UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  “Usually, it doesn’t bother me too much,” she admits.

  “It’s been eight years,” I say, finishing her thought.

  She hiccups, then takes a step back, wiping her eyes with one hand and clutching her coffee to her chest with the other.

  “It’s been eight years,” she whispers.

  “C’mon out to the warehouse with me. We’ll spend the day together. You can talk about it, or you can just watch me whimper like a big fuckin’ baby because I ain’t healed quite right yet.”

  She lets out a giggle, her eyes shining with wetness and she shakes her head. “I’m just going to take some pills, maybe smoke a little and sleep it all away.”

  “You know you shouldn’t be doin’ that. You should be talking, you know that,” I say, reminding her of the last time she held it all in, bottled it, and went on a bender. Fucked herself up really good. She doesn’t need that at all, not again.

  Her gaze shifts to the side, then comes back to meet my own. “They don’t know you like I do, Jag. Just like they don’t know me, like you do. I like that we have that.” Her voice is soft, almost meek sounding and I hate it.

  Pinkie is the strongest bitch I know, no way should she ever sound weak and sad. Closing the distance between us again, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, not wanting to let her go and drown herself in her shit.

  “C’mon to the warehouse with me, Pink. Don’t want you to be alone.”

  She licks her lips, her eyes lifting to meet mine. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she watches me, her eyes searching my own.

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “Okay.”

  My lips curve up into a grin and I feel like I’ve won some kind of prize. I haven’t of course, but victory is victory, even if it only means Pinkie is going to spend the day staring at me in silence. She doesn’t need to be alone right now, and that’s all that matters.

  “Go get some pants on, I’ll wait.”

  She smiles, and she turns from me. I snort at the sight of her completely bare ass as she walks away from me. There is a little pep in her step, and I hope to whatever fucking god that is watching over her, that this moment takes a little tarnish off my soul. Though I doubt it’ll do much. I’m pretty much damned at this point.

  Finishing my coffee, I pour the last of it in my cup before starting another pot. With a heavy sigh, I wonder what Pamela has been doing. I shouldn’t wonder shit, but I haven’t been able to get her off of my mind.

  Touching her was so goddamn wrong, but it felt amazing and perfect all at the same time. I shouldn’t have dirtied her with my touch. I should stay far away from her and she should me, too.

  Nothing good can come from her innocence near me, except that’s exactly what I want.

  “Thinkin’ hard or hardly thinkin’?” a voice calls out, interrupting my thoughts.

  My body jerks slightly and I turn to look at Mamba who is watching me. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head tilted to the side.

  “Both,” I admit. “Thinkin’ some stupid assed shit.”

  He laughs, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, feelin’ ya on that shit, brother.”

  “You good?” I ask.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Good as I can be.”

  He’s not though. He’s not good at all. I can see it working just behind his eyes. I don’t ask him for more though, he doesn’t trust me in the slightest. No way in fuck is he going to trust me with any personal shit right now. I wouldn’t trust me either, if I were him.

  I try not to read too much into the elusive brother that he added to the end of the sentence. I tell myself that it’s just a throwaway word, but inside, I can’t help but feel—peace.

  “You my warden today?” I ask.

  He snorts. “Yeah.”

  “Pink’s going to join us, tough day for her,” I murmur.

  He frowns, shifting his gaze to his shoes, then lifts it to meet mine. “You know her, really know her, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I exhale. “Known her since she landed here. She was in her early twenties.”

  Mamba doesn’t say anything. He jerks his chin, opening his mouth to speak when Pinkie walks into the room. She’s wearing oversized sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and she’s wiped all the makeup from her face. She looks younger like this, smaller. Softer.

  We don’t say a word. The three of us just silently walk toward the warehouse. I can feel Mamba’s gaze on me the entire way. I could tell him about Pinkie. I could tell him a lot of things, I don’t.

  What’s hers, is hers.

  What’s mine, is mine.

  PAMELA

  Sitting straight up, I look to the side where there is a digital clock on the single dresser in the room. It’s early. So much earlier than I would usually wake up, except, I want to see him. It’s been days since I’ve seen him.

  It’s been since he gave me an orgasm.

  My cheeks pink at the memory of what we did together. I feel so stupid now. Humping his leg like a freaking idiot, but at the time I couldn’t control myself. My body moved without permission, I was feeling and not thinking at all.

  Now, all I do is think. Every hour of every day, think. I can’t stop it, I can’t stop the way my mind wanders and there is only one place it goes. To him. I can’t get him off of my mind. That night, alone and against the wall, pathetically, that was the best moment of my entire life.

  Slipping from bed, I throw some clothes on and hurry toward the main room, then the kitchen. I can hear voices, a man and a woman. Tiptoeing, I slip into the room and smile at the sight of Dylan in the room.

  He’s looking to the side. His profile is sexy as sin and I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of him. Then he takes a step forward and I watch as he lifts his hand. He curls it around a woman’s neck before he presses his forehead against hers, just like he did mine a few days ago.

  My eyes shift down the woman’s body and my heart stops beating inside of my chest. It completely stops, because there standing in front of him, is Pinkie wearing nothing but a see-through tank top and thong panties.

  Pinching my eyes closed, I shake my head a couple times and stumble backward, then I turn and run back to my room. The other whores are fast asleep, most of them practically crawling into the room early this morning, just a few hours ago.

  Slipping my feet into a pair of sandals, I grab my one sweatshirt and slip it on before I run out of the back of the building. As soon as I’m outside, I suck in gasping breaths trying to just breathe. Looking up at the blue sky, I wonder if this is what my life is destined to be like.

  This is what these men are like, I remind myself. This is what they do. Just because they don’t rape, just because they aren’t cruel, doesn’t mean that they are all that different from the Donkey Punchers.

  I have to remind myself all of these things over and over again, because it’s easy to see these men as completely different beings. It’s easy to forget and let them inside. All of them.

  “Hey, babe, you okay?” a soft voice calls out.

  Turning my head, I see a dark-haired woman that I recognize, but don’t know well. She’s got a trash bag at her side. I watch as she lets it fall to her feet.

  “I will be,” I lie.

  She looks at me, really looks at me, then shakes her head once. “I had to get my things. I’m leaving.”

  She says it as if she’s looking for my permission. I thought she got her things yesterday, but maybe she was just making an announcement. I don’t know if she’s trying to get them to stop her, or if she just likes being dramatic. If I were leaving somewhere, I’d get my shit and be gone, not make a bunch of announcements about it.

  I watch her, unsure why she thinks she needs to tell me anything. Thinking that maybe she just really likes drama that much, if that’s the case, it’s probably best that she’s gone. Then she takes a step toward me, licking her lips as she looks from side to side.

  �
�Heading back to the Sinister Skulls, you can come with me if you want, start fresh.”

  I blink.

  Start fresh.

  With another club?

  It’s not possible.

  I open my mouth to tell her that they’re all the same and that she’s just dreaming if she thinks anything will change other than their names and looks. I don’t say that though. Instead, I clear my throat before I gather my words.

  “I’m good here,” I lie.

  She nods her head once, taking a step backward, and leans down, grabbing ahold of her bag again. I can tell she’s scared or nervous, maybe she’s not used to being on her own. Seems she’s got her mind made up, even if she’s not convinced she’s doing the right thing.

  “Bye, Pamela. Take care of them.”

  Her words are cryptic, but she doesn’t explain herself. Instead, she walks past me and toward a small white car that looks like it’s seen better days. My eyes follow her until something else catches my gaze.

  It’s Dylan.

  His hand is pressed against the small of Pinkie’s back and they’re walking toward a metal warehouse-type building, Mamba is at their back. He isn’t looking at them though, his eyes are on the woman getting into the crappy white car.

  My focus and attention are on the only two people that I thought I could trust. Two people that are probably a much better match and more suited than I would be with Dylan, but that doesn’t make my heartbreak any less painful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JAGUAR

  By the end of the day, I can tell that Pinkie feels better. She’s still down, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never come back out. I even catch her smiling a few times and before my work for the day is complete, I’ve heard her laugh.

  Mamba, on the other hand, is scowling and doesn’t even crack a smile, not even a twitch of his lips. I keep a pulse on him, but I’m not in the position to ask or counsel him at all. Not that he would trust me to do it anyway.

  But I can see the hurt lurking inside of him. His woman is gone, broke up with him and Gator and he’s busted the fuck up over it. Don’t blame him. Been there. Thought I was never going to get over the fact that I couldn’t hold on to Della. Thought it was the end of me when she married Eagle.

  I was wrong.

  It was just the beginning.

  I learned more about myself, who I was and who I wasn’t. Who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do, after she did what she did. After I fucked everything up. That was when I finally woke up from the twenty-year fog that I had been living in.

  Too bad it was all too goddamn late for me. It’s not for Mamba and Gator though. They can still move on and forward with their lives. Maria, for whatever reason, isn’t for them. They’ll find what they need.

  I want to be able to tell him all of that, but I don’t. Again, not my place, not my time. Something flashes in the corner of my eye and I turn to see Pinkie swinging her legs back and forth as she sits on the edge of the table.

  The product is completely loaded into the truck and I inhale a deep breath before stumbling over to her. With a groan, I sit on the table next to her. Sliding my arm around her waist, I tug her close to me, her hip touching mine.

  “You good, babe?” I ask.

  There’s a moment of silence and then she whispers, “Thank you for forcing me out here today.”

  “Doesn’t answer my question,” I point out.

  She lets out a heavy sigh, then nods her head once. “I’m better. I’ll never be good,” she admits.

  “Yeah, I hear that.”

  There’s a moment of silence before she hums. “Yeah, you will, Jag. That girl is special. I see the way she looks at you, but more importantly, I see the way that you look at her. I shouldn’t encourage the two of you, not at all.”

  “Don’t matter. Nothing’ll happen.”

  I don’t ask her why she shouldn’t encourage us, it doesn’t matter because nothing is going to happen.

  She doesn’t say anything right away, but I can feel her focus on me, her eyes burning into my skin. Turning my head, I look at her, arching a brow as I wait for her to speak.

  “What?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.

  Pinkie shrugs a shoulder before hopping off of the table. She turns to me, her eyes wide and focused. Then she finally says whatever is on her mind, because it’s obvious that there’s something seriously lurking behind her gaze.

  “She’s young. I get it. You don’t want to fuck her up, I get that too. Just remember that you saved her. She may be young, but she’s not completely naïve. She was raised in Hell and maybe you’re her salvation and the more I get to know her the more I think you would be amazing together.”

  “You’re naïve too, Pink,” I say with a chuckle.

  She narrows her gaze on me, then lets out a full-on belly laugh. Only then does Mamba break out of his haze and turn to face us. He closes the distance between us, his eyes flicking between each of us.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks on a grunt.

  Pinkie presses her lips together, rolling them a few times before she turns to Mamba. “Jag thinks I’m naïve,” she says in an overexaggerated whisper.

  Mamba’s brow raises and he looks from her to me, then back to her. “You are,” he says, agreeing with me.

  My lips curve up into a grin and I jerk my chin in her direction. “See.”

  She shakes her head, her brows furrowing as she watches us for a moment. “Why do you think I’m naïve?” she asks, her voice sounding terribly small.

  Clearing my throat, I don’t move from my place on the table, mainly because I’m in too much fucking pain. Instead, I turn to her slightly.

  “You been through hell, Pinkie. We all know that. You enjoy sex and that’s great, you’re smart and mature, but inside you’re still just that twentysomething-year-old kid you were when you walked in here.”

  “And you’re not the same way?” she asks.

  “I am,” I agree. “But we ain’t talkin’ about me.”

  “We’re all frozen in time here,” she says softly. “Every single one of us. Look at all the men. None of them got Old Ladies until their forties. That tells you something.”

  Mamba hums then reaches out and loosely wraps his fingers around her bicep. He tugs her gently toward him and wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. I watch as he dips his chin and touches his lips to the top of her head.

  There’s nothing sexual about this moment, and yet it feels deeper than anything else that we’ve experienced. Mamba just holds her in silence for a while, the three of us alone in this room, the three of us going through some serious personal shit and none of us able to express it at all.

  “Yeah,” Mamba finally exhales. “We’re all fucked up. Everyone is. That’s just the way the world goes. Maybe we’re all stunted, probably because we drown ourselves in pussy, booze, and riding free as a way to ignore the outside world. But we got one thing in here that doesn’t always exist out there, at least for us it never did.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  He lifts his head from Pinkie’s hair and looks at me, his lips curving up into a grin. “Each other.”

  “You’re soft as fuck,” I grunt as I try to slide off of the tabletop.

  He laughs at the same time Pinkie giggles. “Yeah,” Mamba mutters. “I am.”

  “You gonna take Gator as your Old Man and just stop with the bullshit?” Pinkie asks.

  Mamba takes a step back, then freezes in his spot. His eyes are wide and then he shifts them up to meet mine. He looks fucking terrified, as if I would give a fuck that he and Gator make it official. Everyone knows they’re in love with one another, not a fucking surprise.

  “You think the club would be down with that? I don’t fucking think so,” he snaps.

  I’m glad that he doesn’t deny anything. I’m surprised that we’re having this conversation. Maybe because it’s just the
three of us, maybe because Mamba doesn’t hate me, I have no fucking clue, but I’m glad we’re having it—I finally feel like a Beast again, though I know that the feeling will be fleeting.

  PAMELA

  If I were a different person, I would be drunk, maybe searching for an unattached Beast to become attached to out of anger and rage, but I’m not that person. So, instead of retaliation and acting out, I do what any eighteen-year-old girl would do, I hide.

  I hide all day long, though I make sure that I can see the warehouse from my hiding spot. I watch and wait for Pinkie to leave, but she never does. The three of them stay in there until the sun begins to set.

  Then I watch as they walk out of the warehouse. My heart cracks at the sight of them together. Mamba is walking close to them, but it’s Jaguar that has his arm casually slung around Pinkie’s neck. He even tugs her close to his side and then I hear his laughter fill the quiet desert air.

  I hate myself as I watch them.

  I hate myself because I am so stupid and naïve. I’m childish. Why did I not see what he was telling me? I couldn’t see it for myself. He was trying to tell me that he only saved me because he felt sorry for me. I’m nothing more than a kid that he felt pity for.

  Pinching my eyes closed, I chant over and over to myself, begging myself not to cry. Luckily, as I’ve done a million times before, I’m able to swallow the tears and gain my composure. I need a plan. I didn’t think that I was going to need one for the future, but I really do.

  Stupidly, I thought that Jaguar would fall in love with me, make me his Old Lady, and we’d have a bundle of biker babies living happily ever after like the rest of the Old Ladies that I’d met. I wanted that too, especially after meeting them. I wanted to be a part of them.

  “You okay?” a soft voice asks from right behind me.