UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Are you hungry? You’ve been out for a while.”

  “How long?” I wheeze, my throat and lips feeling as dry as the desert around me.

  Pamela watches me for a moment in silence, her gaze searching my own before she speaks. She clears her throat, her hand reaching out, and I feel her cool fingers graze my face.

  “Seven days. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it in the beginning,” she murmurs. “The doctor came and checked you out, gave you an IV, then left. He came back again yesterday and gave you another IV.”

  “Fuck,” I croak.

  She licks her lips, then lifts her hand again and slides her fingers through my hair. “You need some food and water.”

  Closing my eyes, I love the way her hands feel on me, too fucking much. “And a shower,” I grunt. She laughs softly, then her hand falls away and I hate the loss of her.

  “And a shower,” she says as she shifts off of the bed and stands.

  I watch as she walks across the room, then without a word, slips out the door and leaves me alone. I decide to take the opportunity to try and take a leak. Pushing myself up to sitting, I hiss with the pain that consumes me.

  Grinding my teeth together, I force myself to stand and before I can even attempt a step, my feet go out from beneath me. I let out a groan as my ass hits the mattress. Gripping the sheets, my knuckles turn white as I attempt to breathe through the pain.

  The door opens and I hear a gasp. Lifting my head, I look up to see Pamela standing with a tray in her hands and a man standing behind her. It’s the doc. Blinking, I jerk my chin. Pamela hurries to my side, setting the tray down on the floor beside my feet.

  “Don’t move too fast, I need to examine you,” Doc announces.

  Pamela watches me as the doctor approaches, but she doesn’t make a move to leave the room and give me privacy. She doesn’t, she stays exactly where she is, the only move that she makes is to straighten her knees and stand beside me.

  The doc begins his exam, but the entire time all I can do is stare at the woman who has stayed by my side for the past week. She’s special, I knew she was the moment I laid eyes on her. She’s not like the others, not a single part of her is like anyone I’ve ever known.

  PAMELA

  After the doctor’s exam, I gather the tray of broth, water, and saltines and sit down next to Dylan. I don’t know how he can sit on the edge of the bed in his position, but he’s doing it, although he has a white-knuckled grip on the sheets beside his hips, but I don’t point that out to him.

  “You need to eat and drink,” I murmur.

  “Can feed myself, ain’t completely broken,” he grunts.

  I think about that. No, he can’t feed himself. He really can’t do anything himself. If it weren’t for me, he’d be dead. Scooping up some broth in the spoon, I lift it to his dry lips. “I’m sure you can, but you’re going to let me take care of you,” I say.

  He snorts, opening his mouth to take some of the broth. “Tastes like shit,” he mutters.

  “It’s bone broth,” I explain.

  “What the fuck is that and why?” he asks.

  I shove another spoonful in his mouth before he realizes what I’m doing. “It’s good for you, that’s why.”

  “What’s wrong with regular broth?”

  “It’s not as good for you,” I say as my sole explanation, mainly because I don’t really know the difference, I just hear everyone talking about the amazing benefits of bone broth, so that’s what he’s getting.

  “Sounds like some Gen-Z hype bullshit.”

  Lifting my eyes to his, I know that mine are wide, but his are dancing. He’s screwing with me. Pressing my lips together, I bring another spoonful of broth to his lips. He takes it, his eyes never leaving my own and I didn’t realize spoon feeding someone broth was so sexy and intense, but here we are.

  He reaches out to the tray and grabs a cracker. I watch as he shoves it in his mouth, chewing a total of three times before he swallows it. Then he does it again, once, twice, three times before he reaches for the glass of water and drowns the whole thing practically in one gulp.

  It’s hot in here, or maybe it’s just me.

  Most likely it’s him.

  “Gotta try to move,” he grumbles.

  Putting everything back on the tray, then placing that tray on the floor, I stand in front of him and offer him my hands. His eyes flick from my hands to my eyes, then he tilts his head to the side.

  “What’re you doing?” he asks, his voice husky and raspy and so damn sexy.

  “Helping you up,” I say with a firm nod. He chuckles, then tries to push up to his feet before falling back down on his ass with a groan. “Let me help you,” I practically beg, my entire body shuddering at the way he winces in pain.

  “This is embarrassing as fuck,” he grinds out.

  I decide now is not the time to tell him that I watched the doctor insert and take out more than one catheter and that he let me borrow a bedpan just in case. I don’t tell him that the bedpan was needed and that I’m the only one who was around to clean it. I’m thinking he wouldn’t want to know any of that.

  Because honestly, I was trying my hardest to hold it together, but thinking if it was me and he had to do all of the things that I did, that I would probably prefer death.

  “You were near death, Dylan. You won’t be able to just jump right up and do everything you could a week ago. Give it time and let me help.”

  He shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue with me. He lifts his hands and takes my offered ones, then I brace my feet and tug him up to standing. He stumbles and I am forced to take a few steps backward, but then find my balance.

  Together, we walk toward the bathroom. “Fuck, I gotta take a leak,” he announces.

  Biting the corner of my lip, I help him so that he’s propped against the wall, then I slip out of the bathroom, and let my head fall back against the wall as I wait for him to do his business. Again, I don’t tell him that I’ve seen every inch of his body.

  Every hard sexy inch of his physique.

  Pinching my eyes closed, I try not to think about that sexy hard body. I try really hard. I shouldn’t look at him like that, he’s old enough to be my dad. I shouldn’t think about the way his muscles moved and flexed while he was sleeping, or about the way that he looks naked and the fact that all I wanted to do is trace his flesh with my tongue.

  I shouldn’t be fantasizing about sex at all. My entire life has been about my being sexually owned by men, and yet, that’s all I can think about with him. This is not the man I should be thinking of. I should be thinking of a future for myself and taking care of myself.

  Men should be the last thing on my mind and if they aren’t, what I should be fantasizing about is a stable man with a great job. A banker, an accountant, someone that is going to come home every night to me and want a family.

  But I wasn’t raised that way and a good man like that wouldn’t want me anyway. Plus, I wouldn’t really want him. I want Dylan. He’s the only guy I’ve ever been attracted to, probably because he’s the only man who hasn’t looked at me like he was salivating over raping me the day I turned eighteen.

  The shower water turns on and it causes me to break out of my dream state. Pushing off of the wall, I hurry into the bathroom, only to stop completely where I stand. Dylan is standing to the side, his entire body on display for me.

  Laying down he was hot, standing there, his body hunched slightly and completely flexed, he’s beautiful. He turns his head and frowns as he looks at me.

  “No way can you stand in there by yourself.”

  He snorts. “Think I probably can, babe.”

  Shaking my head, I make my way toward him, kicking off my shoes, I hurry to his side. “You’re still dressed,” he announces as I help him into the warm shower.

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  I don’t trust myself being naked and alone with him. I’ve never been that way with a man before. I don’t count being
stripped down and strapped to a table anything like this between us right now. I have a feeling just his eyes on me, alone together like this, may cause me to combust or something. So, I’m keeping my clothes on, for now at least.

  Maybe one day…

  “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

  I don’t ask him why and he doesn’t tell me. I doubt he thinks of me the way that I do him. I doubt he wants me, desires me, dreams of me the way I have done him since the moment I saw him.

  I knew he was different, knew that I felt different when I just looked at him, let alone was near him and being here and helping him the past week, forget about it. Every part of me desires every part of him.

  Chapter Seven

  PAMELA

  After his shower, Dylan allowed me to change his bedding, then he promptly laid down and passed out. I spend the next half an hour cleaning up the room.

  I am under no impression that this is or ever has been his personal space, it’s too cold, too plain. There aren’t even clothes in the closet. I have a feeling it’s a guest room of some kind.

  There’s a knock on the door and I jump, then look back to him to make sure he’s still asleep. He doesn’t even flinch. Hurrying over to the door, I slowly open it and blink at the sight of Della on the other side.

  She has some fabric in her hands and I tilt my head to the side in question. “When he ran off, they got rid of a lot of his things. I felt bad, guilty really. I kept what looked important and his clothes in case he ever came back.”

  I’m not sure how I should feel about this. Maybe I should feel jealous, but as I look at Della, not even an ounce of jealousy flows through my veins, at least not right now. Reaching for the pile of fabric, I place one hand on top and the other on the bottom before I bring it all against my chest.

  “Thank you, he’ll probably be happy to have some clean clothes. I haven’t had a chance to wash what he was wearing and he doesn’t have anything else.”

  Her lips turn up into a small smile before she asks how he’s doing. Looking over my shoulder, I watch him for a moment as he rests.

  “He’s okay, resting.”

  “Doc’s been to see him?” she asks.

  Nodding my head, I hold the clothes even closer to my chest. Her gaze roams over my face, then her eyes widen and she lifts them to meet my own.

  “Do you have any other clothes? I think that’s all I’ve seen you in.”

  I glance down at my bare legs. I’m wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a comfortable black tank, along with a pair of slip-on shoes. The quickest things for me to grab before leaving California. They were clean and filed on my dresser. I slipped them on and I ran.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. I’ve at least washed my clothes.

  Every other day, I wash them and I just wrap a towel around me while I wait for them to dry. Thankfully there’s a washer and dryer here, so it hasn’t been that big of a deal, but I don’t know how many times you can wash and dry one outfit before it gets threadbare and literally falls apart.

  “It does,” she murmurs.

  I like Della. I’m sure for some jealous girl code reason I’m not supposed to. She had Dylan once. She had him, but didn’t want him. She knows so much more about him than I probably ever will. She’s closer to his age, but she’s married with a baby and she is really into her man. Like really into him.

  “You’re all wet. Let me bring you some clothes.”

  The idea of taking her charity, it makes me feel some kind of way and I don’t like it. Shaking my head, I take a step back.

  “No,” I breathe. “I really can’t. I’ll figure out a way to earn money and get clothes. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Della takes a step toward me, reaching out, she wraps her hand around my forearm and squeezes.

  “You’re under our care, Pamela. You need clothes and basic necessities. Nobody here would bat an eyelash. Let me take you to the store.”

  Gulping, I look down at my feet, then shake my head and lift my gaze to meet hers. “I can’t. Really,” I whisper.

  Her hand falls and thankfully, she takes a step backward. She nods her head, her gaze finding mine. I can tell just by looking at her that she isn’t going to let this go, she isn’t going to just stop and let me take care of myself.

  “Okay,” she says. Her eyes flick behind me to Dylan’s sleeping form. “I’m here, the club is here,” she reminds me.

  Dipping my chin, I don’t say anything. She takes it as her cue to leave and I watch her turn around and walk away. Closing the door behind her, I wish not for the first time that there was a lock on this side so that I could lock the world away from me, from us.

  “She’s good people,” Dylan rasps, turning his head to me, he opens one eye and watches me.

  “I know,” I say, agreeing with him.

  Making my way over to the small dresser, I open the drawers and neatly place his clothes inside. A pair of jeans, a couple T-shirts, a few pairs of underwear, and a couple sets of socks.

  “She’s trying to help,” he murmurs.

  Closing the drawer, I turn to face him but don’t take a step in his direction. Staying in my spot, I bite the corner of my lip as I search his sleepy face. He’s got a little color back in his cheeks and his brows snap together as his eyes move down my body.

  “You’re wet,” he points out.

  At the same time, I say. “She feels guilty and I don’t want guilty charity.”

  Dylan pushes up slightly. “Get one of those shirts and put it on. It’ll cover everything. You can’t sit here in this room soaking wet. You’ll get sick.”

  Pressing my lips together, I look behind me at the drawer and think about his demand. I should do it. I can throw my jeans and tank in the dryer and have his shirt to wear to cover me. Then I think about having his clothing touching my body and a shiver slides over my skin.

  “Pammy,” he says, his voice rough and far too sexy. Whipping my head around, my eyes instantly connect to his. He’s watching me. His lips twitch up into a cocky smirk. “Get dry, Sunny.”

  “Sunny?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “First time I saw you, that sunshine hit your blonde hair and it just made it look like you were a giant sunbeam. Never saw anything so pure and beautiful in my life.”

  “Pure?” I breathe.

  He snorts. “Get something dry on, Pammy.”

  I scrunch my nose up at the name Pammy. Ten minutes ago, I would have loved it, now I like Sunny a lot better. Turning my back to him, I open the dresser drawer and reach for one of the soft black T-shirts.

  Slipping into the bathroom, I strip out of my wet jean shorts and tank. My bra soaked too. Since I’m not overly large chested, I don’t really need it, especially with as big as this shirt is. Taking off my bra, I slip the T-shirt on over my cold and naked body.

  Fiddling with the waistband of my panties, I wonder if I should take them off too, then I shake my head, deciding against it. Leaving the bathroom, I gather my wet clothes and slip out of the room, hurrying toward the laundry room.

  Shoving my clothes into the dryer, I set it on high so that it dries superfast and I can get back to taking care of Dylan. I don’t know what I’m going to feed him, but I know he has to be hungry, truth be told, I am too.

  I’ve scrounged around the kitchen the past week, careful not to take too much, afraid that I’m doing something I’m not supposed to, but I have to eat something. I can’t remember the last time I had a real meal. Not that I deserve one, I haven’t done anything to earn a place to sleep, let alone food.

  JAGUAR

  As soon as she leaves, I push myself up to a sitting position. I’m surprised when the door opens a few moments after Pamela has hurried off in nothing but my tee. Inhaling as deep of a breath as I can, I cringe as the pain in my ribs radiates throughout my torso.

  Dragon stands in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, a disapproving look on his face. “Glad you’re breathin’,” he announces
.

  My gaze finds his and I jerk my chin up as my answer. “You get two more days to heal up. Then your new job starts.”

  “New job?” I ask.

  His lips curve up into a grin. “Welcome to the Savage Beasts, prospect.”

  “Prospect?” I ask.

  “Don’t know when or if you’ll ever be a member again, but we’re starting with this. It was decided by the club, together. You’ll be a prospect. No phone, no contact with the outside world at all. You stay within these walls. Any time you leave, it’s with a patched member, not another prospect.”

  “What about Pamela?” I ask.

  “Jailbait?” He smirks.

  “Riot’s still out there somewhere up north, somewhere in Oregon. Wouldn’t take much to find her.”

  Dragon sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Fucker got away. Still pisses me off,” he snaps. “He wasn’t in that room and I want to know what the fuck he was doing.”

  Most of the Donkey Punchers died the day that the Beasts came barreling through the door. They literally were caught with their fucking pants down.

  Riot’s a typical piece of shit though.

  He got away, he’d been somewhere else when the Beasts arrived, promising to return in just a moment to start the initiation of Pamela. What he did was sacrifice his men to save himself.

  He didn’t give a fuck and I have a feeling he’ll make sure that we pay, not just for killing his men, but also because he wasn’t able to fuck his own daughter the way he wanted, the sick fuck. At least he’ll try to make us pay. If he knows we have Pamela, he’ll try to get her back and he’ll no doubt torture her if he succeeds.

  Dragon lifts his hand and scrubs his palm down his face, tugging on the end of his beard. His eyes find mine and he grunts. “She’s safe here, for as long as she needs to be. She ain’t free though. She can’t run around town. She can stay inside of these walls. Nowhere else, not just because of Riot, but also, she can’t be free until we can trust her.”