, that Cage was about to get caught up in a pussy full of quicksand, he was going to squash that shit. Right the fuck now.

“Come here, babe,” he said, hooking his hands underneath Eva’s arms and sliding her forward. “You want dick, you gotta five-minute window before I start snorin’.”

Eva pressed her lips together and her eyes danced with laughter.

“I love you,” she said, giggling.

He snorted. “Babe. Yeah.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

At the edge of town, the drop-off point, Dirty shut off his engine but remained seated on his bike. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to keep his shit together. Not when he came face-to-face with Mooresville. Not after spending an entire weekend and then some seeing Ellie smile, listening to her laugh, watching her sleep from his makeshift bedroll on the floor, just taking it all in. Her light snoring, her sleepy-sounding murmurs and leg twitches, her kicking the sheets off, allowing him to see her T-shirt riding up her body, exposing her smooth stomach.

He hadn’t slept in days, afraid of having another nightmare and attacking her again, but he didn’t care. He was too wrapped up in her, shocked, confused, out of his mind, thinking constantly about the sound of his real name, the movement of her generous mouth as she said it, the feel of her wet skin under his hands, the pleading look in the alleyway.

He wanted to fuck her so bad it hurt. It hurt because he was terrified. Scared to death.

He’d been raped by a woman, raped by a man, and he’d raped women.

He’d never been with a woman. Not in the way other men were with women.

And he’d never kissed a woman.

Ever.

Fuck him, forget kissing, he couldn’t stand being touched. The thought of Ellie touching him…like that…gave him an erection from hell even as his skin crawled, rippling with disgust.

Yeah. Fuck that shit. Him and Ellie; that was never going to happen unless he dosed her. Which he was not going to do.

What he was going to do was make sure Mooresville either went to ground or kept his motherfucking distance.

Because, the one thing he did know for certain was that he didn’t want Ellie to leave. He wanted more smiles. More laughter. He just wanted to be around her. Or at least in the same town as her.

Maybe he could take her for a ride sometime…on the back of his bike.

“Fuck you!”

Dirty glanced over and found Cage up in Cox’s face, shoving the brother backward.

“Fuckin’ touch me again, little boy,” Cox growled. “And I will end you.”

Cage’s nostrils flared wildly. “Fuckin’ end me, you stupid spic motherfucker, fuckin’ do it!”

“I’m gonna end both of you if you don’t shut the fuck up!” Deuce roared.

Dirty rolled his eyes and looked away. Cage had been straight-up out of his mind ever since he’d woken up Tuesday morning and found that Tegen had snuck out in the middle of the night. He’d been drinking excessively ever since, picking fights and just plain being miserable.

Fucking women drama. Dirty shook his head. Maybe he should be glad he couldn’t be in any sort of normal relationship with a female. If the couples around him were examples of what relationships were like, he sort of felt lucky. He damn sure wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with crazy bitches like Kami, Tegen, or even Danny, because as normal as she seemed, she’d killed a woman. Put two bullets in Ripper’s ex-girlfriend. Something like that definitely constituted as woman-crazy.

“Dirty.”

He glanced up to find Deuce standing beside him.

“Prez?”

“Dumbass is shitfaced,” Deuce said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in Cage’s direction.

Well…duh. Cage hadn’t stopped drinking since yesterday morning.

“Need you to sit ’im, bitch, and take his ass home.”

Dirty’s brow hit his hairline. “Now?

“Yeah, fuckin’ now. You think I need him actin’ like this once Mooresville and his boys show up? Or how about for the fuckin’ drop-off. Tension’s gonna be high, everybody’s already expectin’ a fight. I don’t need my fuckin’ kid actin’ crazy ’cause he lost his brand new pussy.”

“I can fuckin’ hear you,” Cage slurred. “And I ain’t ridin’ bitch no-fuckin’-where.”

They both ignored him.

“Find someone else,” Dirty said. No way was he leaving, not before he saw the chief.

“No,” Deuce said. “I’m givin’ you an order, Dirty. Which means you fuckin’ do it.”

“Don’t do this, Prez,” Dirty said quickly as he jumped off his bike and got to his feet. “I need to be here. I need to make sure—”

Deuce grabbed his jacket collar and yanked him over his bike, then with a hard shove sent him stumbling backward.

“You think I don’t know what you fuckin’ need?” he yelled, advancing on him. “I been takin’ care of everything you needed since you were just a damn kid! Didn’t matter what or who you fuckin’ needed, I’ve always taken care of it, yeah?”

Dirty’s hands fisted at his sides. “You don’t fuckin’ get it, this isn’t—”

“I DON’T FUCKIN’ GET IT?”

Deuce’s thick arm shot out and his hand wrapped around Dirty’s throat. “I get it, Dirty,” Deuce growled low, bringing them face-to-face. “I fuckin’ get it. It’s you who ain’t gettin’ it. We got a lot of bank rollin’ our way tonight and if this shit gets screwed up ’cause you’re feelin’ a woman for the first time in your life, I will put your sick and twisted ass into the ground.”

Dirty’s adrenaline skyrocketed, causing his blood to race through his veins, his heart to pound harder, and his hands to shake. Deuce had never talked to him like this. Never.

“I’ve been lettin’ you run wild since I brought you here, doin’ whatever the fuck you felt like doin’, but it ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ tonight, not with the motherfuckin’ Russians. We need this shit to go down, the club needs this, and the fuckin’ Demons need this to go down without any bullshit. I get you’re givin’ a fuck about Ellie, I give a fuck too, but I give way more fucks about my boys and my family than I do some bitch that nearly got her ass killed ’cause she got drunk with the wrong fuckin’ man.”

“Prez,” he rasped, struggling to get a good breath. “He’s gotta go to ground.”

Deuce’s grip on his neck tightened. “Why?” he demanded. “’Cause he fucked with some bitch you’re feelin’? How many bitches you fucked with, Dirty? You need to go to ground too?”

Dirty stared into the eyes of the lone person who’d ever shown him any sort of kindness, who’d given him a family, friends, and a life, a man he respected and loved. A man he’d gladly die for. A man who, if he killed him, Dirty would consider it an honor to die at his hands.

“Yes,” he choked out. “I do.”

Deuce’s nostrils flared and his grip on Dirty’s throat fell away. Dirty immediately backed away, grabbing his neck and coughing. But before he could regain his bearings, Deuce’s fist cracked into the side of his face and right before he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Dirty could swear he felt his brain hit the top of his skull before settling back in its place.

“That’s once,” Deuce spat out, standing over him. “You say it again and I’ll break both your fuckin’ legs. Now, get your sorry ass up and get Cage the fuck outta here.”

Deuce reached down and offered him an arm. Dirty grasped forearms with the man and allowed himself to be helped up. Once on his feet, Deuce shoved him in the direction of his bike where Cox, Cage, Tap, and Mick were all staring at them.

“Stop standin’ around like a bunch of assholes,” Deuce growled. “Dirty, get my drunk fuck of a kid home and Cox, get your fuckin’ ass into sniper position.”

Dirty looked to Mick, who gave him a hard look that said to Dirty, “If you don’t get your ass into gear, I will beat you the fuck into the ground and then piss on your grave.”

“Let’s go,” he said, shoving Cage toward his bike. “But you fuckin’ touch me, asshole, and I will boot you off the back and run you the fuck over.”

“Who the fuck would wanna touch you?” Cage muttered drunkenly. “You think a shower and shave makes a fuckin’ difference?” Cage burst out laughing. “Bitches don’t give a fuck about any of that shit…and they’re all bitches. Fuckin’ whores, actually. Don’t give a fuck ’bout anybody but themselves. And you ain’t gonna know it ’til it’s too fuckin’ late, ’til you’re tellin’ ’em stupid shit and thinkin’ it’s the same for them but it ain’t and then they’re gone and then—”

“Brother,” Dirty growled as he straddled his bike. “Shut the motherfuck up and just get the fuck on.”

“Fine,” Cage slurred. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t,” Dirty muttered. “Believe me.”

• • •

Ellie uncrossed her legs then immediately re-crossed them and began tapping her foot on the floor. Again.

Dirty had been gone for over an hour, gone to meet with Daniel and whoever else they were meeting. For what, she didn’t know, and Dirty wouldn’t tell her. All he would say was that they had some club business to take care of and that he would make sure Daniel never came near her again.

She swallowed hard. What if something had gone wrong? How long did club business usually take in such a small town? Better yet, what exactly was club business?

Never mind. She didn’t want to know what club business was. If she were ever arrested as an accessory to…whatever, she wanted to pass her lie detector test.

Glancing around the room, she couldn’t help but wonder how everyone else was so calm. Weren’t they afraid for the men who’d left? Ellie focused on Kami, who was talking animatedly with Eva, complaining loudly about a pair of shoes as if she didn’t care one bit that Cox had left to go do…club business.

The same went for Eva. And for Mick’s wife, Adriana.

They all seemed like being locked up inside a heavily protected building for a week, only to have their men suddenly up and leave to “fix” whatever business needing fixing, was a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence to them.

“You okay, girl?”

Ellie glanced up as a black-haired woman with extraordinarily fair skin took the seat beside her on the couch. She looked to be in her midtwenties, was beautiful, curvy, had an arm full of skull tattoos, wore far too much eye makeup, and had disturbingly long fingernails, painted bright blue and filed to a menacing point.

“Christina?” she asked. There were so many people here, she couldn’t keep track.

Snapping the wad of gum in her mouth, the woman nodded. “Yup. I’m Bucket’s girl,” she said, pointing across the room to where Bucket stood. “When he feels like havin’ a girl.”

Ellie wrinkled up her nose. When he felt like having a girl? What did that mean?

Christina smiled knowingly. “You ain’t feelin’ the life, huh?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, girl, this shit ain’t for everyone. I mean, Bucket ain’t no saint and his dick ain’t eighty inches long, but he does this curlin’ thing with his tongue…”

Seeing the look on Ellie’s face Christina trailed off and shrugged.

“But no matter what, if he’s wantin’ an old lady or wantin’ to play, my man takes good fuckin’ care of me so I’ve learned to look the other way, ya know?”

Ellie didn’t know but she nodded, watching as Christina reached down the front of her skull T-shirt and emerged with a pack of cigarettes. Ellie’s eyes widened. Her T-shirt was skintight; how had she fit the pack in there without it being noticeable?

After lighting one, she offered Ellie the pack. “You want? You look like you could use a little herbal relaxation.”

Ellie’s forehead wrinkled. “Herbal relaxation?” she repeated dumbly.

Christina’s answering grin made her feel like the lone one in the group who hadn’t gotten the joke.

“Weed, girl. Pot? Mari-fuckin’-juana?”

Ellie’s face grew hot. Now she really felt stupid. “I’ve never tried it,” she said softly.

“Figured that, girl. Here.” She held out her joint and offered it to Ellie. “Try it, it’ll help you relax.”

Ellie stared for only a moment before taking it. She really did need to relax, and so she shrugged and brought it to her lips.

When in Rome…or rather, when in lockdown with a bunch of criminals.

• • •

Dirty left Cage stumbling around in the parking lot and stormed inside the clubhouse. He took a quick look around the front room, found no sign of Ellie, and immediately headed for the back hall.

“Dirty!” Eva called out. “What happened?”

He didn’t bother turning around. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ know,” he shouted. “I got sent the fuck home.”

Reaching his door, he found it unlocked and pushed it open. Ellie glanced up from her seat on his bed, tossed aside the bag of potato chips she was eating, and scrambled to her feet.

“You’re back!”

Dirty stared at her. She was wearing his Clutch T-shirt. His Clutch T-shirt that barely reached the bottom of her ass. And white underwear. And that was it. Staring at the outline of her pussy, his dick started to throb.

“I gotta go,” he said quickly, turning around.

“Wait! What happened? What happened to your jaw?”

Dirty turned back to her. “Don’t know what happened yet. Deuce sent me back.”

With a silly smile on her face, Ellie took several steps in his direction. He kept his feet planted firmly on the floor despite the nervous itching in his veins, begging him to run from her.

“I’m glad,” she said, her soft voice unusually breathy. She was nearly on top of him now, looking up at him through those big blue eyes of hers. Big blue eyes that were bloodshot as all hell. “I was worried about you.”

Studying her, he frowned. “You fucked-up?”

Ellie erupted in giggles and Dirty got his answer. His thoughts took a nose dive into the gutter and he started wondering just how fucked-up she was and what he could get her to do in the state she was in.

“You really are beautiful,” Ellie continued in a whisper. Dirty watched her arm lift, watched her hand coming toward his face, and went rigid. For a moment he was unable to move, to blink, to so much as breathe and then…

Her soft, slightly damp palm connected with his cheek and his body involuntarily shuddered through unfamiliar sensations of the joining.

“You could have been a model,” she said.

His eyes squeezed closed. He’d thought he’d never wanted to hear those words again, but coming from Ellie, it didn’t make him crazy with rage, instead it…

It hurt. It fucking ached.

It made him wish he could erase his past, be a different man, one who was worthy of the face he’d been given, one who hadn’t been chewed up and spit out repeatedly because of it. One who hadn’t become everything he’d hated.

He felt Ellie’s hand shift on his cheek and his eyes flew open just in time to watch Ellie’s lips meet his. Nausea rose in his stomach, causing Dirty to tremble. What the fuck? What the fuck was he supposed to do? He didn’t know, he didn’t fucking know, goddamn, he didn’t motherfucking know!

A tear born from frustration and self-hatred slid from the corner of his eye and down his nose, landing on their joined lips. Ellie’s eyes opened and then she was gone, her hand, her lips, everything, was just gone.

“My God,” she whispered, wiping her thumb across her bottom lip, seeing the moisture there from his tear. “I’m so sorry, Michael,” she breathed as she turned away from him. “I didn’t mean to…”

No. No, she couldn’t kiss him and then nothing. His mind spun. He wanted her. He was aching for her. But he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do. He couldn’t kiss her, he couldn’t keep letting her touch him.

He slammed into her from behind, reaching immediately around her body, encircling her stomach and slapping his hand across her mouth before her startled shriek turned into screams.

Ellie whimpered under his hand and Dirty felt the sharp pang of guilt spear through his gut.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, baby,” he whispered hoarsely. “You trust me, right?”

Baby.

The term of endearment had passed so easily from his mouth and yet he was frozen in shock. He’d never once called a woman anything other than her name or some derogatory term in place of it.

Until now. Until right fucking now.

Several tense heartbeats passed before she nodded quickly. Relief filled him. She trusted him. She fucking trusted him. He wasn’t going to lose that. He would not betray that.

He released her mouth and wrapped another arm around her waist. Bending his head down to her ear, he whispered, “I ain’t a good man. I’ve done shit…I’ve done some pretty bad shit and now, it’s too fuckin’ late for me. I ain’t ever gonna be a good man.”

Underneath his hold on her, Dirty felt Ellie’s body tense. His heart rate increased tenfold. More than likely she was going to want nothing to do with him after this. And he would deal with that. He would release her, let her walk out of this room, the club, and his life. It would be better for her if she did. And he wouldn’t have to walk around terrified he was going to hurt her.

“What have you done,” she whispered, “that you think you can’t be forgiven for?”

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them again. “That’s the last time you’re gonna ask me that. I’m gonna be straight with you, I ain’t never gonna tell you what I’ve done, because I ain’t never wanna see you lookin’ at me any different than the way you were when I first walked into this room.

“That said,” he continued hoarsely. “I want inside you somethin’ fierce, baby.”

Ellie’s breath released in a hot rush of air and he felt her stomach expand against his grip.

“I think,” she said softly, “that I want you too.”

Need, hot and heady, raced through his already shaking body. He wanted to fuck her so damn bad; he wanted to push her down face first into his bed and take her hard and fast from behind.

But at the same time he wanted to feel those lips again, against his mouth, down his body, wrapping around his cock, taking him into her mouth.

And yet, he couldn’t do either. He couldn’t fuck her the same way he’d fucked so many whores, on his bed, half-conscious, refusing to look at them. And he couldn’t allow her to touch him, not sexually, not without becoming violent or sick, or motherfucking both.

“I’m so fucked-up,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I can’t be…with a woman.”

“Michael,” she said and he could hear the choked-back tears in her voice. “We don’t have to be…together. We can be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Why?” he asked brokenly. “Why would a woman like you want anything to do with a man like me?”

“You may have done bad things,” she whispered tearfully. “But you’re not a bad man, Michael. You saved my life, and you saved my life because you have a good heart. Now I want to do the same for you.”

Dirty’s heart exploded.

He was done.

Motherfucking done for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“So, is it just your arms or do you have other tattoos?”

I jerked my eyes away from the window and back to the man across the table. “Hmm?”

He gestured at my arms with his hummus-covered fork. “Your tattoos,” he said. “Do you have more?”

“Oh,” I said blandly. “Yeah, I’m covered.”

“That’s so hot,” he replied, grinning. “I love women who don’t conform to society’s ideals.”

Slumping back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow. Why the fuck had I agreed to this? Oh, right, because Hayley is a persistent bitch determined to marry me off to some douchebag.

Last week it had been a personal trainer named Todd who obviously frequented a tanning salon more than most women did. He’d loved talking, but only about himself and how crazy awesome he was. Halfway through dinner, unable to stomach another second of Todd’s love affair with himself, I’d shoved my chair back, got to my feet, and said, “Really, this was great, I absolutely loved hearing all about your body mass index and how sexy your abdominal muscles are, but I’m really late for an important date with a screwdriver.”

Poor thing had looked so confused.

“A screwdriver,” I repeated. “I need to jam one into my skull to try and erase this last excruciatingly painful hour of my life.”

And this week it was David, the computer analyst. He was decent-looking, I guessed. Another hipster, like there weren’t enough in this fucking city already, with shaggy hair and a love of skinny jeans. But he was boring and had the personality of a rock. I’d almost prefer to be with Todd the Tool; at least then I’d have something to mentally poke fun at.

Sighing, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I’d promised Hayley I’d see this shit through but more importantly, I’d promised myself that when I got back from Miles City I wasn’t going to wallow in everything that could never be.

I’d told myself, in no uncertain terms, that I would give ZZ the boot in the kindest way possible and then move on to giving another man a fighting chance. I told myself that I would finally start working toward my goal of someday becoming a novelist, but most importantly, that I would keep myself busy so as not to resort to self-pity, self-loathing, and ultimately self-destruction.

So far, nothing I did was working. ZZ hadn’t come back yet, and I was a goddamn train wreck.

Fuck Deuce. Fuck that mean old bastard.

Doin’ this for your own good, Tegen. Cage ain’t never gonna change. Seen this shit before, him thinkin’ he’s fallin’ for a bitch and then it all goes down the same in the end. Him gettin’ bored and goin’ back to stickin’ his shit in all sorts of filth.

Deuce had been right. Cage had played the same game for years. I’d watched him, jumping from woman to woman to woman to woman to woman.

Why should I be any different? Just because I wanted it so badly?

Ha.

Three weeks ago, the moment my plane had landed in San Francisco, self-pity had taken root and self-loathing said hello the very second I’d walked into my empty apartment. I had no doubt that self-destruction was waiting just around the corner like a goddamn pickpocket bouncing on his heels, just watching from the shadows, waiting to pounce, anticipating the moment my guard would be down.

I couldn’t let it go. It was every inch as painful the last time I’d had my heart broken. Only…no, this was so much worse.

That stupid motherfucker had told me he loved me. Positioned over top of me, easing himself slowly into my body so that I felt everything, every stretch, every quiver, every clench of my muscles, all the while staring down at me, into my eyes.

I love you, Teacup.

And suddenly I wanted to run straight back to Miles City, to the clubhouse, to Cage.

You know exactly what you’re gonna fuckin’ do here. You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my fuckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean, and you’re gonna fuck me whenever the fuck I want it.

I’d been so close to throwing away everything. What about what I wanted from life? One weekend with Cage and suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore?

Yeah, whatever. I was such a flake. I didn’t even know what my own wishes were anymore. A fucking wishy-washy bitch with a bad attitude. Flip-flopping like a dying fish on the shore. I could get another million tattoos and piercings, but it still wouldn’t cover up what I’d been trying to hide all these years.

That I didn’t have a clue who I was. Or what I wanted.

It was official. I was an asshole with a permanently broken heart.

I stared vacantly across the restaurant, feeling a million different things. Shame, lust, love, pain, guilt, humiliation, anger, bitter acceptance…

And hate.

Yep, I hated myself for letting myself feel anything, for letting that man inside of me again. For being so completely and utterly weak when it came to him that if he touched me, all was lost. Every brick in the wall I’d built up around myself would instantly crumble and I’d immediately succumb to the feelings I’d always had for him. Feelings that I was terrified were never going to die out.

“I don’t have any, myself,” David said. “I’m not a fan of needles but I respect anyone who has the pain threshold to withstand the amount of tattooing you have.

“It’s a proven fact,” he continued, “that women have a higher tolerance for pain than men do. I believe it stems from the fact that women are built to bear children, whereas men—”

“Do you want to go fuck?” I interrupted, bored to tears yet filled with an anxiety-ridden sense of longing that I couldn’t seem to shake.

David’s eyes widened. “What?”

I snorted. “You heard me, fucker. Yes or no?”

“Uh…” Bewildered, David shook his head. “Yes?”

“Great,” I said curtly, already getting to my feet. “Let’s go.”

Scrambling to his feet, David yanked his wallet out of his pocket and quickly tossed several bills on the table. Then we headed toward the exit and were on our way back to my place.

As soon as my apartment door closed behind us, David’s greedy hands were all over me. Closing my eyes, mentally detaching my soul from my body, I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t care; I just wanted the pain to stop.

Self-destruction, I thought bitterly. Party of one, please.

• • •

Positioned behind her, Cage gripped the woman’s thigh, raising her leg, and pushed inside her body.

Several strokes passed and he whispered, “Feel good, babe?”

He stopped moving. Every time. He said the same damn thing to every bitch he fucked, every fucking time.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she whispered back while grinding her backside against his hips. “Sooo good, baby, sooo big and so good.”

Already bored with her, he reached for her chin, gripped it, and turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her lips. Crushing his mouth to hers, he shut her right the fuck up and resumed fucking her, faster this time, not too fast but rhythmic. The slap of bodies, the sound of messy kissing, her breathy moans escaping when he allowed her small glimpses of air.

It was all the same.

He was on autopilot. He wasn’t even attracted to her.

Average body, average face, only attractive because she was still young.

Why was he even hard?

Of course he was hard. Of-fucking-course. Why wouldn’t he be? This was what he did. It seemed like he did it for a living. He should be getting paid for his motherfucking services, he did it so damn much.

And all he could think about was not this stupid bitch, but another woman. One who’d played the fucking game as good as he did.

But he kept at it, kept at fucking the bitch until she was soaking wet and whimpering against his mouth. Reaching between her legs to where they were joined, he found her. He worked her skillfully, doing the same damn thing he’d done a million times before to a shit ton of different women.

“Cage,” she gasped, sucking in a sharp quick breath as her body locked up. He stopped kissing her and watched as her eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly, feeling the usual sort of detachment he usually felt watching a woman orgasm. From his position behind her, he saw her toes curl and the tendons in her feet bulge.

“One more,” he said blandly, still using his fingers on her. “Gimme one more, babe.”

She came again and that’s when he decided enough was enough. Pulling out of her, he pushed her onto her stomach and took her again from behind, this time with her ass in the air. He fucked her. Hard. And came within a few short minutes, feeling like he’d just emptied out nothing but air, leaving him feeling even emptier than when he’d started out.

“You can go,” he muttered, flopping onto his back and reaching to his nightstand for his smokes.

“Sorry?” she asked as she got to her knees, pushing her shoulder-length brown hair out of her eyes.

A cigarette pressed between his lips, he glanced her way. There was nothing remotely interesting about her. She was just tits and a pussy, neither of which were all that remarkable.

Not one damn thing. Once she left his house, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her if he ran into her two days later.

“You,” he repeated harshly, “can go. Now.”

Her eyes widened and just as he knew she was about to start sputtering nonsense at him, he pulled his smoke from his mouth and pointed the cigarette at her. “Just go, bitch. Don’t bitch or whine or start fuckin’ cryin’. You knew what this was from the get-go and don’t be pretendin’ somethin’ different.”

In an angry rush, muttering curses, the girl scrambled for her clothes while Cage turned away from her and faced the wall. That had been the fourth bitch he’d fucked since Tegen had disappeared on him.

One was a club whore he’d fucked a million times, two were local waitresses, and now this bitch. He had no idea what any of their names were. And to be honest, he didn’t give a fuck either.

He heard the pitter-patter of angry footsteps running down his stairs and—

He cringed as his front door slammed shut.

Whatever.

Sighing, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and crushed his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Running his hands through his unbound hair, he looked around the room.

Dresser. Mirror. Closet door.

He’d told that fucking psychopath that he’d loved her and what did she do? Snuck out in the middle of the night. She hadn’t said it back either.

That resolve he’d seen in her eyes while he’d been sliding inside of her…it hadn’t been for him. It had been to leave him.

Yeah, Tegen had shaken his shit up. How fucking unexpected and random had that shit been? Christ. The woman fucked liked she talked. Dirty. Hard-core. Even when they’d reversed positions and he was the one doing the fucking, it was still her taking him for a fucking ride, taking it all.

The more he thought about it, about her, about the two of them together, the more he felt his body responding.

Fuck.

He found himself fully erect, leaning back on his bed and wrapping his hand around his cock. Closing his eyes, he pictured her, Tegen, straddling him in the woods, her hard green eyes staring directly into his, her lips parted, her small hands gripping his pectoral muscles as she lifted her hips, slammed her hips down, lifted, slammed, lifted, slammed. Then she was grinding, back and forth, faster and faster, quick circular motions before lifting her hips and slamming them down.

And then later, in his bed, their limbs entangled while he took her from behind…slow, smooth, thrusts…harder and harder but never faster.

And then when she’d come…just from kissing him.

Just from…fucking…kissing…him.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, still pumping his hand as he released all over his stomach.

He lay there for a moment, letting his breathing return to normal, then blinking back the last lingering haze of orgasm, he slowly sat up.

When was the last time he’d jerked off? He couldn’t even remember. Why use your own hand when you had mouths and pussies at your immediate disposal? And after just fucking some bitch, too?

“Jesus, fuck, Teacup,” he muttered, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

She’d fucked him. Literally and figuratively. He was fucked.

She was all he could think about. He wanted her back, back home, back in his bed, just back, back, back.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that when his cell phone began to vibrate, he jumped. Cursing, he leaned across his bed and grabbed it off his nightstand.

Dad: Where the fuck are you?

Cage glared down at the text message from his father. Home, he typed in. Another moment passed and his phone vibrated again.

Dad: You stupid? We got handouts today.

No, he wasn’t stupid. He’d known, he just hadn’t cared. But…

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered and jumped out of bed. Getting drunk wasn’t working, fucking wasn’t working. He might as well stop by the club and see what runs his old man had in the works. Maybe once he put Miles City in his rearview, he could forget this shit with Tegen, forget how pathetic he’d been, and hopefully forget her entirely.

• • •

“Vegas,” Deuce said. “Who wants it?”

“Legal prostitution? Count me in.”

Cage glanced down the long rectangular meeting table to where Tap was seated. The guy lifted his arm and held up two fingers.

Eying Tap, looking annoyed, Deuce palmed one of the file folders in front of him and slid it down the table. Tap’s arm shot out and snatched it up. Leaning back in his chair, he started leafing through it.

“Dirty,” Deuce continued, holding up another folder. “As usual, you got Philly and—”

“No.”

All eyes shot to Dirty, who was shaking his head. “Can’t do it. Can’t leave Miles City right now.”

Deuce cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? You mind sharin’ why?”

Dirty continued shaking his head. “Can’t.”

A couple of the boys burst out laughing until Deuce’s fist slammed down hard on the table and the room went silent.

“Is this still about Ellie?” Deuce asked. “’Cause you already fuckin’ know Mooresville ain’t touchin’ her. We set his shit straight, yeah?” Deuce glanced to Mick, who nodded.

“He ain’t touchin’ her,” Mick confirmed. “Had a nice long chat with the fucker myself. He gets it, knows he needs us ’bout as much as we need him if he wants to keep livin’ in fuckin’ luxury.”

“We told him the bitch is off-limits,” Cox added as he cracked his knuckles one by one. “Told him with my fists a few times too. He gets it, brother. You don’t gotta worry.”

“Prez,” Dirty said hurriedly. “Maybe we could talk? In private?”

Cage cocked his head to the side and stared at the guy. What the fuck was up with him? Something was different about him. Something other than the fact that he’d been showering and shaving.

Holy shit.

“Dirty,” he said, drawing all attention to himself. “You fuckin’ Ellie?” All eyes shot right back to Dirty and simultaneously widened with surprise.

Ellie was hot, but from what Cage remembered she had a damn stick up her ass. The bitch wasn’t any fun. At all. He’d fucked her once way back when and never had any inclination to go back for more. But Ellie and…Dirty?

What the fuck?

“Dude,” Anger said. “You’re tappin’ that shit, ain’t ya? That’s what the pretty boy look is all about, yeah?”

Cage watched as Dirty’s expression went from uncomfortable to scared shitless, looking like he was about to bolt. Deuce saw this and gave a quick nod.

“After the meeting, we’ll talk,” he said tersely and Dirty, looking relieved, slumped back in his chair.

“Ripper,” Deuce said, back to business. “You’re headed out to Cali next week, right? I’m gonna need you to swing by Oakland and—”

“Can’t do it,” Ripper said, wincing when Deuce’s death glare turned on him. “Sorry, Prez. Harley’s gettin’ tubes put in her ears and if I ain’t there for the surgery, your daughter is gonna leave my ass.”

“My daughter,” Deuce bit out, “knows how it goes. She ain’t gonna say jack-fuckin’-shit.”

Ripper snorted. “Maybe not to you, but me? Yeah, Prez, I’m gonna get an earful and that ain’t all she’ll do either.”

“You scared of your old lady, Ripper?” Mick said, laughing. “What’s she? A buck thirty soakin’ wet?”

It was Ripper’s turn to shoot a death glare. “Fuck you,” he shot back. “I ain’t scared of shit except havin’ nowhere to put my dick when it gets cold and sad and wants a motherfuckin’ hug.”

The entire table cracked up, every brother except Cage, Deuce, and Ripper roared with laughter. Mick was even wiping tears from his eyes.

Deuce flashed Ripper a disgusted look and the guy grimaced. “Sorry, Prez,” Ripper muttered. “But you know how it go—”

“Don’t finish that fuckin’ sentence,” Deuce growled, his nostrils flaring angrily. “And the rest of you assholes,” he said, looking around the table. “Reel it the fuck in before I put a bullet in each of you.”

Despite Cage being thoroughly disgusted by the mental image Ripper had just painted for him, he’d gotten stuck on what his father had said.

You’re headed out to Cali next week, right? I’m gonna need you to swing by Oakland.

Oakland. Twenty fucking minutes from…

Tegen.

“I’ll take Oakland,” he said loudly, ignoring Cox as the fucker turned to face him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You sure ’bout that?” Cox drawled. “Lot of hippies crawlin’ ’round close by.”

“You ain’t never ran Cali territory,” Deuce said. “Why the fuck would I send you?”

“Because I’m not a fuckin’ moron,” Cage spat. “I’ve ran East Coast, why the fuck not west?”

The table went silent as father and son stared each other down, but Cage wasn’t going to back down this time. He wanted this run because he wanted to see Tegen, and he didn’t give a fuck that every brother in this room knew exactly what his game was. So much for forgetting the bitch; he was contemplating tying her to the back of his bike and bringing her ass back home where he would promptly tie her to his bed until she agreed to stay.

“When we’re done here, you fuckin’ talk to Ripper. You fuckin’ breathe in every word that motherfucker tells you and you best hope it sticks. Shit goes south in Oakland, it’s on you. You feel me?”

Cage gave his old man a brisk nod.

Two days later he was eating concrete, California bound.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Upon entering the hallway, Cage could hear music and laughter, smell the green, the booze…the sex.

Nostrils flaring, his fists clenched, he stopped walking and took a deep breath. If she were in there with…

Anxiety like he’d never felt before painfully cinched his stomach.

If she were in there with ZZ or with another guy, he’d kill him, then her, then everyone else in her fucking apartment, and, depending on how he was feeling after that bloodbath, possibly everyone in San Francisco too.

Goddamn, he fucking hated her. Hated how she went out of her way to make him feel like the biggest idiot to ever walk the planet, hated that she couldn’t care less if he looked her way or not, hated that HE wanted her so fucking bad he could taste it and she wanted nothing, fucking nothing at all, to do with him.

He’d told her he loved her. He’d opened up his entire fucking world to her. And…

She’d fucking snuck out on him, for Christ’s sake.

Yeah, so why the fuck was he here? He was a glutton for punishment, that much he was painfully aware of. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was…

At thirteen, with glasses and braces and the biggest, ugliest, frizziest hair he’d ever seen, following him around like a lovesick puppy.

At sixteen, when he taken her virginity and she’d told him she loved him and he’d been a nineteen-year-old asshole who’d told her, “It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

At seventeen and eighteen, when she’d refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his existence.

At nineteen, after being away at college for a year, when she’d come home to Montana and he’d taken one look at her, her new look, her new attitude and wanted her. And she hadn’t wanted him.

And now, at twenty-four, she was everything he wanted in a woman. But she still hadn’t forgiven him, still didn’t want him.

All of it consistently churned within his thoughts, fucking up even the simplest of tasks.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the doorknob, pushed open the door, and was greeted with a thick cloud of smoke. After several minutes of shoving half-naked, dancing, drugged-up bodies out of his way, he saw her.

Seated in the middle of an old, battered lime-green sofa was Tegen. Her long copper dreads were pulled back in a heavily beaded ponytail, her head was thrown back, displaying her numerous braided hemp necklaces, her pierced lips were parted, her hooded sweatshirt was unzipped, exposing her small breasts.

She didn’t even notice him. She was too fucking busy noticing the two guys who were mauling her, one with his hand down the front of her jeans, the other palming her breast while he went to town on her neck.

Shaking, Cage pulled his gun from the back of his leathers and aimed. The first bullet hit the right speaker, the second one the left, and the music stopped instantly. All eyes flew to him.

“Get out!” he roared, gesturing with his gun. “Get the fuck out before I blow a fuckin’ hole in every fuckin’ one of you!”

Screaming, people started scrambling, grabbing their shit and running for the door, edging fearfully around him as they scurried around the room.

One of the skinny, stupid motherfuckers that had had his hands all over Tegen looked back and forth between Cage and her.

“Tegen?” he asked warily.

“David,” Tegen said, her eyes on Cage. “Go.”

“But—”

“Just go, David!” she screamed.

“But—”

“GO!” Cage roared, pointing his piece at the motherfucker’s forehead.

He got.

Tegen pushed herself up off the couch and stood. “You know the cops are gonna be here any second, right?” she yelled.

“YES!” he shouted. “And I don’t give a motherfuck!”

He should care. He should care that his father was going to lose his shit when he found out that he hadn’t even made it to Oakland, that instead he’d come straight to San Francisco, straight to Tegen. But he didn’t. What he cared about was her.

“God, you are really stupid,” she muttered.

His nostrils flared. “I ain’t stupid,” he spat. “I know the fuckin’ difference between fuckin’ some bitch and fuckin’ you! You cryin’ into my mouth, grindin’ your shit on me, beggin’ me for more! You were right there with me, bitch! I did not fuckin’ imagine that shit!”

Her green almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “You wanna fuck me some more, Cage?” she said evenly. “Is that why you came here and shot up my apartment? ’Cause if that’s the case, then let’s get to it.”

He watched her shove down her jeans and underwear and then kick them away.

He glared at her, wishing he could just turn around and walk away. Because he sure as fuck felt like a fool, she always made him feel like a fool. But standing there staring at her slim, sleek body, her high, perky breasts, the nipple rings, the belly button jewelry, the beautiful artwork tattooed over her milky-white freckled skin… He couldn’t. Ah, God, fucking shit. He was stupid. Stupid for coming here.

“I fucking hate you,” he hissed as he shoved his gun back in his pants and quickly crossed the room.

“I’ve hated you for years,” she hissed back. “Guess we’re even no—”

He grabbed her ponytail and yanked her head sideways but kept moving, forcing her to stumble backward until her back hit the wall.

“You don’t hate me,” he said, yanking open his leathers with his free hand. Dropping his face into her neck, he took her skin between his teeth and lightly rolled it.

In his grip, she shook her head wildly. “Stop,” she breathed. “Cage…wait.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, sliding his hand down her slim body. “I know what I saw, I know you still love me, Teacup.”

“Don’t call me Teacup!” she screamed. “I am not your Teacup!”

It was the wrong thing to say, but he’d already known that before he said it, he just didn’t care anymore. He’d spent the last month thinking about little else but her, her absence, and not knowing how she really felt, both driving him crazy. So, no, he no longer gave two fucks about her violent temper tantrums.

Hooking a hand beneath her knee, he yanked her leg up and situated it over his hip. Grabbing his cock, he pushed up against her already wet pussy and Tegen’s body trembled in response. Satisfaction roared through him. She wanted him. She still fucking wanted him. He’d been right.

With her hair wound tightly around his hand, he yanked her head forward, bringing them nose to nose.

“You’ll always be my Teacup,” he growled.

“Shut…up,” she whimpered breathlessly, trying to turn away from him but his grip on her hair allowed her no movement.

“Just say it,” he muttered. “Tell me the fuckin’ truth for once. Tell me you fuckin’ love me, babe.”

Her lips parted and knowing her, knowing she was seconds away from telling him to go fuck himself, he jammed his tongue inside and put an instant stop to her bullshit.

• • •

“Oh God,” I murmured, my hands flying to his face, frantically gripping his hair, kissing him harder, trying to crawl up his body to get even closer. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he whispered. “Me too, babe.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to follow me back to California. He was supposed to be home, in Miles City, doing his thing. Fucking women, engaging in criminal activity, yada, yada, yada.

And I was supposed to be continuing on my path to self-destruction because…

Because fucking why? I couldn’t remember anymore.

“Say it,” he growled, gripping my head and pushing me off him. “Tell me you love me.”

Trembling, I could only stare at him. The feelings were all there, the need, the ache, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t say it.

“Fucking shit, Tegen!” Cage yelled, backing away from me. “What do I gotta do?”

His arms dropped to his sides and his fists clenched into tight balls. Our eyes met and his nostrils began flaring. There was no doubt in my mind in that moment; he was truly his father’s son.

And I was my mother’s daughter. Weak. Desperate. In love with the wrong man.

“Try. This. Shit. With. Me,” he said, growling through his clenched teeth.

Ohh. My heart broke. It took all of my willpower not to run to him. He knew everything about ZZ and yet he was back, had literally beat down my door and shot up my apartment to get to me. This is what I’d always wanted, right? My dream come true, my every fantasy.

“I don’t want to be like my mother!” I screamed.

“Good!” he bellowed. “’Cause I ain’t in fuckin’ love with your damn mother!”

My chest heaving, my heart exploding, I pointed at him with a shaking finger. “You’re a fucking whore, Cage! You’re not going to change!”

“FUCK YOU!” he bellowed. “I know I haven’t given you a goddamn reason to trust me, but FUCK YOU, BITCH, you haven’t given me a fuckin’ chance to give you a fuckin’ reason!”

“You’re going to hurt me again!” I screamed. “You’re going to make me say it and then you’re going to say it back to me and I’m going to do whatever you want me to do and in the end you’re going to fuck me over. AGAIN! And I’m going to be pathetic and stupid, watching you hook up with girls ten times more beautiful than I will ever be! AGAIN!”

Cage’s eyes darkened and the muscles in his arms began to twitch and jump under his skin.

“Bitch,” he hissed. “What the fuck do you want to hear? I ain’t gonna tell you that I’m not gonna fuck up and I ain’t gonna tell you that you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ woman in the entire world! Yeah, you’re too fuckin’ skinny, you ain’t got shit for tits, and you look like a goddamn motherfuckin’ hippie!”

My lower lip started to tremble as I fought back my blossoming tears. Seeing this, Cage closed his eyes and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Tegen,” he said and took a long step forward. Wrapping his hands around my upper arms, he bent his head, bringing us face-to-face.

“But, babe, you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole goddamn world, to me. You’re all I fuckin’ want, Teacup. You got the hottest pair of eyes I’ve ever fuckin’ seen and your tattoos, babe, they’re sexy as all hell, and your goddamn hipbones, fuckin’ shit, me grabbin’ on to them, fuckin’ you slow, drives me straight-up crazy.”

Air exploded from my lungs in the form of a whimper and my body, suddenly exhausted, slumped forward against Cage’s. I couldn’t hold back my tears now; they were streaming freely down my cheeks.

“You know what else I fuckin’ love?” he asked in a growling whisper. “I love your dirty fuckin’ mouth. I love the fact that you don’t hold back, that you’re tough as fuckin’ nails on the outside, but on the inside you’re still my Teacup.”

“St-stop,” I whispered, unable to contain all the emotion welling up inside of me.

“No,” he growled. “You need to hear this shit. You need to fuckin’ get it through your thick fuckin’ skull that I want those skinny-ass legs wrapped around me, I want your tiny fuckin’ tits in my hands and in my goddamn mouth, and I don’t give a fuck what you’re lookin’ like as long as you’re lookin’ like it by my fuckin’ side.”

Then Cage tilted my head back and grinned down at me. “You fuckin’ feel me, babe?” he said, mimicking his father.

I stopped crying and started glaring. “Don’t you dare act like your father!”

Cage crushed me to him and burst out laughing. “Reel it in, Teacup. Reel it the fuck in.”

• • •

Cage held Tegen tightly to him and breathed out a sigh of relief.

She was a hot fucking mess. She was crying, trembling in his arms, yet still glaring up at him with the combined anger of a thousand spurned women alight in her eyes. But he didn’t care. She was his hot mess.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I’m on the road for a fuckin’ month and this is what I’m comin’ home to?”

Tegen froze in his arms and he glanced over his shoulder. The man standing less than fifteen feet away, a man he’d known his entire life, was almost unrecognizable to him. His dark hair was much longer than it had ever been, greasy, pulled back in a ponytail, and he’d aged a good ten years in the few he’d been gone. He looked tired, beaten down, and extremely angry.

“This what you been doin’ on your trips home, Tegen?” ZZ said, lifting his chin in Cage’s direction. “Fuckin’ brothers?”

Cage released Tegen and turned around. Keeping his eye on ZZ, he wasn’t feeling the guy’s body language, so he bent down and grabbed Tegen’s clothing off the floor.

“Get dressed,” he said, shoving the clothes in her direction.

ZZ’s mouth curved into a cruel grin. “You’re kiddin’ me, right? Been up inside that more times than I can count. Bitch is in my fuckin’ bed. Or didn’t you know that?”

Cage’s already tense body tightened further. “Yeah, I fuckin’ knew. And she ain’t in your bed no more.”

ZZ’s grin only grew. “Yeah? She in yours now?”

“Z,” Tegen said, tripping over her jeans as she awkwardly tried to get dressed. “I tried to call you a million times.”

ZZ’s eyes shot to Tegen and he lost his grin. “You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” he asked darkly.

Cage stepped in front of Tegen before she could answer. “I’m tryin’ to tell you somethin’,” he said. “Don’t fuckin’ look at her.”

“Shut up, Cage,” Tegen said, pushing out from behind him. Fully dressed, she stepped forward. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “This was not how this was supposed to happen.”

Cage watched as his old friend’s eyes grew hard, cold, and unfocused. “You’re one dumb bitch,” ZZ spat and Cage went rigid. “If you’re thinkin’ he gives two fucks about you. Fucker is just like his sister and they’re both just like their old man.”

“Don’t bring my sister into this shit,” Cage gritted out.

ZZ laughed coldly. “Your fuckin’ whore of a sister tossed my ass to the curb like I was week-old garbage she couldn’t get rid of quick enough.

“And you,” he said, turning back to Tegen. “So that’s fuckin’ it? Me and you, these past years, it meant jack-fuckin’-shit to you?”

Cage looked to Tegen who was staring openmouthed at ZZ, her shock plain as day. “Z,” she whispered. “I didn’t think…it wasn’t…we weren’t that…”

ZZ smiled bitterly. “Yeah,” he said coldly. “I guess fuckin’ not. But you are so fuckin’ wrong if you think this asshole ain’t gonna put your whorin’ ass on the curb, just like his sister did to me.”

Cage had been feeling sort of bad for the guy, because Danny had done him wrong. But first the fucker called his sister a whore, then his woman, and not only that he accused him of not really caring about Tegen…

He lost his last shred of self-control. “Get the fuck out!” he bellowed, reaching for his gun as he stormed forward. He wasn’t going to shoot ZZ, just scare him the fuck out of here.

“Cage!” Tegen shrieked from behind him.

Cage stumbled backward as searing pain shot through his chest. Another crack and more pain exploded throughout his body. He stared dumbly at ZZ, at the gun still pointed at him as he lost his footing. Then he was staring at the floor as it came rushing up to meet his face and for a moment everything went blurry.

“Cage! Cage! CAGE!”

He blinked furiously, trying to rid the cloudiness that had overcome his vision, and could sort of make out Tegen beside him. He could feel her gripping his arm, trying to roll him over; he could hear her screaming, sobbing, and crying; and off in the distance, he could hear sirens.

They weren’t going to make it in time. He was trying to hang on but warm blood was flooding his mouth, a stark contrast to the freezing cold taking root inside his veins.

“Cage,” she sobbed. “Please wake up, Cage. Please, please, wake up!”

He couldn’t answer her. He tried but nothing happened; nothing was working.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” she screamed. “No! NO! Fuck! Don’t leave me! FUCK YOU, CAGE! Please don’t leave me, you stupid fucker! I fucking love you and you can’t leave me!”

He tried to smile; maybe he did, he didn’t know.

Then everything went dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“How many times do we have to go over this?” I screamed.

The two police detectives, a man and a woman both dressed in plain clothes, glanced at each other before glancing back down at me.

“Ms. Matthews,” the man said calmly. “I know you’re upset, but what you’re telling us doesn’t make any sense. Now, which one of the men are you romantically involved with?”

Shrieking, I buried my face in my hands.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Ms. Matthews,” the woman said. “I understand how hard this is right now, but we need to know everything that happened.”

Of course they did. They had to know right this motherfucking second. Who cared that Cage was bleeding out all over an operating table? Not them. They’d taken one look at the leather cut the doctors had handed them, read the words “Hell’s Horsemen,” and immediately thought the worst of him.

Who cared that I just watched the man I loved get shot twice in the chest, cough and wheeze and spit blood all over himself? Who cared that I watched as his eyes rolled back and his body went limp, or that I had to stand by and watch as the paramedics jammed a tube into his lungs to help him breathe, or that he was now in surgery as trauma surgeons attempted to remove the bullets and repair the damage to his lungs?

These fuckers didn’t care.

“Cage,” I hissed, jerking my head up. “I am involved with Cage.”

“And Mr. Jeffries?” the man asked. “What was your relationship with him?”

“ZZ,” I said. “And he was my roommate. And just FYI, if you go around asking about Zachary Jeffries, no one is going to know who the fuck you are talking about!”

“ZZ, then,” the woman said, squeezing my shoulder. “Were you ever involved with him? Is that why he shot Cage?”

Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.

God, this was all my fault. All of it. Why couldn’t I do anything right? What the fuck was so wrong with me that I couldn’t even coexist like a normal fucking human being?

“Tegen!”

At the sound of my mother’s voice, my body spurred into action. Shaking off the detective, I jumped out of my seat and went running toward the reception area where my mother met me halfway and threw her arms around me. Suddenly, I was roughly yanked out of her arms and Deuce was gripping my arm painfully tight and bearing down on me, his blue eyes burning. “Where is he?” he growled.

“I-I…” I swallowed hard and tried again. “He’s in surgery,” I finished quickly.

“Not Cage!” he shouted, shaking me. “Where the fuck is ZZ?”

My eyes filled. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “He just left…he shot him and left.”

“Deuce,” Eva said quietly, appearing beside us. “Let her go.”

Deuce ignored her and continued to glare down at me. “This is your fuckin’ fault, you stupid fuckin’ bitch, and if my kid dies in there, you’re fuckin’ next, you feel me?”

My stomach seized and my tears spilled over.

“Let her go!” my mother cried.

“Dammit!” Eva yelled, trying to pry Deuce off of me. “You’re hurting her! Let her go!”

“Is there a problem here?” Both detectives had joined the fray and were both frowning heavily at Deuce.

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he barked in their direction. “My kid is who the fuck knows where with holes in him and you pantsuit-wearin’ motherfucks are askin’ me if there’s a motherfuckin’ problem?”

Again, the two detectives glanced at each other.

“Cole West,” the male said, his voice flat, his expression clearly repulsed.

“Yeah,” he snarled. “You wanna fuckin’ autograph?”

“Either you release Ms. Matthews,” the female warned, “or I will arrest you for assault.”

“Baby,” Eva said softly, running her hand up his arm and gripping his bicep. “This isn’t Tegen’s fault and even if it was, this isn’t helping Cage at all.”

Nostrils flaring, glaring down at me, Deuce yanked me roughly forward and up onto my tiptoes.

“Get the fuck outta this hospital,” he gritted out. “Stay the fuck away from my boy and my fuckin’ club. I see you, Tegen, I fuckin’ so much as smell you, I will crack your fuckin’ skull wide open.”

With a hard shove, he sent me stumbling sideways into my mother.

“Let’s go,” she whispered loudly, gripping tightly to my middle. “Right now, baby.”

“Don’t leave town, Ms. Matthews,” the male detective called out.

Shaking, I turned my body into my mother and let her guide me toward the elevators.

“I mean it, D,” Deuce bellowed from behind us. “I see her anywhere near—”

My mother skidded to a stop and whirled around. “You’ll never see her again!” she spat angrily. “You’ll never see me or my kids again!

“And if this is anyone’s fault,” she continued. “It’s mine for bringing an innocent little girl around a criminal motorcycle club full of self-important assholes who think with their dicks and their guns instead of their brains!”

On our way to the elevators, we passed by Danny, Ripper, Cox, and Jase, and I turned back toward my mother, refusing to meet their eyes.

“D!” Jase called out.

My mother picked up her pace.

“D, what the fuck!”

Stopping again, she spun around to face Jase as he quickly approached us, and pointed her index finger at him. “Don’t say a fucking word,” she hissed. “I’m not married to you, I don’t share a child with you, I have absolutely nothing in this world tying me to you.”

Jase’s eyes widened. “But you said we could talk.”

“I said that before my daughter was forced to experience yet another violent result of your club, and then publicly humiliated and shunned by the only family she’s ever had because of it!”

“D,” he whispered, raising his arm and holding out his hand. “Don’t do this.”

Setting me aside, my mother stepped forward and slapped Jase’s hand away.

“Come near me again,” she spat, her features twisting with disgust and hatred. “And I will kill you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Find what you love and let it kill you.

— Charles Bukowski

One year later…

Time passes differently when you’re stuck in emotional limbo. It’s slower. Hours go by at a snail’s pace, your feet drag through the days, the weeks; years take forever to come and go. You don’t see things as they are but instead you see them as the way you feel. Things are dark, heavy, even the air feels weighted down. People aren’t smiling at you, they’re whispering about you, they’re laughing.

Not even the sunniest day can overcome the shield of gray skies you’ve built around yourself.

I spent nearly all my life stuck inside an emotional limbo of my own making, constantly waiting for my life to begin, yet completely unaware that with each passing year, I’d remained cemented in the same frame of mind, unable to break free from my own binds.

But once you’ve broken free, the world speeds back up, the days fly by too fast and the nights even faster. You see things differently, in color as opposed to Technicolor. The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds and suddenly you can see again; you notice people, places, and things you’ve never noticed before. Even the stupid stuff, unimportant in the bigger scheme yet utterly important in that one single, solitary moment, but only because you noticed it and it affected you in a way that made you feel something.

You see a smile for what it really is.

You see people for who they really are.

You know love for the first time.

But most importantly, you can see yourself through the eyes of an unbiased mind and you realized that all that self-loathing, that wishing and wanting, the years spent trying to become someone, anyone else than who you were, was never necessary because there had been nothing wrong with you in the first place. All you’d ended up doing by running and hiding was hurting yourself and everyone else around you.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that, Tegen?” Christopher asked.

My smile grew. “I’m so proud of you,” I told him as I rolled over on our picnic blanket and reached out to tickle his belly.

Giggling, he swatted my hand away. “Mommy’s proud of me too,” he said.

“Everyone is proud of you,” I teased. “Mister, I started kindergarten this week.”

“I miss being home with Mommy.”

“Aww,” I cooed, lifting my hand to ruffle through his long red hair. “I miss being home with her too. I was little once too, you know.”

“You lived inside her tummy, too?”

I nodded. “I did.”

Christopher wrinkled up his little button nose. “But you’re so big!”

I burst out laughing. “Watch it,” I said. “Girls don’t like it when boys say stuff like that.”

I wasn’t big, not at all, but I had put on quite a bit of weight in the last year, thanks to my mother’s round-the-clock cooking.

Christopher went back to playing with his Legos and, knowing I’d been dismissed, with a sigh I rolled back over and squinted up at the sunny California sky.

This was how life should have been from the get-go for my mother and me. Not that I would trade my brother for all the time travel in the world, but even at my age, living with my mother again, I knew peace for what it truly was.

We had a small apartment in downtown San Francisco with only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchenette. We were living off only my salary and my mother’s disability checks, but we made it work.

And it did.

In fact, the first few months aside, the past year had been one of the most peaceful ones I’d ever had. The three of us did everything together; my mother and Christopher even walked with me to work most days. We always had something to do—trips to the farmer’s market, walks around the city, movies at night, picnics in the park.

And once a month Hawk would ride into town to see Christopher. He’d sleep on the living room couch, spend a week, sometimes less, and then just as quickly was gone. He never spoke of the club, of Deuce or Cage, and neither of us ever asked. Things were quiet and, after everything that had happened, I wanted to keep it that way.

The first few days after Cage had gotten shot were a painful blur to me. My apartment was a crime scene; I was questioned repeatedly by police detectives, and then later by the FBI and the ATF. Everyone wanted to get in on the action; apparently when one brick fell within the confines of a criminal organization, it was expected that all four walls would eventually crumble.

But the Hell’s Horsemen’s walls stood strong, despite it all. Mouths stayed shut, secrets stayed hidden, and the club stayed as strong as ever.

Even so, the entire disaster had made national news, and slowly but surely Hell’s Horsemen and Silver Demons from all over the country began invading San Francisco. The city was crawling with bikers, small riots broke out, and many arrests were made.

They’d come from all corners to show their support for Deuce’s son, a fellow brother. They sat vigils outside the hospital, they revved their engines in unison, a chrome and leather prayer for one of their own.

Cage made it through surgery, but not yet able to breathe on his own, was immediately placed on a ventilator. For a few weeks it was touch and go, and no one knew if he were going to live or die.

And he did die. Twice, actually. Both times doctors were able to restart his heart, and both times Deuce was arrested for assault on hospital staff.

I knew very little of this firsthand as I hadn’t done much but sleep and try to eat for those first few weeks, wishing I could go to the hospital to see Cage, just to touch him, to tell him I loved him…to tell him how sorry I was.

To just be by his side.

It never happened.

When he was well enough to be flown home, that was the last I knew of Cage. My mother eventually asked Eva to stop calling, and Eva respected her wishes.

As far as I knew, ZZ had never been found. Every so often I would get a phone call from the government asking if he’d made contact with me. I’d say no, they’d give me a number to call in case he ever did, and that was that.

Was I happy? No, not really. But I was at peace.

I could honestly say that despite the guilt, the regret, and the space of emptiness inside me that would always be reserved for Cage, I was at peace. I was with my mother again. She’d come clean to me, informing me that most of her memories had been restored, and I had a happy, healthy, beautiful little brother. Life, for the first time ever, was simple.

I’d even started writing again in my free time, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager.

“Hayley!” Christopher shouted and I used my hand to shade my eyes from the sun. Hayley and Joe stood above us, smiling.

“Damn, Hayley,” I said smiling. “Your boobs are enormous. Imagine what they’re going to look like after you pop that kid out.”

With a groan and a helping hand from Joe, she lowered herself beside me and scowled. “You got jokes, huh? Well, you’re no Kate Moss anymore, so shut it, Teg.”

“Hey,” I scoffed. “I like that I actually have a butt! I don’t have to be jealous of all you lucky bitches with body fat anymore!”

Hayley snorted. “You do realize how utterly ridiculous you just sounded, right? And how many women would beat your small but now existent ass for saying that?”

“If I keep eating like this, I might be a C-cup someday,” I said hopefully, peering down the top of my T-shirt.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Shut up.”

“Ladies,” Joe said as he took a seat beside Christopher. “Don’t subject the little dude to your absurd female issues.

“And by the way, Teg,” he continued. “I’m digging the hair.”

“Me too,” Hayley said, reaching out to run her fingers through my short locks. “It’s really growing fast too.”

Nine months ago I’d cut off my dreads, took out most of my piercings, and threw out every last one of my toe rings. Whoever that girl looking back at me in the mirror had been, she wasn’t me. She was the mask I’d been hiding behind and I was done hiding.

My hair hit my chin now. I’d recently had it cut into a pixie style, short in the back, longer in the front. I hardly wore my contacts anymore and found I actually preferred wearing my glasses. It was sort of like reuniting with an old friend, only this time an old friend who was infinitely more fashionable than before.

“Where’s your mom?” Hayley asked. “Are we eating without her today?”

Yawning, I stretched out my arms and legs before scooting up some and placing my head in Hayley’s lap. “She’ll be here,” I said. “She’s just running late. Said she wanted fresh cold cuts or something. But really, I think she has a crush on Rich.”

“Rich?” Joe asked. “The butcher on Stockton?”

I nodded. “Yeah, they flirt all the time and it makes me ill.”

“But he’s so much older than her.”

I glanced up at Hayley and shrugged. “But he’s a nice man with a good job.”

She smiled down at me. “And he doesn’t ride a motorcycle.”

I smiled back. “There is that.”

“Daddy rides a motorcycle,” Christopher said. “Someday I wanna ride one too.”

“How about a pickup truck?” I suggested. “Or a muscle car? How about your very own fire truck?”

“Nope.” He shook his head exaggeratedly. “I want to be just like Daddy.”

“Well,” I said, sighing. “I tried.”

“There’s a Phish concert next week,” Joe said. “I could always take him with me, introduce him to the other side of the tracks. Where the real men are.”

I snorted. “By real, you mean men who like to wear Crocs, get high, and sing along to Tom Petty while reminiscing about the high school crush that never was?”

“Yep,” Joe said proudly and thumped his fist on his chest. “Real men.”

Hayley started laughing and I smiled along with her. They were so perfect for each other, so in tune to the other. Joe might not be what I would consider aesthetically pleasing, he might play video games more than he helped out around the house, he would probably never stop getting high, but even so he loved his wife. And despite his shortcomings, she loved him.

But people didn’t need to change to suit each other. They just needed to accept their differences. You could love someone just the way they were and still live in harmony together.

I’d realized this too late; because when I had, ZZ had already taken the man I loved away from me.

• • •

Grabbing the head of thick brown hair between his thighs, Cage punched his hips up. “Faster,” he growled. Although gagging, the stupid bitch complied, probably because he was holding her head right where he wanted her and she had no choice but to do whatever the fuck he told her to.

They were all whores. Every last one of them. They deserved to be treated like the fucked-up bitches they truly were.

And yet, still he felt nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Cursing, he yanked her head up and used his grip on her hair to toss her beside him. Straddling her chest, he gripped the sides of her face, forcing her mouth open. Holding himself above her, he thrust his dick into her open mouth and began fucking her face. Fast and hard. She was gagging prolifically now and her eyes were wide and watering and finally, motherfucking finally, he felt something. Some twisted sliver of satisfaction.

He came hard in her throat and immediately pulled out. She started gasping, coughing, and tried to turn her head. Slapping his hand over the girl’s mouth, he leaned down. “Swallow it,” he demanded, grinning down at her.

She tried but she couldn’t. She was choking, coughing too hard, and spit and semen erupted from her lips and between his fingers.

Disgusted, he climbed off her and wiped his hand clean on her hair.

“S-s-sorry,” she choked out, rolling away from him, still coughing.

“Yeah,” he muttered as he swung his legs out of bed. “You are sorry.”

Bending down beside his nightstand table, he grabbed his credit card, dumped out the last of his eight-ball, and started cutting.

“This shit is choppy as fuck,” he hissed.

“Do you know where we live?” she asked. “It’s hard to come by grade-A shit in the middle of nowhere. Don’t see why you didn’t just dip into your old man’s stash.”

Cage positioned his rolled-up twenty over the first line and inhaled every last granule before glancing back at her.

“Am I fuckin’ stupid?” he said, sniffing. “That shit is for sale, locked, stocked, and accounted for. Not for personal fuckin’ use. I tap into it and they’ll know.”

“I was just sayin’,” she muttered.

Cage shot her a dirty look before bending over to blow another line.

“Don’t fuckin’ speak then,” he shot back, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger and inhaling hard. The tingling burn hit the back of his throat and he swallowed that shit.

Wetting his middle finger, he swiped it across the wooden platform, picking up the last of it. Then, sucking his finger into his mouth, he rubbed it across his gums.

Ah, chemically induced energy. The only way he could find the will to get out of bed anymore. Grabbing his smokes, he lit one up and coughed through the first few drags, cursing as his lungs began to burn something fierce. Sitting down on the floor, he leaned against his bed and left his head fall back.

His left lung hurt all the damn time. Motherfucking constantly. And he’d been told, by several specialists in no uncertain terms, that it was going to hurt for the rest of his life. Apparently when one of your lungs was nothing but scar tissue or some such shit, living out the rest of your days in pain 24/7 was just one of the many perks.

He wasn’t supposed to be smoking. He wasn’t supposed to be doing anything that caused damage to his lungs, not that he gave two fucks about what happened to his lungs. In fact, he didn’t give two fucks about what happened to him or anyone else.

“You want me to see if Bucket’s got any of that China White left?”

Cage glanced over at her. “Bucket’s dippin’?”

She shrugged. “Fucked him a few months back, and he paid me in smack.”

“You fucked Bucket?” he asked, disgusted. She couldn’t have been any more than nineteen or twenty and Bucket was nearly as old as his old man.

She started laughing. “I’ve been fucking Bucket since I was fifteen,” she said. “Since my parents first moved me to this dump of a town.”

Nice. Really fucking nice. She looked proud of it too.

Fucking whore. They were all motherfucking whores. But the biggest of whore of them all, the one who’d fucked him so hard he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back up…

Tegen.

He’d been heavily drugged after he’d come out of surgery. He didn’t remember much, but as the pain had become more bearable and they’d begun weaning him off the heavy dosage, he clearly remembered Tegen not being there. At first he’d panicked, thinking something had happened to her, that ZZ had shot her, that she was just as fucked-up as he was or worse, dead.

Then he’d made the mistake of asking about her and his old man had filled in the blanks. She was fine. Unharmed. And not here.

Not once did she come to check on him. He was laid up in her fucking city, for shit’s sake, and yet…nothing.

He wasn’t going to lie; that shit fucking hurt. Nearly as bad as the holes in his body. He’d faked more pain than he was actually in and went back to being too dosed up to care.

And he’d been dipping ever since. Because when he wasn’t fucked-up, that shit hurt. The burning inside his lungs…

Yeah, he take that over the ache inside his heart, any day.

He’d told that bitch he loved her. And she’d run out on him.

Stupidly he gone after her, gotten himself shot, and he’d motherfucking died. Twice.

And she’d run out on him.

If she’d been seeking payback for what he’d done to her, she’d fucking succeeded. And then some. And yet he was still thinking about her. He still fucking wanted her.

He was stupid. A first-class moron. He’d gone his entire life jumping beds, not giving a fuck, only to end up in love with the one bitch who’d, once upon a time, actually cared about him and he’d burned her. Fitting.

Grabbing the bottle off his nightstand, he took a long, deep swallow and washed away the burn of humiliation with a different kind.

He was on his fourth chug when his bedroom door swung wide open and hit the wall with a loud crack. He didn’t bother turning.

“You know what fuckin’ time it is?” a loud, angry, familiar voice demanded.

Cage didn’t turn his head. “Do I fuckin’ care?”

“Bitch,” Deuce said. “Get your clothes on and get the fuck out.”

Behind him, Cage heard the girl scrambling to get off the bed. A few moments later his door slammed closed and heavy footsteps crossed the room. His father’s face came into view, far too close and a little blurry. Cage wrinkled up his nose. “Back the fuck up, old man.”

Deuce’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t know what you been doin’? Half the time you ain’t even smart enough to clean off your fuckin’ nose.”

Cage snorted and Deuce’s nostrils flared. “Somethin’ funny?”

“Yeah. It’s funny that you think I give two fucks if you know or not.”

“My boys don’t fuckin’ use,” he growled. “You know this.”

“Yeah?” Cage shot back. “Tell that to Bucket.”

Deuce stood up straight and glared down at him. “Bucket’s got side business goin’ on, he ain’t usin’ shit. You’d know this if you picked your fuckin’ head up outta the powder for a fuckin’ minute.”

Cage took another long swallow of Jack before looking up at his father. “No, asshole, I’d know it if you actually told me somethin’ once in a while instead of treatin’ me like shit on your fuckin’ shoe.”

“You a little fuckin’ girl?” Deuce demanded. “You need me to wipe your goddamn ass for you too?”

Cage’s temper flared to life and before he knew what he was doing, he was whipping the bottle of Jack across the room. He shot to his feet, eye to eye with his father, just as it hit the wall and shattered.

“You’re a shit father, you know that?” he yelled. “You’re a shit person too! Yet you get handed every fuckin’ thing, none of it deserved!”

Moments later Cage was pinned up against the wall by his throat, his father up in his face. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know it?” Deuce spat. “You think I ain’t grateful, you’re motherfuckin’ wrong! I’ve been where the fuck you are, you little shit. I’ve been pissed off at the whole motherfuckin’ world, I’ve been fuckin’ shot a fuck of a lot more than you, and unlike you, I had an old man who didn’t give a motherfuck if I lived or died.”

Cage smirked. His old man thought he gave a fuck that he’d gotten shot. He didn’t. In fact, his old man could shoot him right the fuck now and he still wouldn’t give a fuck.

“So what you’re sayin’,” Cage drawled, “is that I should be followin’ in your fuckin’ footsteps, get you shanked in the showers like you did to your old man?”

Deuce’s nostrils flared.

“Shit’s been goin’ on long enough,” he growled, squeezing Cage’s throat. “Time for you to flush your fuckin’ bullshit and get back to livin’.”

Living? Fucking living?

Rage boiled up inside of him and he found himself gripping his father’s wrist and yanking the man’s hands off his throat.

“FUCK YOU!” he roared, shoving Deuce backward and immediately advancing on him. “You call my life living? I ain’t livin’! I’ve just been followin’ you around, pickin’ up your fuckin’ messes! I ain’t never had anything that was mine!”

He shoved Deuce again. “It’s all been yours! All of it! The club, the boys, Eva and the kids! They’re all fuckin’ yours! I got nothin’! Fuckin’ nothin’!”

Cage would have known it was coming but as it was he was too pumped up on drug-fueled adrenaline and didn’t see his father’s fist until after it had collided with his face.

Lying on the floor, rubbing his jaw, he blinked up at his father’s towering form.

“You really are fuckin’ stupid,” Deuce said roughly. “You’re my fuckin’ kid, my son, and everything I have, it’s always been yours. Who you think I’m passin’ that gavel to?”

“Fuck your gavel,” Cage sneered. “Fuck your club and fuck you.”

Deuce stared down at him for a heartbeat and then he turned away.

Cage continued to lie on the floor long after his bedroom door had slammed shut.

Fuck his old man. Fuck this club. And fuck himself.

But most of all…

Fuck Tegen.

• • •

His head a mess, Deuce stormed out of Cage’s room, slammed the door closed behind him, and took off down the hall.

His kid was going to die if he kept this shit up. Barely a year after ZZ had blown two holes through his lung and he was not only still smoking but blowing lines and who knew what else. Fucking dirty whores too.

Sighing angrily, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Where the fuck did he keep going wrong? No matter what he fucking did, it was never enough, not for any of them. Except Eva. She was the lone person on this earth he’d ever been enough for.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered. “I’d be fuckin’ screwed without her.”

One thing was true: In this fucking life, the dirty business he ran, you needed a good woman backing you. A strong one. One who knew her place; one who would be there for you no matter what. A woman a man could count on to give him what he needed when he fucking needed it.

“How’s the boy?” Mick asked as Deuce slid onto the barstool beside him. Reaching over the bar, Deuce slapped the back of Blue’s head, but the drunk old fucker didn’t so much as twitch.

“Fucked.”

“Reminds me a lot of his old man,” Mick said.

Deuce gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah? How fuckin’ so? I ain’t never used.”

Grabbing the glass in front of him, Mick downed the last of his whiskey. “Didn’t say it was the exact same. Said he reminded me of you. After Eva ran out on ya. Difference was, you had too many responsibilities to be fuckin’ up so bad. Cage don’t have jack shit to do but fuck up.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Deuce asked, grabbing for the bottle in front of Mick. “Ain’t nobody run out on Cage. Idiot got himself shot because of…”

Deuce trailed off and his chest began to tighten.

He glanced over at Mick and Mick gave him a grim smile.

“Tegen,” Deuce finished.

“Tegen,” Mick repeated, nodding his agreement.

“You tryin’ to tell me he loves her?”

“Think about it,” Mick said as he shoved off his barstool. “He was all up on her during lockdown last year, every damn second, and I ain’t never seen him pay a female any more attention than it took to get his dick sucked until her. Then she’s sneakin’ out on him in the middle of the night and he’s actin’ like a damn fool because of it. Next thing you know, he’s haulin’ ass to Cali and instead of goin’ to Oakland, he heads straight to her.”

Deuce closed his eyes. Fuck. Tegen hadn’t snuck out. He’d pushed her out the damn door.

“I gotta get home, Prez. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

He watched as Mick headed out and when he was alone, other than Blue passed out on the bar, he placed his elbows on the counter and dropped his head in his hands.

He’d fucked up. Again. In the midst of his rage, thinking he was about to lose his son, he’d placed all that blame on Tegen, told her to get the fuck out, and stay the fuck away.

Except none of that shit had been her fault. It was ZZ’s fault for pulling the trigger, it was Cage’s fault for pulling his piece in the first place, and it was his own fault for not realizing that whatever was between his son and Tegen went deeper than he’d thought.

Now what?

Dorothy had told Eva she wanted nothing to do with the club, Tegen hadn’t even tried to see Cage, and Cage was a fucking wreck.

So, yeah, now fucking what?

“Old man,” he barked, tossing a coaster in Blue’s direction. It hit the top of the man’s head and bounced off. “Could use some of that wiseass wisdom of yours right about now.”

Nothing.

“BLUE!” Deuce bellowed. “Wake the fuck up!”

Nothing.

Cursing, Deuce got up out of his seat and walked the few feet between them. Grabbing Blue’s arm, he pulled and shook. “Motherfucker,” he growled. “How much did you have today?”

Nothing.

When he let go of Blue’s arm, the limb fell limp and heavy at his side, and all at once the old man’s body began to slump. Deuce grabbed him before he could slide to the floor and heaved him up in his seat. As Blue’s head rolled back, panic rose in Deuce’s gut.

The fucker’s eyes were wide open.

“Blue!” he yelled, hauling him off the seat and laying him out flat on the floor. He bent his head over Blue’s mouth and nose and went still. He wasn’t breathing.

Panic turned to fear and Deuce’s chest locked up like a vice.

“Blue! Dammit, Blue!”

Pinching the man’s nose closed, Deuce covered Blue’s mouth with his own and breathed into it. Chest compressions were next. More breathing.

And, nothing.

“Blue!” he bellowed, his fists clenching. “Wake the motherfuck up!”

Tears pricked his eyes and his clenched fists came crashing down on Blue’s chest. “Wake up, you stupid old fuck! Wake the fuck up!”

Breathing hard, his chest aching, Deuce staggered to his feet. With shaking hands, he reached inside his cut for his cell phone when suddenly sharp pain sliced up his left arm and straight into his chest. His cell phone dropped to the floor and both his hands flew to his chest.

More pain followed and his throat tightened.

“Jesus,” he gasped, clawing at the center of his chest. The pain was so great, dizzying, that his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees.

Desperate, he reached out, searching blindly for his phone, but the pain was everywhere now. In his chest and neck, in both of his arms. It felt like he was being squeezed from the inside out with a rope made of razor blades.

Unable to find his phone, he called out to his son but his words were garbled and heavy with pain.

Quickly weakening and light-headed, he slumped to his side. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be fucking dying. Not yet. At least, not now. Not when he had kids who still needed him, Ivy and Damon, his eight-month-old son. He had a grandbaby he adored, and a wife, goddammit, a wife he hadn’t had nearly enough time with on this earth to fucking satisfy him. He couldn’t go yet. He couldn’t leave them yet, not when his oldest son was in the middle of throwing his whole damn life away.

“Cage,” he choked out, the word barely a whisper.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Mark,” Ellie said, pointing to one of her students in the second row. “How about you? What’s your take on Mr. Poe’s ‘The Raven’? What is the underlying message?”

The blond, blue-eyed, cocky high school athlete grinned and shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Anyone else?”

Two students raised their hands, both female, as was typical. High school English didn’t seem to interest any of the males.

“Vanessa,” she said.

“Everlasting love,” the girl said. “And loss.”

Ellie smiled and nodded. Whenever a student clicked with a literary work, she felt a surge of pride.

“Do you want to elaborate further?” Ellie asked.

The girl opened her mouth just as the buzzer went off, signaling the end of class as well as the end of the day.

The entire class simultaneously looked to her for confirmation that it was okay to leave.

“Yes,” she said, waving her hands in the direction of the door. “Go, go, go. Have a great weekend.”

The mad rush to the door always amused her. Reminded her of her own high school days when she was the lone person loath to leave. She loved school, always had; that had never changed.

Sitting down at her desk, she began shuffling through papers in an attempt to organize the mess.

“Ms. Tate?”

Glancing toward the doorway, she found the principal, Adele, standing there looking uncomfortable, and she fought the urge to giggle.

“Yes?”

“Just wanted to check in and see how your first week went.”

Ellie gave her a genuine smile. “Amazing,” she answered honestly. “I really love it here.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably. “I, uh, er…will your boyfriend be picking you up every day?”

Now Ellie was really holding in her laughter. Whatever Dirty had said to her that had convinced her to offer Ellie the open position, it obviously hadn’t been very pleasant. The woman was downright terrified of him.

It wasn’t that Ellie had approved of his methods, but she was sure grateful for them. Her mother had taken another turn for the worse and Ellie wanted to stay by her side, rather than leave and miss out on much-needed time, as well as help her father out with the hospital bills that were quickly piling up.

It hadn’t been easy, adjusting to living in the same town as the man who’d tried to rape her. But whatever Deuce had said to him, whatever deal had been worked out, Daniel hadn’t come near her. At first, on the rare occasion that she’d gone anywhere without Dirty by her side and would spot Daniel somewhere in town, she immediately retreated, rushed home and straight into the shower where she would turn up the hot water until her skin was scalded.

But sometimes it wasn’t enough to erase the feeling of his hands on her. It was those days that Dirty would take her out on his bike and they would just ride, no destination, until Ellie felt clean again, in charge of her own body and free of the filth Daniel had brought to her life.

As for Dirty, in the past year he’d come so far from where he’d been emotionally.

Seated on the back of his bike, she could wrap her arms around his waist now, lean her head against his back and hold tightly to him, he allowed her that much. He still needed a few moments to adjust to her touch, would flinch every time, but it was progress.

There had even been a few instances while watching a movie together that Ellie would scoot closer to him on the couch and rest her head on his shoulder. Once, he’d even held her hand.

For the most part, life was very good. Better than she’d ever expected it to be after what had happened. She hadn’t realized how much she missed having friends until she had Danny back in her life, or how much better it was to surround yourself with people instead of books.

There was only one problem. And it was growing increasingly unbearable as more time passed.

She was desperately horny.

Lately, she spent her nights alone in her bedroom, thinking of Dirty, knowing she couldn’t do anything about it. Still, her resolve grew weaker and weaker.

They’d grown so close. He refused to let her out of his sight; he took her to work every morning and picked her up every afternoon. Some days they would eat dinner at his place, other times at her parents’ house, and on the rare occasion, they would go out.

Every day she was faced with his beautiful face, his long, lean, sculpted body, and his personality, so damaged, so fragile, she couldn’t help but want to fix him. He was a woman’s worst nightmare—beautiful on the outside, ravaged on the inside. A deadly combination.

Yet she wanted him. Fiercely.

She had never thought of herself as a typical woman, attracted to bad boys, but it was different with Dirty. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, and if she were being completely honest with herself, she didn’t really care. She hadn’t felt this way about a man…

Ever.

Whatever he’d done, his life at the club, it didn’t matter. He was so good to her; he protected her, took care of her, and not once since the morning he’d inadvertently attacked her had he ever given her a reason to think she couldn’t trust him implicitly.

And now, oh dear God, her hormones went into overdrive every time she was close to him. Especially when he smiled. Those rare smiles were so few and far between that when they appeared, my God, she melted.

She didn’t have the first clue how to go about acting on it. She was terrified that if she did, she would drive him away.

“Yes,” Ellie told Adele. “Is that going to be a problem?”

The two women stared at each other until the older woman finally caved. “Not at all,” Adele said shortly and abruptly left.

Shaking her head, Ellie went back to her papers and before she knew it, an hour had passed. She had just started to clean up when she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway. Knowing Dirty was here, she quickly pushed everything into a neat pile and bent down to grab her purse. Grabbing her cell phone off her desk, she headed for the door, scrolling through her messages as she walked.

One new message.

Michael: Running late.

Confused, she glanced up and came face-to-face with the chief of police, Daniel Mooresville.

“Ellie.” He sneered and she caught the strong scent of liquor on his breath and immediately backed away. “Been waiting a long time to get you without your fucking babysitter.”

Stepping inside the classroom, he closed the door behind him. “You’ll give it up to biker scum, but not to me?”

Fear shot up from her stomach, curled around her quickly beating heart, and lodged itself in her throat. She had nowhere to run. She was on the second floor, and Daniel was blocking her only exit. She was trapped.

“Daniel,” she said, her voice shaking as she continued backing away. “Please don’t do this.”

“SHUT UP!” he roared, whipping his gun out of its holster and pointing it at her. “You made a fool out of me! Do you know who I am? How many women in this town would have killed to be in your position?”

A violent shudder wracked through Ellie’s body. She was too terrified to speak.

“Get on the floor,” he demanded.

No. Oh God, no. Please God, please don’t let this happen. This couldn’t be happening.

“DID YOU HEAR ME?” he yelled. “Get on the fucking floor!”

Ellie felt the whispers of defeat begin to settle heavily in the pit of her stomach. Swallowing hard, she set her purse and phone on her desk and then slowly made her way to the floor.

“Lay down,” he commanded as he walked toward her, and she did as he asked.

Towering over her, his weapon still trained on her, Daniel reached for his pants, and pulled open his belt.

Ellie’s vision began to swim and she tried desperately to suck in much-needed air.

“Pull up your dress.”

Trembling, sweating, yet cold with fear, Ellie reached down and pulled up her dress. As Daniel knelt in between her legs, his pants sagging off his hips, his erection already freed of his boxers, Ellie turned her head away and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

She wouldn’t fight him this time, she told herself. She would lie here and take it and then maybe it wouldn’t hurt, maybe he would let her live, maybe…

She winced as Daniel gripped one of her breasts tightly and twisted hard. His hand was between her legs now, pushing her underwear to the side and, oh my God, no, no, no…

Her teeth ground together, her jaw locked.

It hurt. She wasn’t ready for him, not at all. Her body was tense, so tightly strung, if he did manage to get inside of her, it was going to be painful.

Ellie held her breath and began to pray. She prayed to every god, in every religion she could think of. She prayed for her life, she prayed to be able to see her family again, she just continued to pray, focusing solely on prayer while Daniel cursed as he tried to push inside of her.

A loud crash sounded and her eyes flew open. Daniel’s head whipped around and the next thing she knew Daniel was no longer on top of her but flying across the classroom, taking out an entire row of desks as he went. Dirty stood above her, staring down at her, his eyes wide, his features tight, causing the veins in his neck to bulge.

“Did he?” he asked through clenched teeth. Already pushing herself up and her dress down, Ellie shook her head frantically. “No,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

He nodded. “Go,” he said darkly. “Grab your shit and go straight to my place. Right now.”

Ellie glanced over at Daniel, who was lying on the floor across the room, holding his head and groaning.

“Go!” Dirty yelled, spurring Ellie into action. She grabbed her purse and phone and ran from the room. She ran through the empty hallways, down the stairs, and burst out the front door. She ran the entire way to Dirty’s apartment.

Then she crawled in his bed, pulled the covers up over her head, and burst into tears.

Dirty was going to kill him and as awful as that was, she honestly didn’t care. What she cared about was what was going to happen to Dirty after the fact.

• • •

“I fuckin’ hate this place,” Ripper muttered, glancing at the rundown condos at the edge of town. Dirty glanced up from the ground where Daniel lay unconscious, and looked at Ripper. “We took care of everything?”

Ripper shrugged. “I cleaned up the classroom, Anger’s choppin’ the police car as we speak, and the only other motherfucker inside that school was one of the secretaries and she didn’t even bat a fuckin’ eyelash when I told her she didn’t hear nothin’, didn’t see nothin’, and didn’t know nothin’.”

“How much did you give her?”

Ripper snorted. “Too much.”

“Blowback?”

Ripper shrugged again. “Maybe. But we ain’t ever spilled local blood before. We protect our town, they know that.”

“Thanks for doin’ this,” he said, and Ripper’s gaze shot to him.

Ripper shook his head. “Brother,” he said, “if that was my old lady that fucker tried to rape, he’d already be eatin’ dirt.”

“I’m givin’ it to him slow,” Dirty gritted out. “Least I can do.”

Ripper smiled grimly and held out his fist. “You do what you gotta do, dude. Call Cox if you need help with the body. I’m gonna swing by the club a little later and let the prez know what’s up anyway.”

Dirty’s fist met Ripper’s and he nodded.

Dirty waited until he could no longer see the taillights of Ripper’s pickup before turning back to Mooresville. Cocking his leg back, he sent his booted foot straight into the asshole’s ribs.

“Wake up, fucker!” he yelled.

Air exploded from the man’s lungs in the form of a gasping groan and Mooresville’s eyes blinked open. Coughing and sputtering, he tried to turn away from Dirty, but Dirty didn’t give him a chance and immediately sent his boot again into his ribs. The fucker bounced a few feet forward and then went still.

Crossing the small distance, Dirty stepped over him and reached down to grab his shirt collar. “Open your eyes!” he demanded and Mooresville’s eyelids fluttered before finally opening.

“You gonna die now, fucker,” Dirty growled. “But first you’re gonna lie there like a fuckin’ bitch and take everything I’m gonna give you. And fucker, I’m gonna do you dirty.”

Yanking him up by his shirt, Dirty sent his fist straight into the man’s mouth. It hurt for sure, the fucker’s teeth cut through his knuckles, but it was efficient in knocking out nearly all of Mooresville’s front teeth.

Letting him fall back to the ground, Dirty sat down hard on his injured ribs, pinning him in place.

“Please,” Mooresville rasped brokenly. “Please…”

“What’s that?” Dirty said, sneering. “I can’t fuckin’ hear you?”

“Please!” the man screamed.

“Fuck you,” Dirty spat and sent his fist flying into the side of Mooresville’s face. Over and over again, he punched him as hard as he could, beating on him until he was covered in the man’s blood, unable to see straight. Until it was no longer Mooresville he was beating on.

It was himself.

Because as much as he hated comparing himself to a dirtbag like Daniel Mooresville, he didn’t have much of a choice. He was just as big of a dirtbag. He’d never spared a female who wasn’t part of his family a second thought; he hadn’t given a fuck what kind of pain he’d caused, instead he’d rationalized it. Justified it, even.

He was the worst kind of dirtbag, thinking he had a right to inflict pain on other people just because pain had been inflicted on him.

The world didn’t owe him shit. Nobody did.

He didn’t deserve a second chance. He deserved nothing. Worse than nothing. He deserved every inch of what he had and what he was going to put this motherfucker through.

“You think you got a right to hurt people?” he yelled as he dragged the chief of police’s broken body toward the row of condominiums. “What gives you the motherfuckin’ right?”

Dropping him on his stomach, Dirty yanked down the man’s pants and boxers, then took inventory of his own possessions. Yeah, no way was he going to use his gun. Or his phone. He grabbed the next best thing. His blade. It wasn’t a sissy knife either; it was a serrated hunting blade, made especially for death.

“Open wide,” Dirty said, and shoved that motherfucker straight into Mooresville’s asshole. Hard. Over and over again, each time amping up Mooresville’s following screams of pain as they echoed throughout the wide-open empty space.

“Upsie daisy.” Dirty laughed, hooking his hands under the man’s dislocated shoulders. Once he had him positioned on the front steps to the condo, Dirty wrenched his mouth wide open and forced the corner of the concrete stair between his lips. Mooresville whimpered his protests but there wasn’t a bone in the fucker’s body Dirty hadn’t at least tried to break. The guy could barely breathe, let alone move.

“Good night, fucker,” he said.

Then, holding him in place, Dirty lifted his boot and, as hard as he could, slammed it down on the back of his skull.

Standing up and with shaking hands, Dirty lit up a cigarette and pulled out his cell phone.

Cox answered on the first ring.

“Got a problem,” he said around a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah?” Cox asked. “Whatchu need?”

“Special sauce.”

“Where you at?”

“Mama Vi’s.”

“Be there in twenty.”

Dirty shoved his phone back in his cut and looked down at his bloody boot. Lifting up his foot, he wiped the gore off onto Mooresville’s body.

“Be seein’ you in hell, fucker,” he said. Hocking up a wad of phlegm, he spit it out onto the back of the man’s broken skull. “And you best believe you’ll be gettin’ another beat-down when I do.”

• • •

Ellie’s stomach was churning, her head was pounding, and she was so high-strung her anxiety had reached volcanic levels, that when she heard the jingle of keys against the door, she fell face first onto the floor when she attempted to scramble out of bed.

“Jesus,” Dirty muttered. Hands gripped her arms and she was hauled to her feet.

Ellie choked on her surprise as she took in Dirty’s disheveled, dirt- and blood-covered clothing. Her gaze dropped to his blood-covered hands and his swollen, split knuckles.

“Michael,” she whispered. “Did you…”

Tears formed in her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him,” she finished quickly, praying to God that he hadn’t.

His eyes met hers. “I killed him,” he said without an ounce of remorse. In fact, he looked angry, like he wanted to kill the man all over again. “He ain’t never gonna be found, baby, and you don’t gotta worry anymore about him comin’ after you.”

“The whole town is going to be looking for him,” she whispered, her body filling with fear. “You’ll go to jail. They will take you away from me and you’ll go to jail and it will be all my fault. Oh my God, this is all—”

Dirty’s mouth slammed into hers with such force that she would have flown backward if he hadn’t been holding her arms.

Ellie’s surprise was short-lived. She wanted this, she wanted this badly, so when his tongue roughly thrust past her lips, she’d already forgotten entirely what she had been talking about.

“Nobody is takin’ me away from you,” he growled against her mouth.

Ellie found herself suddenly spun around and Dirty’s front pressed against her back. His hands gripped the collar of her dress. “And that motherfucker ain’t never gonna be found,” he finished, then yanked. Buttons flew through the room, pinging off the furniture and walls as her dress split wide open.

Large hands gently cupped her bra-covered breasts and she trembled through her next breath. “I have to have you, baby,” he said, pressing his erection into her backside. “I can’t take it no more, but I gotta do this my way and I need you to do exactly as I say.”

Ellie’s need for Dirty had overridden her fear of what could happen if she and Dirty were ever to become intimate awhile back. She simply didn’t care anymore. She wanted him that badly. More in fact now that she knew what he was capable of. He had just killed a man. Beaten him with his own two hands. For her. All for her.

Never in her entire life had she dreamt she would ever be in the center of such events, or turned on by them, let alone falling in love with a man…like Dirty.

Her dress was pulled from her arms and just as quickly her bra was tossed across the room. Moments later, Ellie was naked, facedown on Dirty’s bed and he was behind her, holding her hips, pressing against her, pressing into her.

She whimpered her frustration. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him again; she wanted to hold tightly to him when he slid inside of her. But she would take it. She understood. She’d seen firsthand his fragility, his fears, and she knew how desperately hard this was for him, so she would do it his way.

Except, suddenly she could no longer feel him behind her. Pushing to her knees, she turned around and found him kneeling by the edge of the bed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I can’t do it,” he choked out, his words frantically spoken, his eyes wide while his head shook wildly. “I can’t do it.”

Instinctively wanting to comfort him, Ellie reached for him and found herself immediately shoved backward. Startled, she glanced up at Dirty, who was towering over her and glaring. “Don’t touch me,” he bit out.

Tears burned in her eyes as she nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully.

Dirty’s already wild eyes flashed with an unidentifiable emotion and suddenly his fists were clenched and his nostrils flared with heavy breaths. He appeared to be warring from within and it looked to Ellie like his personal demons were winning.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying her best to mask her shaking voice with a soothing tone. “We don’t have to do anything.”

His eyes flared even wider and Ellie shrunk backward.

“I HAVE TO!” he roared, his face turning red with rage. “I FUCKIN’ HAVE TO!”

The next thing she knew, he grabbed her calves and pulled her legs apart. His hips surged forward and—

Ellie sucked in a startled breath of air as he filled her body. He wasn’t a small man, not at all, and it took more than a moment to adjust to his size.

Dirty stared down at her, looking no better than before, shaking, his eyes burning with both emotion and tears. She powered through her need to comfort him through touch and just lay beneath him, their bodies joined but neither of them touching the other, neither of them moving. Just staring.

“Fight me,” he suddenly whispered.

Ellie’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Fight me,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Bitch, please.”

Oh God, this had been a bad idea. He wanted her to fight him. She couldn’t fight him, it was too much like what had happened between her and Daniel and she wanted…

She wanted Dirty.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “But I don’t know what to do.”

• • •

Fight him.

Aw shit, he was begging. Begging like he’d done as a child. Begging for love from his twisted cunt of a foster mother, begging for food and money, begging because those sick fuckers had liked it when he’d begged. Anger rose inside of him, anger and hatred and self-disgust.

And then…

He could see the unease, the panic, in Ellie’s expression, and as much as he hated being the reason for any negative emotions within her, a sense of familiarity and comfort enveloped Dirty. He was disgusting. He was motherfucking repugnant. Ugly. Unwanted. There was nothing, not one goddamn thing, appealing about him.

Inside Ellie, his dick began to throb.

“Okay,” she whispered. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Dirty closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to go forward. He was inside her, and he wanted so badly, no, he needed so badly to fuck her and yet he was frozen inside his own fear.

Ellie’s hips suddenly jerked in an attempt to dislodge him and his eyes flew open and his body spurred into action. Gripping her thigh, he brought her back, fully sheathing himself once again. Then he slapped his hand down over her mouth, pulled his hips back, and again seated himself. His body shuddered through the adrenaline rush inside of him.

“You get it now?” he asked quietly.

Trying to breathe but unable to, she nodded wildly against his hand. Her hands flew to his wrist and she began pulling and clawing, trying to remove his hand.

The second he released her mouth, she didn’t even bother taking the time to refresh her lungs. Her arms shot forward, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and her feet hooked around his calves as she tried to shove her way out from beneath him.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Grabbing a handful of her thick black curls, he yanked her head to one side. “Fight harder,” he growled, increasing his hip thrusts. She stopped fighting and started sucking in air, her tense body trembling.

“FIGHT ME!” he roared.

She did.

She fought him hard and ended up getting a couple good clips in, some skin-breaking bites. She fought him with everything she had until, finally, nearing the end, she was crying, not out of pain but out of frustration, and he decided that was good enough.

It was a heady feeling, power. Exhilarating. Power over the same sex who’d stripped his power away from him when he was only a boy. He needed it as much as he needed to breathe, and he’d been stupid to think he’d ever be able to have a sexual encounter with a woman any other way. He’d been stupid for thinking he’d be able to manage it. Even with Ellie.

And when he was done with her, after he’d left her body and fell onto his back beside her, he turned his head and watched her. Naked, still lying on her back, unmoving except for the heavy rise and fall of her quivering breasts, Ellie stared up at the ceiling.

“Ellie?” he whispered, fear rising in his gut. She was going to leave him now. She was going to run from him. No woman, especially not a smart and beautiful one, was going to willingly deal with him.

But instead she surprised him for the hundredth time. When she turned her head in his direction, he winced, seeing the tears in her eyes.

“Hold me,” she said hoarsely, her tone pleading. “And let me hold you.”

His eyes widened.

“Please, Michael,” she continued. “I can do…what you want, but you have to give me something in return.”

When he said nothing, his mind a frantic mess, Ellie was suddenly curling her body around his, laying her head on his chest and cupping the side of his face with her hand.

He went rigid. Refusing to touch her, he locked his jaw and tried to breathe.

This was Ellie. It was Ellie. His beautiful, sweet, loving Ellie, who had the very best laugh in the entire world.

Slowly, very, very slowly, he lifted one arm and almost gingerly laid it over her bare back.

His eyes closed. Fuck-ing-hell. Her skin was so damn soft. Without even realizing it, his fingertips dug gently into the extra weight at her side, and before he knew what was happening, he had both arms around her and was holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, squeezing her tighter.

Her head tilted and her big blue eyes caught his gaze. “Never be sorry for who you are,” she whispered. “That man saved my life. Twice.

“And,” she continued, “I’m falling in love with him.”

Dirty’s throat closed up. This wasn’t happening to him, not really, because it couldn’t be. Not after a lifetime of misery, not after everything he’d done. No fucking way, he didn’t deserve this, not even a little.

But he wasn’t going to give it up either.

No. Fucking. Way.

He would lie, cheat, steal, and kill to keep this. To keep her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Mom,” I said nervously, glancing over at her. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

Keeping her eyes on the road, she shook her head. “Baby, it was Eva who called. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her. She needs me.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I don’t think I should be there.”

She shook her head again. Reaching out, she placed her hand on my thigh and squeezed lightly. “She needs us all.”

I closed my eyes and tried to fight back my rising nausea. How could I face them all after what had happened? And during the wake of tragedy? No one would want me around. No one in that club needed me for anything. I didn’t belong there; I wasn’t family and would serve as little comfort to any one of them. Instead, I would be in everyone’s way.

I had barely slept in the last two days, ever since the phone call from Eva. I was awash with a mixture of emotions—nervousness, anticipation, fear, and grief. I wanted to be there for the club, but at the same time I didn’t know what my reception would be. And the last thing I wanted to do was intrude on them, especially now in the midst of their grief.

“Not me,” I mumbled. “I don’t belong here…I never did.”

I jerked forward as my mother slammed on the brakes of our rental car and pulled it over on the side of the road. I stared at her, somewhat bewildered, as she whipped off her seatbelt, then promptly turned in her seat, facing me.

“I know what you think of me, Tegen,” she said matter-of-factly. “I know you think I’m a club whore.”

My eyes went wide. “No!” I protested but my mother quickly put her fingers against my mouth.

“Shh,” she whispered. “It’s well past time you knew the whole story. Maybe if you’d known all along…” She trailed off and shook her head.

“I didn’t love your father,” she continued. “I tried to, but he wasn’t just physically absent from us, he was emotionally gone as well. When I met Jase… Well, Jase started out as a distraction, something that made me feel like a woman that was actually wanted.

“We were both married, both unhappy with our marriages. I knew he wasn’t faithful to me but initially I didn’t care. I was happy with what he gave me but…eventually it wasn’t enough anymore and I demanded that if he refused to leave Chrissy, other than her, he be with only me. In return, he wanted me to leave your father. He wanted to take care of me and with every request, every demand for more, I fell more and more in love with him.

“Deep down, I knew he was never going to leave Chrissy, but that didn’t mean I never stopped wishing he would.”

I blew out a large breath of air. I already knew all of this; I’d figured it out on my own over the years, but hearing her say the words, trusting me with all of this, made me hate her a little less for some of the decisions she’d made. Decisions that hadn’t just affected her but me as well.

“Hawk was an accident,” she continued. “Jase had been on the road for nearly two months, I was drunk and sad, I barely remembered it. But he came to me again the next night and when I said no, he blackmailed me.”

My mouth fell open. He what? He fucking what?

“I will kill him,” I bit out. “I will fucking—”

“Tegen!” she snapped. “Watch your damn mouth! Let me finish talking!”

Breathing hard, I pressed my lips together. Maybe hearing this wasn’t going to be the best thing for me. Planning a homicidal rampage through the club was probably not the best idea.

“I won’t get into specifics,” she said. “But yes, he blackmailed me. He said if I didn’t agree to being with him again, he was going to tell Jase what happened.”

I closed my eyes to try to calm my quickly rising rage. How could she let these men walk all over her like this? For fucking years? Why? She was a smart woman, she was beautiful, she could have taken me and just left, we could have made a life somewhere else!

“Of course I was terrified of Jase finding out what had happened so I agreed…” She trailed off, her eyes going glassy, remembering, watching something only she could see.

“It was hard,” she whispered tearfully. “The first few times. Being with a man who wasn’t Jase, but…”

“But fucking what?” I gritted out.

“I fell in love with him,” she finished listlessly.

I gaped at her. “You fell in love with a man who blackmailed you into fucking him?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you always have to be so crude? You sound like the men around here!”

“I grew up here,” I shot back.

“Tegen, I don’t know how to explain this to you in a way you’re going to understand, but yes, I fell in love with him. He was different from Jase. He didn’t want to be with anyone but me. And the way he spoke to me, the way he was with me… He was willing to give up everything for me. The club, the boys, even Deuce. Nobody had ever loved me like that. Nobody had ever put me first. Especially not Jase.”

“Then why didn’t he?” I demanded. “If he loved you so much, and you loved him, why didn’t he just come clean, get tossed on his ass, and take us away from here?”

I watched as more tears formed in her eyes and spilled over.

“I never told him I loved him,” she choked out. “I was afraid of myself at that point, my betrayal to both of them, not knowing who to choose, not wanting to hurt either of them but at the same time, selfishly not wanting to give either of them up. It was all my fault, Tegen, getting shot and Chrissy going to jail, leaving those three girls without their mother. Jase is a wreck now, and Hawk…when he’s not with us, he lives alone. All the time, alone. And it’s all my fault.”

She broke down then, sobbing silently, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

I grabbed her shaking hands and held them both inside my larger ones.

“Mommy,” I whispered, my own tears falling, my heart breaking for her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She hadn’t. I knew that now. She’d been stuck in a loveless marriage, in an impossible situation, and had tried to follow her heart. Had she made some bad decisions? Yes. But my God, she had been so young, younger than I was now when this had all begun.

“Shit just…happens.”

My mother’s eyes met mine and surprisingly a small smile formed on her lips.

“Which brings me back to my original point,” she said gently. “Your shit, Tegen. ZZ and Cage. You’ve been doing well, considering, and I haven’t wanted to rock the boat, but you of all people can’t keep your feelings bottled up forever. Let’s start by why you never told me about ZZ.”

My eyes dropped to the console between us. “Because you didn’t remember him,” I muttered. “So, what was the point?”

“Tegen.” She drew out my name in a warning tone and I glanced up sheepishly. “Because I didn’t want you to know,” I admitted.

“That’s a problem,” she said softly. “Usually nine times out of ten when you don’t want your mother to know something, it’s something you shouldn’t be doing.”

My cheeks reddened. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

“Oh God,” she said. “Tegen, no, I’m so proud of you, baby. For doing so well in school, for going to college, but most of all I’m so proud of you for getting out of here. The last thing I wanted for you was to end up like me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you,” I said, grabbing her hand and squeezing.

She squeezed back. “I’m alone, baby. The men I love are alone. I don’t want that for you; I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Which brings us to the second man in your life.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. Cage. Damn him. I loved him so much. Too much. But for as much time as I’d put into daydreaming about Cage and me over the years, it had only taken a few short days and a tragedy for the reality of the situation to rear its ugly head. And the reality of Cage and me was so very different from the fantasy.

Not that it mattered anymore.

My mother smiled knowingly. “You love him, baby,” she said. “And that matters.”

“But it doesn’t,” I protested. “Deuce told me to stay away and…Cage never once tried to contact me.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. Have you tried to contact him?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“And yet you still love him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Simply put,” she said softly. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life not knowing.”

I closed my eyes, willing my quickly rising heart rate to slow.

“And, Tegen?”

I opened my eyes.

“You belong where you are loved.”

Releasing my hand, she turned away and buckled her seat belt. We drove the remaining hour to Miles City in silence and when we pulled up to the clubhouse gates, after Bucket had buzzed us in, after our short walk to the front door, and after I hesitantly stepped inside…

Eva spotted us first and came running. Kami and Danny weren’t far behind her. The three of them engulfed my mother and Christopher in a hug. Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, I stepped aside and allowed my mother her happy reunion. Doing a quick scan of the room, I felt both relieved and disappointed that Cage was nowhere to be found. What I did notice was Blue’s seat at the bar. Empty. Something stirred to life from deep down within me.

It was a sort of grief but at the same time it reared to life an odd sense of protectiveness for the others grieving him. I hardly remembered my life without Blue somewhere in the background, usually drinking or sleeping, and everyone else in this room undoubtedly felt the same. And now he was gone.

I felt that.

And if I felt that…

I looked around the room, at the men, their wives, and children.

I didn’t want anything to happen to any of these men. I’d grown up with them inside this club, spent more time with them than anyone else in this world. The thought of something happening to any one of them…to Mick and Tap and Dimebag…to Ripper and Hawk…even to Jase. The thought of something fateful and permanent occurring to any one of them…

Yeah, I hated that they cheated on their wives, that they were at the club more than they were home, that they cared more about riding then they did about making it to their kids’ soccer games. But hate them?

No. Not even close.

I guess you didn’t have to like what goes on inside the club to love the club.

And I guess I had Blue to thank for that revelation.

“What’s up, kid?”

I glanced up and found Mick smiling down at me. “Hey,” I said quietly, and tried to smile.

“Fuckin’ sucks that it took losin’ Blue to get you girls back home,” he continued. “But I’m glad you’re back just the same.”

Speechless, I swallowed hard.

“Speakin’ of bein’ back,” he said. “Prez wanted to know the minute you and D got in. I’m sure you already know he’s laid up and damn grumpy about it, so I’m under orders to take you straight to the hospital.”

My stomach dropped. “Why?” I whispered. Was he going to yell at me again? Kick me out of Miles City?

“Thinkin’ he wants to talk, Tegen. Apologize, too.”

My mouth fell open. “Apologize?” I repeated.

Mick grinned. “Fucker knows he did wrong. Heart attack nearly killed him; scared him somethin’ fierce too. He wants to make this shit between you and him right.”

“Shouldn’t he be resting?” I said, hedging, having absolutely no desire to be face-to-face with Deuce even if he was going to apologize.

Mick snorted. “That bastard is as ornery as ever.”

My nose wrinkled. Great. An ornery apologizer.

“Tegen?”

I glanced over and found Danny with her arms outstretched, smiling at me.

“Hey, moody hooker,” she said as she moved in for a hug.

My lips twitched. “Hey, yourself…prissy bitch.”

It wasn’t long before I found myself in the center of my own group hug from the women. And from the men, hair ruffles and sloppy cheek kisses were given, some crude comments were made about my new and improved backside. Anger gave me a dirty look and Bucket tried to feel me up.

Yeah. I was home.

“Okay,” I said to Mick once the greetings had begun to lull. “I’m ready to go see Deuce.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He still loved me.

He still loved me.

I repeated the words over and over again in my head like a mantra as I paced the length of the clubhouse kitchen.

Hooked up to a heart monitor, oxygen tubes up his nostrils, an IV in his arm, Ivy curled around his left leg, fast asleep, Deuce had told me as much. He’d also told me Cage was in a bad way, using hard drugs, sleeping around again, and shirking all his club duties. That he’d bought himself a one-way ticket to the land where few return from.

He’d also told me to “reel it in” when I started to cry. Then he told me to “go get my man.”

Now I was back at the clubhouse and yet I couldn’t bring myself to make the short trip down the back hall to Cage’s room. Not only was I terrified of what I was going to find inside, I was terrified Deuce was wrong. That Cage wasn’t in a bad way because of me, that his bad way had nothing at all to do with me and everything to do with what had happened to him.

Because of me.

That love was the last thing on his mind and instead it was hate fueling him.

What if…

“Fuck it,” I muttered and quickly crossed the kitchen. Slamming my hands into the double swinging doors, I headed right, then left, and down the back hall where I came to a halt in front of Cage’s door.

After smoothing out my dress and making sure my glasses were straight, before I could think twice about it, I knocked lightly on the door.

“What?” came the booming yell from inside.

The raw anger in Cage’s voice made me cringe. Well, now what? Did I knock again or go inside? Maybe I should just walk away?

I poised my fist, ready to knock again, then decided against it. He already knew someone was out here, he’d heard my knock and responded. All I would succeed in doing by knocking again was pissing him off.

Blowing out a deep, anxious breath, I gripped the doorknob and slowly pushed open the door.

His room was filthy. Dirty clothes and boots covered the floor, empty beer and liquor bottles lined his dresser and nightstand, and ashtrays everywhere were overflowing with cigarette butts. And the smell…

Deuce had prepared me, so I’d expected as much.

But what I wasn’t prepared for, not because Deuce hadn’t prepared me, he had and I’d cried like a fool because of it, but nothing could have prepared me for coming face-to-face with the naked brunette lying on Cage’s bed, Cage leaning over her body and snorting cocaine off her stomach.

It fucking gutted me.

My heart broke into a million fucking pieces, each shard ripping open my veins as they sliced through my bloodstream. I felt as if my body were failing, breaking down.

In my haste to get as far away as fast as I could, I tripped over a boot near the door and went flying face first into the hallway.

Cursing, I scrambled quickly to my feet and just as I was about to take off down the hallway, a large hand wrapped around my forearm and yanked me backward.

Cage swung me roughly around to face him and I blanched seeing him up close. He looked horrible, like he’d aged years since I’d seen him last. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed in puffy bags and dark circles, his hair was longer—past his shoulders—greasy and stringy, and he was the thinnest I’d ever seen him. Which wasn’t that thin at all but for a man Cage’s size, it looked wrong.

For a moment he just stared at me, looking me up and down, before his eyes landed back on my face.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” he demanded.

“Let go of me,” I said just as fiercely.

“Not a chance in hell,” he spat and yanked me forward, pulling me inside his room.

“Get out,” he told the brunette.

Slowly, she slid off the bed and scooped up her clothing. As she passed by me, she gave me a lazy smile. “Don’t know how much good he’s gonna be to you,” she said, smirking. “Coke dick is a bitch and I already drained that shit dry twice today.”

I didn’t think, just reacted and lunged for her, but Cage still had my arm and yanked me immediately backward. “You stupid whore!” I screamed, struggling against Cage.

Startled, the girl jumped backward and froze. God, she looked so young. Young and motherfucking slutty. I lost it.

“I will fucking kill you!” I screamed at her, thrashing against Cage.

He lost his grip on me and I tried again to attack the little bitch, only to find myself encased in Cage’s arms. As he dragged me backward, the girl, still naked and holding her clothing, ran for the door and disappeared into the hallway.

“I will find you!” I screamed after her. “I will find you and you will fucking die!”

“Calm the fuck down!” Cage yelled.

“Fuck you!” I shrieked, twisting wildly in his arms.

“Fuck me? Fuck me! Bitch, you left me bleedin’ out in a fuckin’ hospital and you’re screaming ‘fuck me’? No, Tegen, FUCK YOU!”

“I didn’t want to!” I cried. “Your dad made me leave! He told me I couldn’t ever see you again and that I couldn’t ever come back here! He told me he was going to kill me if you died!”

Cage released me so abruptly that I, still flailing, fell forward and face first into a pile of clothing. The very second I managed to get to my knees, Cage was on me again, roughly turning me to face him and pinning me down.

“You’re lyin’,” he spat. “You fuckin’ left me again. You keep leavin’, Tegen, it’s what you’re fuckin’ best at.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yeah,” he hissed. “You motherfuckin’ are!”

I stared up at him, into his angry eyes and his beautiful face. He looked exhausted, broken down, and high as a fucking kite.

My gaze traveled lower, to the scars all over his chest, and my eyes began to fill.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I whispered. “You shouldn’t even be smoking, let alone doing drugs. I’ve read so much about it, Cage. Once a lung collapses it’s vulnerable to all sorts of things. It could collapse again or you could get an infection—”

“Shut up,” he bit out.

I stopped talking and let my tears fall instead.

“I woke up,” he said. “And you weren’t there and I thought you were dead. I thought that motherfucker had taken you out too.”

My tears fell faster.

“And I was tryin’ to get out of bed,” he continued, staring down at me. “But I was in too much pain and then they were restrainin’ me but I was fightin’ them off, yellin’ for you.”

I couldn’t breathe now; I was crying too hard.

“And then my old man is there and he’s tellin’ me you were just fuckin’ fine and you weren’t comin’ to see me.”

He paused for a moment and I blinked furiously, trying to clear my eyes.

“You tellin’ me he lied to me? You tellin’ me you were there, that you wanted to be there and he wouldn’t let you?”

A sob erupted past my throat. “Yes,” I choked out.

For a long time we just stared at each other.

“You tellin’ me anything else?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I sobbed. “I’m telling you I love you. That I’ve loved you since I was eight years old and I’m telling you that I never stopped. Not once.”

Cage’s eyes closed and he shuddered through his next breath. Then his face dropped into the crook of my neck and his body went limp, falling heavily over top of me.

“Don’t leave me again,” he whispered.

I didn’t even have to think about it.

“I won’t,” I whispered back.

“This shit between us ain’t ever gonna be perfect,” he said hoarsely. “People ain’t fuckin’ perfect, meanin’ love ain’t perfect. But fuck, bitch…”

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t want nobody else. And that should be enough.”

“It is,” I whispered tearfully. “It really fucking is.”

And it was. It was enough because he was enough. It was enough because I was enough for him. My faults, his faults, and all. We were enough.

Suddenly, I felt ready for whatever life was going to throw my way. I wanted to meet it head on and beat the holy fuck out of it, because this man was mine, he’d always been mine. I’d known it the day I met him and nobody, nothing, was going to keep me from him any longer.

• • •

Cage was praying to what-the-fuck-ever was up there that this wasn’t a drug-induced hallucination. That she was really here, telling him she fucking loved him, looking like…

Looking like Tegen. She looked like his Tegen, his Teacup. Her red hair was cut short, not nearly as frizzy as it used to be; it was wavy and he liked it. She was wearing her glasses again, thin black rectangular frames, a smaller version of the pair she used to wear.

She had on a simple black dress, not quite formfitting but tight enough that he could see the outline of her curves. They were small, but they were there, and she was fucking beautiful.

Gone were the lip and nose piercings; gone were the hemp necklaces. All that remained were the ear plugs and the tattoos, which he loved.

He’d loved all of it, actually—the Tegen he’d grown up with, the Tegen who’d come home from San Francisco all grown up, and the woman she was now, a sexy, yet quirky combination of both.

For the first time in a year, Cage wished he wasn’t high but at the same time if he wasn’t all fucked-up, he might actually break down and cry like a little girl. And he really didn’t want to do that.

So, in order to avoid all that bullshit, he bent his head and tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away. Panic raced through his overheated system.

“Tegen,” he growled. “Don’t play fuckin’ games with me.”

Her tear-filled eyes filled with angry accusation. “You just fucked that girl, Cage.”

His nostrils flared. “It’s been a year since I’ve seen you.”

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I know,” she said. “I just…no more girls, right?”

“You mine?” he asked.

Her eyes flew open, green and shining with emotion. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Then yeah, no more girls.”

“And no more drugs?” she continued.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Just me and you?”

“Babe,” he said, his heart pounding. He needed to kiss her now. Right the fuck now or he was going to freak the fuck out.

“Just me and you.”

“Forever.”

“Fucking shit, Tegen, yes, forever. Now shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

She shut the fuck up.

And he kissed her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“I think that’s it,” Ellie called out from the hallway.

Jesus fucking Christ, he hoped so. Dirty had never seen so much shit before in all his life. Who would have thought one woman, a single woman without children, could have accumulated so much fucking shit. He didn’t have half as much shit. Not even a third.

Maybe Ellie moving in wasn’t the best idea. Maybe being with Ellie wasn’t the best idea. Maybe having anything at all to do with Ellie wasn’t the best idea.

“Michael?”

Dirty’s eyes flew open and he found Ellie standing in front of him, holding a large box of books, peering up at him

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Ellie bent down and set the box near her feet. Standing back up straight, she grabbed both his hands and knowing they were sweaty, clammy with fear, he closed his eyes again, embarrassed.

“Michael,” she whispered. “We don’t have to do this.”

His eyes flew open. No. They did have to do this. He had to do this. He couldn’t sleep even knowing she was at her parents’ house; he was constantly worried about her. True, he laid to rest the threat on her life but there could be another. Someone could snatch her up, hurt her, take her away from him and he wouldn’t even know it was happening, so yeah, he had to do this. He had to have her here with him, living alongside him, sleeping beside him. He had to know where she was at all times and when she wasn’t working, she damn sure needed to be right next to him.

“He can’t hurt me anymore,” she continued. “And if you’re not ready for this—”

“No,” he growled, shaking her grip off him and grabbing her shoulders. “We’re not out of the woods yet. People are fuckin’ talkin’ ’round town. His family’s got money. They keep diggin’, who knows what they’ll find out.”

Ellie pressed her lips together and averted her eyes. She knew he was full of shit. She knew that there was no way anyone was ever going to figure out what had really happened to the good chief of police. Not that there was anything left to find.

“You’re not ready,” she said softly, backing away from him. “And that’s okay.”

Suddenly, Dirty found himself really motherfucking pissed off. Was she fucking scared of him? Was she trying to back out of moving in together? Had this whole thing just been some sort of ploy to get him to break it off because she was scared of what he would do to her if she tried to break it off?

Not that he blamed her. What good woman, or any woman with half a brain, would want to end up with him? He couldn’t even fuck her properly.

“Fuckin’ leave then!” he shouted, kicking her box of books and sending it sliding across the floor. Books flew from the tipped box and ended up scattered across his living room, which only served to piss him off even more.

When she didn’t as much as flinch at his outburst, he grew even angrier. “Get the fuck out, Ellie!” he yelled. “I know that’s what you’re wantin’, so fuckin’ get!”

“That’s not what I want,” she said, staring directly into his eyes, her expression serious. “So stop acting like this.”

Why the fuck was she so fucking calm? He was freaking the fuck out and here she was a picture of cool and collected. That wasn’t fucking fair! Why couldn’t he be normal too? Why couldn’t he be the sort of man, a normal one, a good one, one who deserved to have a woman like this moving in with him, sharing his bed, giving him all sorts of shit he didn’t deserve and never fucking would?

“Get out!” he yelled, sounding every bit as hysterical as he was feeling. He advanced on her, towering over her, and bore down into her personal space. “Did you fuckin’ hear me? I said get the fuck out!”

She didn’t even blink.

“GET OUT!” he roared.

Ellie spun away from him and immediately bent down, reaching for her box. Dirty stood there, shaking, watching as she hurriedly began picking up her books and tossing them into the box. When she was finished, without looking at him, she brushed quickly past him, headed for the door.

No.

He didn’t want this…but he did want this.

He didn’t know…

Shit.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” he yelled, sending his clenched fists into his forehead. “Fuck! Ellie, wait!”

Ellie stopped walking but didn’t turn around and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m just, I don’t know, I don’t fuckin’ know, everything is—”

The box fell from Ellie’s hands with a loud thud and then she spun around. Before Dirty had any real time to process what she was doing, she was halfway across the room, unbuttoning her shirt as she stalked toward him.

By the time she reached him, she’d lost her shirt and was in the process of unhooking her bra. Standing in front of him, she tossed the black lace aside and went to work on her black dress pants.

“Sit down,” she ordered as she stepped out of her pants. Her underwear was next and then she was standing before him, naked. He took his time looking down the full length of her, feeling all sorts of ugly thoughts rear up inside of him, mixed in between how beautiful he thought she was, and how desperately he wished he could be with her the way a man was supposed to be with a woman, before meeting her eyes once again.

“Michael,” she said forcefully. “Sit down on the damn couch!”

He didn’t know what she was doing, but he didn’t want her to leave, so he backed away from her slowly until his legs hit the couch. Once he sat down, he looked up at her. Now what?

Now what became suddenly clear when she followed him over and bent down in front of him. Dirty went stiff as her hands reached for his leathers and he fought the urge to slap her away.

“You want me to fuck you,” he said, clenching his teeth. “You coulda just said so.”

Ellie yanked down his zipper. “I don’t want you to fuck me,” she said, sounding angry. Freeing his cock from his boxers, she grabbed hold of him. “I want to fuck you.”

Dirty’s chest heaved hard as fear exploded inside of him. His hands flew to his sides and his fingers dug into the couch cushions. He was getting hard, he didn’t want to be, he would have given anything to cut his own dick off, yet still he was growing harder in her grip.

“What…the…fuck…are…you…doin’,” he said, sounding breathless as if he’d just run a marathon. She knew he couldn’t play it this way, she fucking knew.

He did not want to hurt her. He did not want to hurt his Ellie.

Ellie ignored him as she straddled him. He gripped tighter to the couch cushions and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t do this,” he gritted out and then, rather weakly added, “Please.”

But she didn’t stop and once he felt her positioning him at her entrance, he knew she wasn’t going to stop and suddenly it wasn’t just fear that was red-hot, pulsing wildly through him, but it was pain, and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think straight.

“Look at me,” Ellie demanded and when he didn’t, she repeated, “Michael, look at me.”

His jaw locked, his body strung tight, he opened his eyes and tried to focus on her.

“I am not going to hurt you,” she said forcefully.

His vision swam. He needed her off him. Away from him. He needed her to stop fucking touching him.

“Michael!” she yelled. “I’m not going to hurt you! I am not her!”

No. No, no, no, no. That’s what she always told him, that she wasn’t going to hurt him. She promised every time, swore she wouldn’t hurt him, and then she did. She always, always did, she hurt him over and over again until he was crying and screaming and begging her to stop and she never did.

Dirty let out a ragged gasp as Ellie pushed down and he slid slowly inside of her. He was going to kill her; he didn’t want to, but he was going to. He was going to let go of this fucking couch, wrap his hands around her neck, and wring the fucking life from her. He just had to let go of the couch.

“Michael,” he heard her say, her voice soft. “Please look at me and let me show you what love is.”

Air shuddered from his lungs in loud, noisy spurts.

Love.

She had never shown him love.

Ellie wasn’t her.

Ellie was not her.

Ellie was…love.

Not her.

Love.

Dirty tried again to focus on her and when he did, when he really, truly looked at the big blue eyes looking back at him, it was what he didn’t see that startled him back into awareness.

He didn’t see lust. Or need. He didn’t see the hungry gaze of a madwoman. He saw not one trace of pleasure being derived from his pain.

All he saw was Ellie. His Ellie. With tears in her eyes.

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I’m going to unpack my books and put every single one of them on your empty shelves. I’m going to unpack my clothes and hang them up inside your empty closet. I’m going to fill up your refrigerator with food and your cupboards with dishes and your bathroom with feminine products and I’m going to buy pretty-smelling candles and colorful sheets and curtains and I’m definitely buying a carpet for this big ugly bare room…and I’m going to make you breakfasts and dinners and I’m going to force you to watch stupid movies with me and I’m going to cry and yell once a month for no good reason and I’m going to sleep next to you every night and wake up beside you every morning but most of all, Michael, I’m going to love you. I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to deal with that, the fact that I need to love you. Because I’m not going to stop, not ever. You did this, you made me love you by just being you and, all my life, everything I’ve ever wanted, I worked hard to get it, and now I want you and I want you to love me and want you to want to be loved in return. Do you understand? I want to love you, not hurt you, not ever hurt you.”

He was shaking now, not out of fear but because he was crying. Because everything she’d just said had been everything he’d always wanted to hear, he just hadn’t realized it. Not until right now.

“Are you going to let me love you?” she whispered.

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak; if he tried, he would just end up sobbing, so he nodded instead and Ellie’s beautiful face, her eyes, her mouth, smiled at him in return.

• • •

Lying atop Dirty, Ellie traced the lines of his face. He looked so different when he was sleeping. Peaceful, not tormented. She would give anything to see him look that way while awake. Anything.

He was like a child in so many ways. Everything was new to him and so she’d gone out on a limb, hoping and praying it wouldn’t backfire, and took control much in the way a parent would an out-of-control child. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but while she was trying to save Dirty from himself, by taking control, she’d inadvertently taken back a little piece of what she’d lost at the hands of Daniel.

Kissing his lips softly, so as not to wake him, Ellie climbed off the couch and bent down to retrieve her clothes. As she dressed, she surveyed the apartment, full of her boxes waiting to be unpacked, and shook her head.

This wasn’t at all how she’d thought her life would go.

Not even close.

But she wouldn’t change a thing.

Not one damn thing.

She’d fallen so deep into his world, into him, that when he was hurting she felt that, deeply. She wasn’t even sure anymore where she began and he ended and to be honest, she didn’t want it any other way.

Dressed, she ventured into the bedroom to retrieve her phone from her purse and dialed her voice mail.

The first two were from work and the third…

Ellie, it’s Dad. Mom’s been taken to the hospital. Honey…it’s not good. You need to get here as soon as possible.

Grabbing her purse, Ellie rushed from the bedroom.

“Michael!” she cried and he shot up from the couch, his eyes wild.

“What?” he yelled.

She shook her head frantically. “My mom,” she said, her eyes filling. “She’s…I’ve got to go. She’s at the hospital.”

Dirty was up on his feet and zipping up his pants as he crossed the room. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the door.

“Shoes,” he said, pointing to her flats as he snatched his keys off the end table.

Ellie hurried into her flats and then Dirty yanked her out of the apartment and into the hallway.

They climbed on his bike together, Ellie wrapped her body tightly around his, and then they shot off down the street.

• • •

Later, much later, after her mother had passed away, after she’d spent months grieving her loss, after she and Dirty had bought a house up in the mountains together, and after he’d surprised her with her very own motorcycle, a bike he’d built from the ground up, specifically for her, and after he’d finally felt comfortable enough to tell her he loved her…

Ellie would think back on that moment and remember that Dirty hadn’t so much as flinched when she’d touched him.

In fact, he’d never shied away from her touch again.

Not once, from that day forward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

As he exited the hospital elevator, Cage paused to lean up against the cool wall. He felt like a steaming pile of dog shit that hadn’t just been shit out and left behind to rot away, but had been lapped up by the same dog that had shit him out and then regurgitated. A few times over.

He hadn’t slept in days, he couldn’t eat without it coming right back up, he couldn’t even stay hard long enough to fuck his woman, and he was jonesing for a high something fierce. His heart was racing, his skin clammy, his body sluggish, he felt cold when he was sweating and crazy when he should feel happy. He needed something. Some blow, some pills, fucking anything at all. But he’d promised Tegen no more drugs and, to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t thought quitting the shit was going to be a problem until he’d sobered up and immediately wanted to be fucked-up again.

He’d tried hitting the bottle to take the edge off and all that did was get his ass kicked by Tegen. Not because he was drinking but because drinking had done nothing but worsen the cravings for something more. As well as cause him to think something more would be a really great idea, so he’d relapsed. Twice.

Which in turn caused Tegen to take his keys away, smash his cell phone to bits, and slap him in the face a few times.

It was fucking official. He was a goddamn junkie.

So yeah, it was a problem.

And because of all that bullshit, because he couldn’t trust his temper, he’d been putting off an important conversation that needed to be had.

With his motherfucking old man.

His old man who’d not only fucked with Cage’s life, but had almost ended his own life because he was a stubborn old bastard with a bad temper who was so busy worrying about everyone else he hadn’t been taking care of himself.

“Cage?”

Cage lifted his head just enough to see Tegen standing beside him, her green eyes filled with concern. “Are you going to puke again?”

Yes. Yes, he was.

He tried to glare at her. “No,” he bit out. “And stop treatin’ me like a little fuckin’ girl.”

“Stop acting like one,” she snapped.

“You treat all sick people like fuckin’ shit?” he muttered. “Or just me?”

“I’ll admit,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm, “that my bedside manner leaves much to be desired, but you, you fucker, are not sick. You are cracked out, tweaking, wishing you were high. There is a fucking difference and if you don’t stop looking like you’re plotting ways to lose me and run straight to your friendly neighborhood drug dealer slash underage hooker extraordinaire, I’m packing up my shit and going back to California.”

“She isn’t underage,” he hissed.

“Out of everything I just said!” she yelled, making him wince. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Shaking his head, he stood up straight and turned toward her. “I’m not havin’ this conversation again. Not inside a fuckin’ hospital, not when I’m about to go see my old man laid up in bed because he almost fuckin’ died less than fifty fuckin’ feet from me and I was too fucked-up to even know it was happenin’. Not fuckin’ now, Tegen.”

“Cage,” she shot back. “You’re stalling. Put on your big girl panties, stop acting like a little bitch, and get in that room and talk to your father. Otherwise, we are going back home and you are going back to bed, where you should be anyway!”

He wanted to yell at her. Fuck, he wanted to knock her out for talking to him the way she did. But instead of yelling at her or adding “beating on women” to his list of wrongdoings, he smiled at her.

Home. She’d called his house “home.”

If he didn’t feel like at any moment he was going to lose what little bile remained inside of his stomach, he would have grabbed her, thrown her up against the wall, and tongue-fucked her mouth until she goddamn choked on her bad attitude.

Fuck, he loved her. He fucking loved the shit out of her.

She was crazy. She was loud and demanding and meaner than hell sometimes. She didn’t listen to a damn thing he said, she did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it, and the bitch loved to fight. All the damn time. Face slapping, shin kicking, balls to the wall, knock-down-and-drag-out fights.

But she fought like she loved. Hard. And he hadn’t ever been loved like this; he knew he wouldn’t ever be loved like this by anyone else.

She was his. She’d always been his, and if he’d taken half a second to look up from all that pussy he’d been eating, he would have realized way back when that he was hers. Always had been.

“Why are you smiling?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes. “Are you high? Did you get high while I was in the bathroom?”

His smile fell. “Shut up,” he muttered, turning away from her. “For two motherfuckin’ seconds.”

She was suddenly in front of him, sliding her arms up around his shoulders and pressing her body up against his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his. “I’m just worried about you.”

Taking his bottom lip between her teeth, she sucked it inside her mouth and then darted her tongue in between his parted lips. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her small waist, took an ass cheek in each of his hands and, despite how sick he felt, kissed her hard.

“Let’s go home,” he growled softly against her mouth. “I need inside of you.”

Beautiful green eyes, full of need and dancing with laughter, blinked up at him.

“You need to talk to him,” she said, giggling. “You haven’t seen him since…before…”

She stopped talking and grabbed him, held him close, and hugged him tight. “You need to talk to him, Cage,” she whispered. “Then we’ll go home.”

Yeah. He needed to talk to his old man. Only problem was, what the fuck was he supposed to say to a man who’d just had a massive heart attack? He couldn’t flip the fuck out like he wanted to, accuse him of destroying his relationship with the only woman who’d ever given a fuck about him…when it may very well throw the bastard into another heart attack.

Yeah, he might hate his old man, but he didn’t want him to die. Because maybe he still loved him too. Just a little.

The elevator doors beside them dinged and Ellie, her face streaked with tears, ran out into the hallway, Dirty following closely behind her.

“Hey,” he called out. Dirty stopped as Ellie kept walking.

He gave Dirty an inquisitive look. “What’s up?”

The man shook his head. “It’s her mom, brother,” he said. “It ain’t good.”

Cage nodded as he studied Dirty. “You need anything, dude?”

Dirty shook his head again. “Just her,” he said quietly and turned away.

Cage watched as he doubled his pace, catching quickly up to Ellie. Dirty’s arm shot out and hooked around her waist, and together they turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

“I hate that you fucked her,” Tegen snarled.

“Once!” he yelled. “Years ago! I barely even remember it!”

“Whatever,” Tegen muttered. “Is it just me or are they are so fucking weird together? I mean, how in the hell did Ellie end up with Dirty?”

Cage laughed quietly. “Right. ’Cause this right here,” he said, pointing between the two of them, “is real motherfuckin’ normal.”

Tegen crossed her arms under her breasts, causing his eyes to shoot straight to the small amount of cleavage that popped up over the edge of her tank top. He loved that she was gaining weight. Fucking loved it.

“There isn’t anything wrong with us,” she said.

He snorted. “Yeah, okay,” he said, laughing, still staring at her tits. He was so fucking horny. It had been over a year since he’d last been inside of her and he was aching for it. The fact that he couldn’t hold a damn erection because he was too busy being half out of his mind wishing he was high was pissing him off, more than the fact that he’d let his life fall so far down the shitter not even a drain snake could give him a helping hand.

It was official—he was the biker brat equivalent to a spoiled rich kid who’d thrown his life away…just because. And he hated himself for it.

If Tegen weren’t here… Jesus, fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if she hadn’t come back.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” he said, reaching for her. She sidestepped him and the next thing he knew she was slapping her palms against his shoulders and shoving him backward.

“Go talk to your father,” she said firmly. “Right now.”

“Will you blow me afterward?” he asked, grinning at the elderly couple that was passing by them, their eyes wide with surprise.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But only if you promise to come all over my tits like a good little boy.”

The elderly man stopped walking and gaped at Tegen, who subsequently winked at him. Literally choking on her shock, the man’s wife grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the far elevator.

Laughing like a maniac, Tegen continued shoving him backward down the hallway and he let her, relishing in the smile on her face, just thanking God that she was here, with him, and…fuck him, she was happy.

“Ready?” she asked, stopping in front of a room he guessed was his father’s.

“No.”

Shaking her head, Tegen pushed open the door and walked inside. Sighing, his stomach nothing but a bundle of nerves, he followed her in and stopped when he saw his father. Lying in a hospital bed, dressed in a goddamn hospital gown, hooked up to machines and IVs, his long blond and gray hair splayed out over the pillow behind his head, was Deuce. Cage just stared. He’d never seen his father in such a vulnerable state. Not that the man looked weak by any means, just the opposite actually. He looked like he was too damn big for the bed, and if he pulled too hard on any of the equipment he was hooked up to, he’d break it instantly.

Deuce glanced from him to Tegen and back to him. Cage watched as his father took in his appearance. A look of relief crossed the man’s features.

“How long?” he asked.

“Since the last time he fucked up?” Tegen asked and Cage’s eyes shot to her. She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her hip out. “Three days. Three very long, very horrible days.”

“Fuck you!” Cage spat. “Was tellin’ him that really fuckin’ necessary?”

She shrugged indifferently. “Yes.”

Cage’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched but before he could come back at her, his father burst out laughing. Deep, body-shaking laughs wracked the man’s body and Cage just stood there and stared. Who the fuck was this guy? Sure as fuck wasn’t his old man.

“Tegen,” Deuce said, trying to catch his breath. “You give us a minute, darlin’?”

Cage watched in horror as the word “darlin’” fell out of his old man’s mouth and Tegen’s face lit up like a goddamn firecracker.

“Sure,” she said, smiling, all adorable and shit at Deuce. What the fuck? What the motherfuck? He’d seen it before, his old man putting on the charm and thongs falling off pussies all around the world. But…Tegen?

She hated Deuce. She thought Deuce was an arrogant, pigheaded, sexist Neanderthal!

And she was his fucking woman!

Cage glared at her as she practically skipped from the room, still smiling. He turned his glare back to his father. “Don’t ever call her that again,” he demanded angrily.

Deuce held his hands up. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, fighting a smile.

Cage wasn’t satisfied. “She’s mine,” he said.

Deuce’s brow hit his hairline. “Jesus, fuck,” he said. “I don’t fuckin’ want her. What kind of crazy shit you thinkin’?”

“Nothin’,” Cage muttered.

Deuce narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. Gesturing to a seat near his hospital bed, he said, “Sit the fuck down.”

Cage gritted through the anger he felt at being treated like a dog and instead of exploding like he wanted to, did as he was told.

Deuce eyed him knowingly. “Shoulda listened to that old bastard,” he muttered. “Blue said, when you couldn’t have been no more than two years old, that you were just like me. He said you were gonna be throwin’ a whole lotta bullshit my way, told me I was gonna have a handful with you. And instead of listenin’, I told myself you had everything you could fuckin’ want and what you didn’t have I’d make sure and get for you, so ain’t no way you were goin’ to be gettin’ yourself into nearly as much trouble as I did. Told myself a whole lotta bullshit, I guess, ’cause in the end you weren’t just as dumb as I was, you were a whole lot fuckin’ dumber.”

Cage’s nostrils flared wildly as he fought to keep himself from throwing a punch, his anger only increasing when Deuce grinned at him.

“You gonna hit a sick old man?”

When Cage said nothing, Deuce’s grin grew. “Listen up, boy,” he said. “I’m man enough to admit when I fucked shit up and I sure fucked up with you. Thought by givin’ you everything I had, I was givin’ you everything I never had.”

Deuce shook his head and laughed softly to himself. “Straight-up bullshit. Shoulda let you figure your shit out on your own, shoulda let you fall the fuck down and pick yourself back up, shoulda let you make your own goddamn mistakes instead of takin’ care of everything for you behind your back, and I shoulda let you hop on that crazy bus with that crazy little red-haired shit. I know it now and I’m tellin’ you I’m fuckin’ sorry for fuckin’ with your life. Thought I was doin’ what was right, thought I was bein’ the way an old man should be, and it turns out I was just doin’ what I do best and fuckin’ everything up.”

Surprised, Cage blinked at his father. What?

“Listen to me carefully,” Deuce continued. “All my bullshit—my family, my club, my boys—it’s always been yours. You’re my oldest son, my motherfuckin’ legacy. You’ve got my love, my goddamn name, you got my colors on your back, you’ve got first fuckin’ dibs on everything I’ve ever had. You want to throw it all way, pass it the fuck on, live a different sorta life, you do what you gotta do, but it’s always been yours, Cage, whether you wanted it or not, that shit ain’t ever changed.”

Deuce looked away for a second as shame passed over his face, or was that regret? Then he looked back and held Cage’s gaze head on. “Me doin’ what I did, gettin’ between you and Tegen, I was doin’ what I thought was best for you. Didn’t think she could cut it, bein’ the old lady to a club prez. This job of mine, the job I’ll be passin’ down to you soon enough, you can’t be havin’ a woman breathin’ down your neck all damn day, wantin’ out of the life, hatin’ the club. You gotta have your damn head in the game and your woman at home, fuckin’ waitin’ on you, ready to take that bad fuckin’ day, bad month, bad fuckin’ year you’ve had, and let you bury that shit between her damn thighs without giving you shit about it. And all I saw from Tegen was her givin’ you, givin’ the club, nothin’ but shit. I was lookin’ out for you but it fuckin’ backfired and for that, I’m damn sorry.”

Cage swallowed hard. Now, what the fuck did he say to that?

“Had a long talk with that woman of yours,” Deuce said, smiling again. “She’s ready. She’s gotta good head on her shoulders, she knows the ins and outs of the club, and she loves the boys. Most importantly, though, she fuckin’ loves your dumb ass.”

Hearing that, Cage smiled and Deuce snorted.

“Yeah, she’s fuckin’ ready and I ain’t goin’ to be buttin’ in where I don’t fuckin’ belong no more.”

Cage raised an eyebrow; he didn’t believe that line of bullshit for a second.

“Listen up,” Deuce said. “I’m about ready to turn the game on, so if you got somethin’ to say, you need to get some shit off your chest and tell me what a fuckin’ asshole I am, then you better get to it or I’m kickin’ you the fuck outta here.”

Grabbing the arms of the chair, Cage pushed himself into a standing position. “I ain’t got shit to say,” he said quietly. He didn’t; his old man had surprised him and for the first time in his life, Cage didn’t have a damn thing to say back.

“I’m proud of you,” Deuce said. “You should know that. You’re a good man and I know once you get your shit straightened out, you’re gonna be just fine runnin’ the club.”

The two men stared at each other until Cage broke the silence. “Yeah,” he said. “Thank you.”

Deuce waved him off. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Rolling his eyes, Cage turned to leave.

“One last thing.”

Cage turned around.

“Don’t let that one catch you stickin’ your shit where it don’t belong. She’s damn crazy and she’ll fuckin’ shoot your ass.”

Cage blew out a noisy, amused breath. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about that. I ain’t you.”

“In that case,” Deuce shot back. “Best stake out that territory right the fuck now instead of waitin’ like I did. Worst fuckin’ mistake I ever made.”

• • •

Deuce’s loud laughter followed Cage into the hallway where I was waiting for him. I took the silly smile on his face as a good sign. Despite how sick he’d been, he looked better than he had in days.

“Good talk?” I asked.

He didn’t respond, just continued to advance on me until we were nose to nose.

I raised my eyebrows. “Uh, not a good talk?”

“Marry me,” he said quietly.

Two words. Two stupid words and my stomach burst into a thousand butterflies, retarded butterflies who didn’t have a clue where they were going and were bumping into one another like drunken bumper car drivers.

“No!” I shouted, and was about to shove him off me when he caught my wrists and quickly backed me up against the wall.

“Marry me,” he repeated.

“Hell no,” I said firmly, sounding a lot calmer than I felt.

“Gimme one good reason why the fuck not?” he demanded.

I stared up at him, my heart pounding, feeling like at any moment it was going to pound its way straight out of my chest and fall to the floor where it would flop around like a dying fish.

“’Cause the way I’m seein’ it is unless you plan on runnin’ away again or gettin’ with some other asshole, you’re mine and I’m about ready to let the whole damn world know it.”

My already clammy body broke out in a cold sweat.

“You gonna run again, Tegen?”

I shook my head.

“My dick enough for you?”

I nodded.

He glared at me. “Then what’s the fuckin’ problem?”

What was the problem? What was the fucking problem, exactly? I wracked my brain searching for the problem and came up empty.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

His lips split into a smile and dimples popped out everywhere. I lost what little breath I had left inside my lungs. “Teacup,” he whispered. “If you ain’t got a problem, then fuckin’ marry me.”

That’s when I realized what my problem was.

I didn’t have a problem. Not a single one.

Standing here in front of me was the one and only man I’d ever loved, loving me back, asking me to marry him. To spend the rest of my life with him and only him, because he loved me just that fucking much, so fucking much he wanted me to be his wife.

My eyes filled. That was my problem. I didn’t have one. I’d spent my entire life surrounded by problems, wishing and aching for things I knew would never happen.

But they had. And now my poor mind didn’t know what to do with itself.

Blinking caused tears to spill over and run down my cheeks and then Cage was there kissing them away almost as fast as I was producing them.

“Marry me,” he said, pressing his lips, wet with my tears, against my mouth.

My mouth opened and Cage’s tongue took advantage and shot inside.

“Marry me,” he mumbled as he kissed me, refusing to let me answer, kissing me harder each time I tried to pull away from him. “Marry me, Teacup.”

“Okay,” I said breathlessly, threading my fingers through his hair as I kissed him back with equal ferociousness.

Cage went still and with my head in his hands, pushed me away from him.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said, pulling him back to me. “But I don’t want a big stupid ring like Danny’s.”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“No, I’m serious, Cage. I don’t—”

Cage’s mouth crashed down again on mine and I didn’t have much of a choice.

I shut right the fuck up.

EPILOGUE

“Family dinners give me a headache,” I complained.

Ignoring me, Cage held his hand out. With an exasperated sigh, I handed him my helmet and he placed it on the seat of his bike.

“Don’t ignore me,” I warned. “I hate it and I’ll punch you in the balls if you keep it up, you know I will.”

Grinning, Cage grabbed my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m not ignorin’ you, Teacup,” he said as he pulled me up the driveway. “I’m just choosin’ not to fight today.”

The front door swung open just as Cage reached for it and Cox stood in the entranceway grinning at us.

“What are you so fuckin’ happy about?” Cage asked, shoving him out of our way and yanking me inside.

“Fuckin’ blow jobs, brother,” Cox said, still grinning like a jackass. “Kami just blew my damn brains out in the hall closet.”

I rolled my eyes even as Cage burst out laughing. “Explains why you’re so fuckin’ stupid,” Cage said. “Don’t got much brains to begin with.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Cox called out from behind us. “You ain’t gonna ruin my good mood.”

“Coming through!”

Cage and I quickly stepped out of Ivy’s way as she came barreling through the foyer, pushing her little brother on his toddler riding toy. Damon, with his chubby arms in the air and a dimpled smile on his face, squealed as they blasted past us.

“Ivy Olivia!” Eva yelled, storming after them. “Are you trying to kill your brother?”

“Yes!” Ivy yelled back.

Inside the kitchen, Cage let go of me and gave me a gentle shove toward the refrigerator. “Beer, babe,” he said, slapping my ass before he headed in Ripper and Deuce’s direction.

Scowling, I stomped off across the linoleum. If I didn’t love him so much, I might actually kill him one of these days. Ours wasn’t a sugar-coated relationship. We fought more than we didn’t, the majority of our sex life consisted of half-out-of-our-mind, angry make-up sex, and we still could never agree on anything. Nothing. Zilch.

Except for one thing.

That we drove each other crazy. Yeah, and that we loved each other. There was that.

He was overbearing, bossy, and demonstrative. He liked to order me around, literally push me around all the while acting like he didn’t see why I got so upset about it.

But at the same time, he also had to put up with my vicious temper, my manic mood swings, and my tendency to both speak and act before thinking.

I decided early on I should look into anger management before I even thought of having children. As it was, half the crap in our house was broken because I’d either thrown it at Cage or kicked the living shit out of it.

But for some reason, unknown to me and more than likely anyone who came within a mile of Cage and me, it worked.

Or, at least, it had been working for the past seven months. The future remained unknown. I could always head back to my mother’s place in San Francisco. Which I would. Especially if Cage kept demanding I be his beer wench.

Married or not, Cage did not own me.

I don’t care if the four letters, C-A-G-E, which had been tattooed around my left ring finger the night he married me, suggested otherwise.

“It is not the same fuckin’ thing!” Deuce yelled as I crossed the kitchen, holding Cage’s bottle of beer like a baseball I was about to whip at him.

Cage gaped at his father. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me, you motherfuckin’ hypocrite?”

“Now what?” I asked Ripper who stood a few feet from father and son, smirking.

“They started goin’ at it ’bout an upcomin’ job and I made the mistake of tellin’ ’em how alike they fuckin’ sounded. Started up a new round of bullshit.”

Cage’s head whipped left and he glared at Ripper. “I am nothin’ like him.”

Deuce’s beer slammed down on the counter. “No fuckin’ shit!” he yelled. “If you were, you wouldn’t be havin’ so much fuckin’ trouble out in Oakland!”

Cage’s nostrils began to flare. “Who the fuck said I was havin’ trouble?” he demanded. “Just ’cause I ain’t doin’ shit your way doesn’t mean I’m doin’ it wrong!”

Deuce’s nostrils began flaring as well. “Get your damn head outta your ass, boy. You keep this stupid shit up, I’m gonna promise you right the fuck now, I ain’t ever gonna die. I’m gonna live for-fuckin’-ever just to make sure you don’t run my damn club into the ground.”

Cage glared at his father, and unsurprisingly, Deuce glared right back at him.

Ripper burst out laughing and both Cage and Deuce turned their glares on him. Clutching his abdomen, Ripper doubled over, laughing harder.

“You should see your faces,” he gasped between laughs. “You two fuckers look exactly the same. Fuckin’…priceless.”

“Shut up,” Deuce growled at the same time as Cage muttered, “Asshole.”

They turned their glares back on each other.

Exasperated, I shoved Cage’s beer at his chest, gave him a mock curtsy while flipping him off, before whirling around and quickly exiting the kitchen. Three morons in one room was just too much moron for me to handle.

“Give it back! Moooooooooooooommmmm! Devin won’t give it back!”

My back hit the stair railing as Devin came running by me, laughing hysterically, closely followed by his little brother. When they’d disappeared into the living room, the coat closet door opened and Kami peeked her head out.

“Was that one of mine?” she whispered, looking around the foyer.

“Kami, get out of the damn closet!” Eva snapped. “And put some clothes on!” Holding a red-faced and crying Damon in her arms, she paused in front of me. “Hey, Tegen,” she said. “When did you get here?”

The door to the coat closet opened wider and Cox poked his head out from behind Kami, who, from what I could tell, was half-naked. “About five minutes ago,” he said.

“Excuse me,” Kami said. “But I look better without clothes on.”

“Mom!” Diesel screamed. Cursing, Cox pulled Kami back inside the closet and slammed the door closed.

Reaching up, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Only five minutes in the West home and I already had a migraine from hell.

Sidestepping children, I hurried through the living room, then the family room where Harley was sound asleep on the couch, before bursting outside the back door and nearly collapsing onto the deck.

“Having fun?”

Danny, pretty in pukey-pink, sat on the top of the railing, a joint pressed between her lips. Taking it between her index and middle finger, she pulled it from her mouth and offered it to me.

“It helps,” she said, smiling. “With the family-induced headache.”

“Hell fucking yes,” I breathed.

Taking the joint from her, I took a long, throat-burning drag and held it for as long as I could before blowing it out in a coughing burst.

“How’s it going with the book?” she asked.

I took another drag before answering.

“Three more rejection letters,” I said, shrugging. “Apparently, no one wants to read about the mismanaged priorities of American society.”

Danny grinned as she gestured for the joint. I handed it back to her, then hefted myself up on the railing beside her.

“It’s cool,” I said. “I started something else, a lot tamer, more mainstream. Romance fiction. Boring, actually. You’d probably love it.”

Danny cut her eyes at me. “Don’t start with me, little sister.”

“Why not?” I asked, grinning. “It’s so much fun.”

“Have I ever told you,” she said, glaring at me, “how perfect you and my brother are for each other?”

“Have I ever told you,” I shot back, “how insanely bright your clothing is? I mean, shit, Danny, where do you find this crap? Did Skittles come out with a clothing line?”

Danny opened her mouth just as the back door slammed open, causing both of us to jump.

“Dinner,” Deuce growled. “Get your dope-smokin’ asses in-fuckin’-side.”

Jumping off the railing, Danny shoved her joint at me.

“It was Tegen’s idea,” she said, slipping past her father and disappearing inside. “She peer-pressured me!”

“Liar!” I yelled, jumping down. Tossing the joint over the railing, I made to follow her inside but Deuce stepped in front of me, blocking the door.

“Great,” I muttered. “What the fuck did I do now?”

To my surprise, Deuce grinned and I could do nothing but stare at the nearly identical but older version of the man I loved. Deuce and Cage might not be pretty-boy beautiful, but they were no less breathtaking.

But…none of that beauty made up for their shitty, sexist piggishness.

“You gotta minute?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice? I can’t exactly walk through you.”

More grinning. Jeez. Was he drunk?

“Wanted you to know I still ain’t heard jack shit about ZZ,” he said. “Not since one of Hawk’s contacts saw him out in Vegas. I’m guessin’ he went off the grid.”

I nodded. A few months ago a nomad that Hawk would occasionally run into while on the road spotted ZZ in Las Vegas at an underground fight club. He wasn’t taking bets or running security. He was fighting. Without protective gear, bare-knuckled.

And the guy he fought, he killed. In fact, according to the nomad, ZZ continued to beat on him long after the man was dead.

No one had seen him since and I doubted anyone was ever going to hear from ZZ again. He’d been a Horseman; he knew the punishment for trying to kill a brother. And Deuce was looking for him, Deuce wasn’t going to stop either. If I were ZZ, I would have gone off the grid too. Fuck, I would have gone to Mars.

“And I got somethin’ for you,” he said as he reached into his back pocket.

I took the worn and cracked photograph from Deuce and stared down at the very young girl. I could see the family resemblance, the dimples it seemed Deuce had gotten from his mother.

“I can’t take this,” I told him, knowing that Deuce never knew her, that this photo was all he’d ever had of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ can,” he said gruffly. “It’s all I can fuckin’ give her now. She deserved somethin’ good, deserved to be my old man’s old lady, treated with respect, and she never fuckin’ got it. But Eva’s got it and you’re gonna have it too.

“He don’t know it yet,” he continued. “But Cage is gonna need you more than he thinks. Sooner than he thinks too. I’m steppin’ down soon, Tegen, gonna be passin’ him the gavel and you being his old lady, you needed to know first. This job ain’t easy, but havin’ a good woman who’s got your back at the club when you’re on the road—havin’ her to come home to—that shit makes it a fuck of a lot easier to keep fuckin’ goin’.

“The two of you, Tegen, are gonna be the only ones keepin’ this club above ground. Holdin’ those boys together, their women and their families. Shit gets hard, they’re gonna come to you, they’re gonna be expectin’ you to fix it. I ain’t gonna lie and tell you it’s gonna be easy ’cause more often than not it’s gonna straight-up fuckin’ suck. You’re gonna fight, you’re gonna wanna run, but I say it to all my boys’ old ladies, and I mean it every damn time, only when I say it to you, I ain’t just gonna be sayin’ it for the sake of sayin’ it. You’re different, you’re gonna be the prez’s old lady, you’re gonna have to eat, sleep, and fuckin’ breathe the life, Tegen.

“You love the man,” he said. “You—”

“Love the life,” I finished for him. “I know.”

Deuce paused and stared down at me.

“Do you?” he asked quietly. “Tegen, I know we talked this shit over before but this here is the real fuckin’ deal and I can’t be havin’ my boy as prez of my club with a woman by his side who can’t hold her own. It’s gonna be your job to make sure he’s stayin’ level-headed, to keep the boys’ women and kids happy in their absence, to keep their fuckin’ secrets too.”

“I can’t always love what goes on in the club,” I told him truthfully.

Deuce’s hard gaze never wavered. “You don’t have to love what goes on. You only have to love the club and I know you love the club, Tegen. I know you love those boys. I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”

I blew out a large breath. “I’m not Eva,” I told him. “There are just some things I won’t turn a blind eye on.”

“Darlin’,” he said, laughing. “When Cage gets the gavel, what you do and don’t got a problem with, that’s gonna be his fuckin’ problem to be dealin’ with, not mine.”

I narrowed my eyes. Darlin’ and dimples. This fucker was pulling out the big guns.

“This is so unfair,” I said. “I never asked for this sort of responsibility.”

Unfazed, Deuce turned away from me and started heading inside.

“Yeah, you did,” he said over his shoulder. “You made up your mind the day you decided you loved my boy.”

Alone now, I glanced down at the picture of Deuce’s mother and stared into the eyes of the girl who’d never been given the crown she’d deserved, and I wondered what had become of her.

“All right,” I told her, sighing. “What do you say you and me give this shit a shot? What’s the worst that could happen?”

Realizing what I’d just said, I wrinkled up my nose. “Wait,” I said. “Don’t answer that.” Tucking the photo in the back pocket of my jeans, I headed inside.

Everyone was already seated around the table by the time I reached the kitchen. I slid into my usual chair beside Cage, directly across the table from Ripper. Cage’s arm came down heavy across my shoulders.

“Oh, hell no!” Eva suddenly yelled, slapping Deuce’s hand off the salt shaker.

“Reel it the fuck in,” he growled, reaching for it again.

Ripper’s arm shot forward, grabbing it before Deuce could. Deuce shot up out of his chair and Ripper sent it flying over the table, straight into Cox’s waiting hand where he promptly shoved the salt shaker down the front of his leathers.

“Come and get it,” Cox taunted.

“You are fuckin’ fired,” Deuce said, glaring at him.

“Reel it in yourself, Daddy,” Danny said. “We want you around for a while.”

And a whole new wave of arguing began.

Sighing, I glanced over at Cage, who pulled me closer to him.

“Don’t know what you’re always complainin’ about,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You fuckin’ yell just as much as any of ’em.”

“Yes,” I said. “But me yelling doesn’t give me a headache.”

“Gives me one.”

“Giving you a headache makes me happy,” I said, turning my face and pressing my lips against his.

“You’re a damn crazy little shit,” he muttered against my mouth. “But I’ll keep you.”

I tuned out the noise around us and instead concentrated on the way his mouth felt against mine, the way his lips and tongue moved in sync with mine.

He was mine. All mine.

“Thank God,” I said, pushing away from him. “I was so very worried I might no longer be able to utilize my beer-fetching abilities.”

Grinning, Cage turned away from me and as I went to carve into my steak, I found Deuce watching me.

He winked. And I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

And what did that old bastard do? He smiled back.

Dimples.

They were going to be the motherfucking death of me.

THE END

Content

Unattainable
Undeniable - 3
by
Madeline Sheehan

Acknowledgments

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE