UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  The man who saved my life, who gave me a family. The man who lost his own family, then lost his way. The man who didn’t see me own and atone for my own shit, he’s gone. Is it my fault that he’s gone? I was there with the enemy.

  Sure, I told myself, told Dragon, I was there to gather intel. But it was more selfish than that, it was to save Pamela. I tried to convince myself and Dragon that I wanted to help, to save other women from that fate, from having a train pulled on them the day they turned eighteen, from being given to a member of the club to use as they saw fit.

  I said all these things, inwardly and outwardly, but the reality is that I just wanted to save Pamela. I didn’t give much of a fuck about the others, not really. My cock wants only her, my heart wanted to save her as part of my redemption.

  The party continues and I stare at nothingness, seeing absolutely nothing. I have done nothing but fuck up since the moment I was born. I couldn’t even be here to protect the only person I truly have ever given a shit about, and in turn, he’s the only person who has ever given a fuck whether I live or die too.

  “You look like you’re about to be sick,” Hawk announces from next to me

  Turning my head, I look over at him. Avah is curled against his side, but her head is turned as she talks to Trista.

  “Wolfe told me about Cuda, nobody told me,” I inform him.

  He watches me for a long moment, his gaze unwavering until he clears his throat. “Could you have stopped it?” he asks.

  “I could have tried to protect him,” I point out.

  He shakes his head once. “He’s where he’s wanted to be for over twenty years, Jag. He’s with Shoshanna.”

  “He’s the only person who ever gave a fuck about me,” I rasp.

  Hawk lifts his hand, clapping my shoulder much like Wolfe did not too long ago. He gives me a shake the same way too, but he doesn’t let his hand fall.

  “Ain’t true. We all give a fuck about you. Sure, you’ve done wrong. You pissed a lot of us off, but if we gave no fucks, Dragon would have killed you without a vote. Then, had we not given a fuck about you, had it gotten to that vote, it would have gone down a hell of a lot different than it did. Even in our anger, Jag, we all give a fuck.”

  I don’t feel like a thirty-eight-year-old in this moment, instead, I feel about fifteen. Here Hawk is telling me that the Beasts fucking care about me. I feel stupid. This whole thing is dumb and yet, I needed to hear it.

  I needed to hear it all.

  Looking around the room, I try to find Pamela for the first time in hours. She isn’t hard to spot. She’s like a beacon of brightness. She’s talking to a few of the Old Ladies, but I don’t even see them, all I can focus on is her.

  She must sense me watching her. Slowly, her gaze shifts over to me and her cheeks tint pink at the same time her eyelids drop, then they lift again and those eyes of hers catch mine. She licks her lips and my cock presses against the zipper of my jeans.

  Fuck. Me.

  Chapter Eleven

  PAMELA

  Eighteen years old.

  I thought that today would be a nightmare, then coming to this club, something happened that I never expected. Joy. Elation. Complete and total happiness. I didn’t think it was possible, that I could be happy, but here I am.

  Maybe it’s the fact that I had my first taste of birthday cake. Maybe it’s the presents that the Old Ladies bought me, but I think it’s mostly the fact that I am surrounded by good people. At least, that’s how it feels.

  The ugliness of the Donkey Punchers is nowhere around this clubhouse. People aren’t sitting around getting high all day and night. Women aren’t being passed from one man to another, their bodies sick with drugs and marked with bruises. Random young girls aren’t being brought in and out.

  It’s just different here.

  This club isn’t perfect and I have a feeling that they aren’t law-abiding citizens, but they’re good compared to where I was before here. Smiling at the women around me, I can’t help but wonder if it will be like this always.

  Will they accept me as one of their own? What will happen tomorrow? The questions swirl around, and they grow dark. I can’t work the bar of the clubhouse my entire life, and what will happen to me when my purpose there is over?

  Then I feel his eyes on me. Shifting my attention across the room, he’s there. His eyes lift and they meet mine. My breath hitches as I stare across the room at him. Licking my lips, I look down at my feet, then slowly lift my gaze back up to meet his own.

  “He’s so in to you,” Gisele says, her voice soft and low.

  She’s close to my age and although she seems a bit jumpy and nervous, I like her a lot. It will be nice to have someone around who is close to my age. She only lives a few feet away in one of the two houses that have been built on the property. Another one is under construction.

  I don’t know why, but the fact that they have members living so close with their families, it warms my heart—it’s a little compound.

  “He saved my life,” I admit before I turn my gaze from him back to her.

  She’s smiling at me and she shakes her head a few times. “Yeah, Coen saved mine too.”

  “He did?” I ask.

  She continues to smile, nodding her head, but doesn’t elaborate. I don’t ask her to either, it’s not my place. Although, I’m extremely curious. Maybe she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me one day, maybe we’ll be real friends.

  For now, I’ll continue to show kindness and hope that she will trust me. I would love to have a friend—a real one.

  I’ve never had that before.

  “Coen saved me and I like to think that I saved him too, at least a little.” Her cheeks turn pink and she clears her throat.

  Turning my head, I watch as her man makes a beeline for her. He has eyes for nobody else, not a single other person in the entire room, and there are dozens. I wonder if Dylan looks at me like that, then I shake my head. He doesn’t and he probably never will.

  It’s a girl’s dream to have that, to be looked at that way, and I have a feeling it doesn’t happen to all of us. I know that it didn’t happen to my mother. My father usually looked at her as though she were a burden, as if she were no better than an annoyance, as if she were gum on the bottom of his shoe.

  I try to recall what she looked like, her features, but my memory has faded over time. I can’t even remember her voice, let alone the details of her face. I remember blonde hair, big boobs, and a laugh that filled the room the few times I heard it.

  I think that I would be lucky to have it just once, to have a man look at me that way one time in my entire life. Although, I have a feeling it won’t ever happen. As much as I wish it would happen with Dylan, I’m under no teenage clouded illusion that it will.

  The wholesome party evaporates quickly and the real party begins. The volume of the music goes up as do the voices of the people, including cheers from the men, and squeals of women.

  It’s my cue to leave.

  The Old Ladies are still here, still talking and drinking amongst themselves. I take the moment of distraction to slowly slip away.

  Gathering the gifts that they gave me, I hurry toward the back bedrooms. I’ve been staying with the clubwhores, and I figure this is a good place for me to make a home since I’ll probably end up being one of them sooner rather than later.

  Once I sink down on the bed, I look at the presents. I opened them, then placed them back in their bags and boxes. The music pounds in the background, but I ignore it. Instead, I slowly open the gifts again, savoring them.

  My first presents.

  It’s mostly clothes, I’m sure they all knew that I needed them. There is a bag of bath and body stuff too. It smells heavenly. I don’t realize that I’m being watched, not until I hear a throat clear.

  Turning my head, I lift my eyes to the man standing in the doorway. “Not allowed inside,” he announces on a chuckle.

  Licking my lips, my eyes scan down
his body, then lift back to those intense eyes that I love to gaze into.

  “Oh,” I breathe when I realize what he’s said.

  “C’mon out here, I’d like to talk.”

  Standing, as if by his command, I set the gifts down and walk through the doorway, my shoulder brushing his entire torso when I do. I try to hold back the sigh at the sensation of his body touching mine, even if it’s only my shoulder and arm.

  Once I’m in the small living area, I turn to face him. Dylan slowly makes his way toward me. Inhaling my breath, I hold it as he closes the distance between us. He stops just far enough away that he isn’t touching me, but he’s close enough that I can feel his body heat.

  Tilting my head back, I look up into his eyes. “Happy birthday, Sunny,” he murmurs.

  Licking my lips, I hold my breath for a moment, then finally work up the nerve to breathe and then speak.

  “Thank you, Dylan.”

  My breath hitches as he lifts his hand, cupping my cheek. I love his fingers on me, even if it’s just my cheek. I’ll take it all, anything at all. He clears his throat, his intense gaze searching my own.

  “Don’t got a gift. Buy you whatever you wanted if I could,” he murmurs.

  My lips curve up into a small grin. “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had, the only party I’ve ever had,” I admit. I can feel my face heat at my admission. If he notices, he’s nice enough not to point it out.

  JAGUAR

  The only party she’s ever had.

  I feel like a complete fucking asshole. I should have done something to make it special, and once again, I’m goddamn worthless—I didn’t do shit, I even showed up late. Pressing my lips together, I shake my head once before I bring my gaze back to meet hers.

  “I’m a piece of shit,” I confess.

  Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t let her. I can’t have her filling my head with lies. She would tell me that I’m not, but she doesn’t know me, not really. I allowed the only man who has treated me like a son to die.

  “I should have done something for you, should have at least tried.”

  “When?” she asks. I open my mouth, but she doesn’t let me speak. “When you were unconscious for a week? When you were bleeding and unable to even move? Explain to me when you should have been doing things for me?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I grind out.

  I don’t want to hear about my condition, and the mention of it all makes me realize that I’ve been standing for far too long and my body hurts like hell. I don’t move though, my hand is still cupping her cheek and I’m enjoying the way her skin feels against my own, even if it’s just my hand against her cheek.

  “It was the best day of my life,” she breathes. “I finally feel safe, at least for now.”

  “For now?” I ask.

  Her gaze shifts to the side, but I apply pressure against her cheek, hoping that she’ll turn back to look at me and thankfully she does. Holding her eyes with my own, I arch a brow and wait for her to clarify her thoughts.

  “Dragon’s given me a job,” she explains.

  I hold back my smile because he’s done exactly what he said, that makes me feel good. He isn’t punishing her for my shit, that’s all I wanted. I could die tomorrow and be confident that my life was not a complete waste.

  “But I’m afraid I can only tend a bar for so long before something will need to change.”

  “Need to change?” I ask.

  Again, she attempts to look away from me, but I don’t let her. She chews on her bottom lip, her eyes searching my face. “I’ll need a real job, a man, or to become a whore. I’m not naïve in the workings of a club, Dylan. This club is different from the Punchers, but the core is mostly the same.”

  “Won’t let that shit go down, you have my protection,” I grind out.

  She releases the hold her teeth had on her lip and takes a step back from me. My hand falls from her cheek, but her eyes stay connected to my own, unmoving.

  “You’re not in good standing, Dylan.”

  Her words are a punch to the gut. I can’t even tell her that she’s full of shit and she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, because she’s absolutely right. I am worthless, I can’t even protect her. Giving her my brand at this point wouldn’t be allowed, if I did it anyway, it would offer zero protection.

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “Don’t need the reminder.”

  “Dylan,” she exhales.

  Anger and disappointment flow through my veins. Moving quickly, I close the distance between us. I’m unable to stop myself. Dipping my chin, I take her cheeks in both of my hands and I touch my mouth to hers.

  I kiss her.

  It’s hard, it’s consuming, and it’s owning.

  She’s mine.

  She may not be mine tomorrow, but right now, in this exact moment, Pamela belongs to me. If I were a different man, if I were a better man, then this would be a completely different scenario and outcome.

  But I’m not.

  I’m worthless.

  I’m a traitor.

  I’m a piece of shit.

  So, to prove my shit status. I kiss her. Walking her backward, I grunt when her back slams against the wall. My tongue fills her, tasting all of her, tangling with her own.

  My hand leaves one cheek, wrapping around her waist, then slowly sliding around to her lower back. I slide my palm beneath the waistband of her jean shorts and grab a handful of her ass.

  At the same time, my other hand leaves her cheek and I wrap my fingers around the back of her knee. Lifting her leg to my hip, I grind my hard length against her center.

  She pulls her head away from mine, breaking the kiss as the back of her head hits the wall with a thud. “God,” she moans as her hips move against the crotch of my jeans.

  Dipping my chin, I look down between us, watching as her hips buck and jerk, dry humping me. It’s sexy. It really shouldn’t be and I don’t think I’ve ever dry humped anyone before, but fuck me, this is hot.

  Gripping her ass harder, I wish that my hands could be everywhere all at the same time. I want to feel her come. Deciding to abandon her knee, I hook her leg around my hip as I use that hand to unbutton the front of her shorts.

  Slipping my fingers down the front of her jeans, I find her clit.

  “Shit,” she hisses, her eyes widening at the sensation and I wonder if she’s ever done this before, then I shake my head because I know that answer—she hasn’t.

  Pamela was being saved for one thing and one thing only, to be used for the Donkey Punchers and especially as the princess of the club, she was kept completely and totally untouched. Fuck that. I may not be able to give her much, but I can at least give her an orgasm for her birthday.

  Her hips jerk, her entire body shudders and I watch in pure amazement as she searches for her orgasm, with nothing more than my fingers playing her clit, something that I don’t think she’s ever even given herself. It’s sexy as fuck, she’s completely going off of pure animal instinct and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen before in my life.

  When she comes, it’s with a look of complete surprise and awe. My cock aches so bad, I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of the blue balls I’ll be sporting in a few hours. My body hurts too, but it’s worth it, it’s all worth it to see her come.

  “Dylan,” she whispers, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.

  Shifting forward, I rest my forehead against hers. “Happy birthday, Pammy.”

  Lifting my head, I touch my mouth to her forehead before I help her so that her feet are stable on the floor, then I take a step backward. Her eyes are wild and wide, I doubt I’ll ever see her with this look on her face and my cock buried deep inside of her, so I relish in the moment and I memorize everything about the way she looks right now.

  “Dylan,” she calls, but I turn around and leave her alone in the room.

  I can’t stay. If I do, then I’ll completely lose what little control I have a
nd I’ll ruin her. Not only her virginity, but her entire fucking life. I walk away, even though every single part of my body is aching to stay.

  Chapter Twelve

  JAGUAR

  Every day I wake up and my body protests a little less. I feel like I’m healing, though it’s excruciatingly slowly. Oddly, I am fine with that. My body hurting only serves as a physical reminder of my betrayal.

  Walking toward the main room, I have no other motive other than a cup of coffee before I start my workday. The packages have all been done, and today I’m loading up the truck for transport. It’s going to be hell on my body, but I’m looking forward to it.

  Hopefully, it will take me all day and well into the evening so that I can avoid Pamela. Pouring myself the coffee, I stay in the kitchen longer than I should. It’s quiet in here, and I’m enjoying the silence.

  “You look good,” a female voice purrs.

  Turning around, I smile at Pinkie. She’s wearing a pair of panties and a see-through white tank top. Her makeup is smeared, and she looks like she had a rough night. Judging by the taste of the coffee, she wasn’t the one who made it either, which is unlike her.

  Pinkie is usually awake before everyone here and has her thick as fuck coffee percolating before anyone can get a chance to start a decent pot. But this morning is different. The coffee tastes decent and Pinkie looks like absolute hell.

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not really.”

  I don’t move and neither does she. Pink wants to talk about it, she just doesn’t want to admit it. I watch her, waiting for her to speak. When she stays silent, I pour her a cup and hand it over, after adding in some cream and sugar.

  “It’s the anniversary,” she whispers.

  Taking a step toward her, I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around the back of her neck. Dipping my chin, I touch my forehead against hers.

  “Babe,” I rasp.

  She doesn’t say anything, but I know her soul is crushed. The incident isn’t something she talks about often, the anniversary even less. But I’ve known Pinkie since she landed here at the clubhouse, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. I’ve seen her go through it all and come out as best as she can.