UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  We’re lost to the moment and I let out a grunt as I come inside of the condom, the same time her pussy clamps down around my cock. Catching my breath, I release her hair and watch as she lowers her chest to the barroom floor.

  Pulling out of her, I look down at her cunt and grin. “So fucking pink, babe,” I say, using my finger to trace her bright pink slit.

  “Pinkie,” I murmur.

  She turns her head, looking over her shoulder at me, her cheeks matching her pink cunt. They’re the exact same shade.

  “What?” she breathes.

  “Pinkie. Cunt is the same pink shade as your cheeks. That’s your name, Pinkie.”

  She rises to her knees, turning to me, but doesn’t bother covering up any part of her. She’s free here and she knows it, feels it deep inside of her.

  “I like it a hell of a lot better than my real name,” she says with a smile.

  Reaching forward, I touch the tip of her nose before I stand and pull my jeans up, buttoning them. Looking down at her, she has her face tipped back and she’s smiling at me, but I can tell she’s not seeing me, she’s looking right through me and I’m good with that.

  “Welcome to the Beasts, babe.”

  Her lips curve up into a huge smile and she dips her chin. “I can already tell this is where I belong.”

  Leaving her there, I go in search of Barracuda. He ain’t been the same since Sosh passed away a year ago. He just sits at the end of the bar day in and day out. Climbing beside him, I nudge his shoulder with mine.

  “You good?” I grunt.

  “No,” he answers truthfully. “Never will be.”

  “Yeah, miss her.”

  “Loved her, Jaguar,” he rasps, before he turns his head and looks over at me. “You find that, ever, you hold on to it with both hands. Never let it go, not ever. You think you found it, you never let it go. You fight your fuckin’ ass off for it, you got me?”

  Dipping my chin, my gaze doesn’t leave his and I can tell that he’s serious. He means this and he wants to make sure that I understand him. His words sink inside of me, to the bone, to the marrow, and they stay right there, never moving.

  FOUR YEARS LATER

  PAMELA

  FOURTEEN YEARS OLD

  I hate the way they watch me. Thankfully, they don’t touch me, but only because my dad won’t let them yet. Walking past the men hanging around, doing what appears to be nothing, I make my way out of the clubhouse and into the sunshine.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” a deep voice rumbles.

  Turning my head, I look over my shoulder and see the man himself standing with his back leaning against the wall. My father. President of the Donkey Punchers MC, otherwise known as Riot. His real name is Spencer, but he’d probably kill anyone who called him that.

  “Just getting some fresh air, it smells in there,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

  He shakes his head. “That do-gooder pickin’ you up?” he grinds out.

  Do-gooder. I really want to roll my eyes. He’s speaking of the woman who runs the teen community center in town. It’s kind of like a Boys and Girls Club, or a YMCA, but our town is really small and really poor, so instead we have a community center.

  It’s not really much. A few puzzles, board games, and books. There’s always one adult there and sometimes they borrow basketballs and soccer balls from the high school so we can do something outside.

  I only go because it’s near the clubhouse and my dad will actually allow me to walk across the street, but only certain days. I have a feeling it has nothing to do with allowing me to do it and more like he needs me out of the clubhouse for a while.

  That works for me, seeing as I absolutely hate living here. I despise it. I also know that there’s no way out of it. He would hunt me down if I tried to run away. He would drag me back by my hair and if he didn’t kill me, he’d definitely make me wish I was deader than I already do.

  “She’s doing a Meals on Wheels run, said I could tag along,” I say with a shrug.

  “You got your phone?” he demands.

  Shoving my hand in my pocket, I pull out my phone and wiggle it so he can see that I have it on my person.

  “Be back before dark. We’re having a party. You need to be locked in your room before it starts. Can’t have any of the guys think you’re fair game yet,” he chuckles.

  He laughs like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t scare me to death what he’s going to allow his men to do to me. I only know what they do because he’s explained it to me, in detail, every year on my birthday since he took me from my mom. I don’t even know if she’s dead or alive. I assume she’s dead, because I never saw her again.

  It’s my duty, he says. I’m the president’s daughter. All of the men’s daughters do this. It’s tradition. It’s been tradition. It’s their right to do this to me.

  Their right.

  Their right.

  I owe them this. He owes them this.

  It’s their right.

  They will take me on my eighteenth birthday. One by one. They’ll stand in line. My own dad gets dibs on my virginity. That’s his right as the president. He’s never said he wouldn’t take me first, he’s just always said it’s his right. I don’t know if it’s to play with my head, or if he’s planning on fucking his own daughter.

  I’m terrified to find out.

  Either way, I have four years to come up with a plan. It seems like a lifetime away, but I know that it will happen in a heartbeat and I find it hard to even breathe some days.

  JAGUAR

  THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD

  Barracuda was wrong. Love ain’t shit. He’s still sitting at the end of the bar, day in and day out. He’s gone though, his mind is fucking gone. He sits and he drinks. That’s all. He hasn’t been a contributing member of this club since Sosh died. Breast cancer took her from us, from him, and he’s never been the same.

  But he was wrong.

  Love ain’t shit.

  Loyalty.

  That’s what matters in this world.

  Loyalty.

  The moment I laid eyes on Della I knew without a doubt that she was meant to be mine. It wasn’t about love, because I don’t believe in that shit. Gut told me that she was mine and that’s all I was willing to accept.

  In the end, all I did was fuck her up, fuck myself up, and fuck my club over.

  Cunt.

  Shouldn’t be as powerful as it is, especially with the abundance in which I’ve had it since becoming a patched member of the Savage Beast MC.

  Cunt.

  It made me crazy, manipulated me, and I tried to take my own brother’s life because of the way it made me feel. I aimed and pulled the trigger, lost in my head, in my anger—in cunt.

  I can’t even lay blame at Charm’s or even Della’s feet, because at the end of the day it was my weakness, my weak mind that made it all possible.

  Just like my father always said—I’m worthless.

  Charm wasn’t just a clubwhore, she was a drug lord’s sister sent into the clubhouse to gain information and she was good at her job. She played it to a fucking T. I bought her act—hook, line and sinker, mainly because I was so lost in complete fucking jealousy over Della and the loss of her to Eagle.

  He took her from right under my nose, but in hindsight, I didn’t deserve her and she wasn’t really mine. I couldn’t see that though, not while I was in the middle of it all. Walking away from Charm’s lifeless body after ending her life, watching her blood spill, I knew something needed to change and it wasn’t Della or Eagle, it was me.

  There is only so much bad a person can do, so many selfish acts they can commit before it makes them regret being alive.

  I regret being alive.

  But I’m not ready to die, not yet.

  I’m going to do something that nobody could or would ever expect.

  I’m going to prove how much I love my club by betraying them.

  PAMELA

  SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD


  I stay hidden in the corners as much as I can. It’s been harder the past year. Those lingering gazes, they’re more than lingering these days. They know my time is up. One year. That’s all they have to wait until they each get a piece of me.

  My stomach rolls just thinking about it.

  But then I see him.

  His hair is a little too long, he’s tall and muscular, but when his eyes scan the room—he sees. He’s wearing a prospect patch, but this man is no prospect. He’s bigger than some lost puppy that the Donkey Puncher MC usually brings into the fold. They like the broken ones, the sick and twisted ones, the easily manipulated ones.

  This man is none of those things. Except maybe on the verge of breaking. He’s a little battered and bruised, but he’s not completely broken. This man is not who he claims to be. And I wonder, if it’s possible, could he be my saving grace?

  His gaze catches mine and he freezes for just a moment. Those eyes. I could get lost in them, in their depths.

  Deciding that I need to get the hell out of here, I walk down the hall and toward the back door. A strong hand clamps around my arm and I turn my head, jerking it away with natural instinct. Turning my head, I look up and I freeze.

  It’s my father.

  I force my entire body to relax. His lips curve up at his absolute power over me.

  The asshole.

  “Demo’s daughter turns eighteen this weekend. New prospect is going to be in to observe, see if he can stomach it. I think it’s your turn to see your fate in a few months,” he says, his eyes lighting up with delight. “So that you’re not surprised.”

  He’s a sick bastard.

  I’ve never liked my father, but I just didn’t know what the feeling was. I thought I feared him, but that’s not it at all. I just have always hated him. I think you have to respect something or someone that you fear. I don’t respect him, not at all.

  “You gonna answer me?” he growls, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing on me, clearly attempting to intimidate me.

  Dipping my chin, I give him a false sense of submissiveness. It’s what feeds his ego. He wants everyone to submit to him. Always. I feed that ego, just biding my time, although my time is limited right now.

  “I’ll be there,” I whisper.

  He shakes my arm once before releasing it. “Good. You do this like a good girl and maybe I’ll let you pick from one of the single brothers, which one you want to be your Old Man. Usually, it’s his choice, but you’re my daughter and that has to have some perks, right?” he asks with a snort.

  Perks.

  Sure.

  Being raped by dozens of men, then choosing one of those men to be your man and put his babies inside of you… gee, how lucky am I?

  “Thank you,” I exhale.

  “You doin’ your meals gig?” he asks.

  Over the years, my dad stopped bitching about my Meals on Wheels charity work, I think he likes it now. Not that I’m doing charity work, but that the community sees the president of the Donkey Punchers MC’s daughter doing the charity work. It makes him look good, and there’s nothing Riot likes more than looking good to other people.

  I answer him, then turn to walk away and head toward my car. I can feel someone watching me, it’s not my dad’s gaze, it’s stronger. He feels far more intense and maybe even more important than my father.

  Once I’m in my car, only then do I look around and then I see who it is. It’s him. The new prospect. I guess I’ll find out next weekend what kind of man he is.

  ONE WEEK LATER

  JAGUAR

  This club is fucked beyond recognition. When I shot Eagle and went to ground, I heard murmurings that the Donkey Punchers were involved with Charm’s family, with Angel Ramos junior and senior. I couldn’t let it go, I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t hear. I needed to know.

  Then the rumors, the murmurings, they weren’t bullshit. They were real, except the reality was worse than any rumor I’d heard. They were taking girls, not women, girls. They had buyers for them, selling them to be used in the most horrific ways.

  I couldn’t let that go. I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t heard it. There was only one way, and one way only to get in good with the Savage Beasts again, and that was by infiltrating the Punchers and help take them down and out from the inside.

  I’m not sure if my plan will work, but it’s my only hope for getting my family back. I made the biggest mistake of my fucking life and the only way I’m going to be able to fix it is if I prove my loyalty. Even then, they will have the right to end me.

  “Tonight, one of our own turns eighteen,” Riot announces, his voice booming through the bar.

  I won’t be participating in the events tonight. As a prospect, I haven’t earned that right and honestly, I think I’m perfectly okay with that. Especially since I can kind of guess where this is going. And it’s nothing that I want to be involved in.

  The eighteen-year-old girl is wearing a short scrap of fabric that barely covers her body. And that’s not the most disturbing thing about this. Every single brother of the club is adjusting his dick. So, now I’m fairly certain I know where this is going. I know without a doubt that I’m not going to like it and it’s going to kill a part of me to pretend that I do.

  Riot lifts his hand and calls over a man. He grunts, practically running over to him. I don’t recognize him, I haven’t memorized all of the members yet, but this is a member-only party and he’s wearing a cut with a rocker. He is definitely a local member.

  “Demo, do you willingly give the Donkey Puncher MC your daughter?” Riot asks loud enough for the entire club to hear.

  He nods his head once, clearing his throat, then turns from Riot to the men. “I give my daughter to the Donkey Punchers MC. She was born a Puncher, she belongs to the Punchers, and she is Riot’s to enjoy first.”

  Enjoy.

  My stomach twists, it curdles. My entire body jerks at the thought of what is about to happen. Shifting my gaze from Demo to the girl, I look at her.

  I take her in.

  Her eyes are for nobody but Riot though. I thought she would look terrified, that she would look dead inside, but instead, she is watching him with what I can only describe as admiration. That makes this whole thing a million times worse. She wants this. She feels special. She’s been fucking brainwashed.

  “Begin,” Riot demands.

  Demo reaches for her clothes and strips his own daughter in front of a room of grown-ass men. I want to look away, but I can feel Riot’s gaze on me. He’s sizing me up, waiting for my reaction to see if I’m as fucked up as he is.

  I decide not to look at him, which is probably what he wants, instead I keep my focus on the absolute fucking nightmare that is about to ensue. He wants to gauge my reaction, if I break contact with what’s happening, that will be a test that I fail.

  He wants to make sure that I am just as sick and depraved as they are, all of them. I can play that game, the long game, and I will. If it means sacrificing my soul a little more, then that’s fine, as long as the endgame is these fucks burn.

  The girl lays down, her body completely on display and without hesitation, she spreads her thighs. Riot’s attention leaves me and shifts to her and her nakedness. I watch as he strips his own clothes, then begins.

  She screams as he ruts. Then he comes inside of her before he steps to the side. Demo steps up to her, and I hear a female gasp beside me. Shifting my gaze, I look over to see Riot’s daughter is staring in horror as Demo fucks his own daughter in front of the club as the other men get in line and cheer.

  Tears fill her eyes. I can’t watch. It’s one thing to see a Puncher brother fuck this poor girl, it’s another thing to see her own father assault her. I can’t do it, as much of a bastard as I am, this is the sickest shit I have ever been a witness to in my entire life. My fists clench in anger and disgust.

  Riot’s daughter’s gaze flicks to mine and I watch as tears drop down her cheeks.

  “I’m next,” she br
eathes.

  THE NEXT DAY

  PAMELA

  Bringing my legs up to my chest, I rest my cheek on my knee and look out at the back area of the clubhouse, but I’m not seeing anything. There are trees and greenery all around me, but I can’t see anything.

  The only thing I can see is Megan being fucked by my father and her own. Then I replace her body with my own and tears leak from my eyes. I can’t stop myself. I can’t hold it back. The tears fall and they won’t stop because I’m next.

  I. Am. Next.

  There is a noise next to me, and I pinch my eyes closed before I wipe the tears away and look over to the man sitting next to me. It’s the same one from last night. The prospect, the new guy. I don’t know his name, but he’s watching me, and I can’t quite read him.

  I’m not sure if he’s good or pretending to be good. My firsthand knowledge of the Donkey Punchers men, prospect or member-only, includes one type of man.

  The bad ones.

  “Name’s Dylan,” he says, introducing himself.

  “Pamela,” I exhale.

  His eyes. I knew it the other day when I saw them, but up close it’s even worse. You could get lost inside of them, in the depths of them. He’s beautiful, but he’s also extremely damaged. He’s lost and this isn’t the place a man can be found, not in this club.

  “Pamela?”

  Shrugging a shoulder, I watch him, unable to take my eyes off of his. “Pamela. It’s a stupid name.”

  Dylan lifts his hand, cupping my cheek, but the contact doesn’t last for long. His hand drops almost as immediately as he touches me. I miss his touch instantly. I only had it for a moment, but I want more.

  “It’s not. But Pammy. Fits.” He chuckles, lifting his lips into a grin.