Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5)

by Jeanne St. James

  Great. She wondered where that came from. It had to be new, as well as custom-made.

  “Did you buy your own condoms?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame his messy bedhead.

  She caught him grimacing a few times while he did it.

  She did her best to stay on topic and not let him distract her. In all the wrong ways. “There are plenty of reasons for condoms to fail. Did you use lube?” Using an oil-based lube on a latex condom could be one of those reasons.

  Cage’s lips twitched. “Didn’t need lube.”

  “Oh, okay, stud.” She rolled her eyes. “Was the condom too big, then?” She turned away to hide her smirk.

  He snorted behind her. Close behind her. She hadn’t heard him move.

  “You wanna check the fit for me?” came his low rumble.

  She ignored the tingle that shot through her. “I’m a nurse. I’ve seen more penises in my lifetime than I ever wanted to. It takes a lot to impress me.”

  “Seein’ them and experiencin’ them are two different things.”

  That was for sure.

  “How about you concentrate on the most important girl in your life right now instead of trying to get laid, which by the way, got you into this mess in the first place. Not that you should need a reminder. And... if you haven’t figured it out yet, she might put a kink in your dating game.”

  “Don’t date,” he grumbled.

  “Ah, you just prefer strange like your dad, then.”

  He moved behind her and grabbed the items needed to make coffee from a cabinet. A beat-up coffeemaker was on the short counter next to the fridge. Jemma hoped it worked.

  When she didn’t get an answer—even though she hoped to hear one—she got back on track. “Anyway, I bet you kept those condoms in your wallet, like most men.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, opening a can of cheap-ass coffee and scooping some into the filter. She mentally made a note to pick up some better quality coffee.

  Caffeine would be very important to survival when it came to sleepless nights and late-night feedings. If she was going to drink a lot of it, she’d prefer it was rich and dark and not watered-down generic swill.

  “You know keeping it in your wallet can break down a condom so it’s ineffective, right?”

  He pushed the start button and spun on her. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

  She shrugged. “Most men don’t know that. They tuck one or two in their wallet, but both sitting on it and your body heat breaks it down and could cause it to fail. Never keep it in your wallet.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Could’ve been that or could’ve been a simple leak. Plenty of reasons why one fails. Plus, it’s not a hundred percent effective.”

  “’Specially when you’re with someone probably fertile as fuck.”

  “Those Amish like having loads of kids,” Jemma agreed. She sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter how your baby girl came to be, she’s here and you’ve got no choice but to deal with it.”

  Jemma pushed past him, wishing he’d put on a shirt, and opened the fridge. She peeked inside and grimaced. There wasn’t a goddamn thing inside but a six-pack. So much for breakfast. She closed it and turned to him. “What were you planning on eating this morning?”

  Cage shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  “Got food in the bunkhouse kitchen.”

  “Then I suggest you march your ass over there, go ‘shopping’ and bring some back. You might not give a shit about eating, but I do. And if I’m going to live here, I need to eat. You don’t want to see me when I’m hangry.”

  His lips twitched again. “Can’t be worse than Judge when he’s got a burr up his fuckin’ ass.”

  “Oh no. I can be way worse. Trust me. We got our pleasant personalities from our father who loved to beat the snot out of someone or simply plug a hole in their noggin when he was pissed. He was worse than an angry Bruce Banner.”

  “I remember him, Jem,” Cage said softly.

  “Then you know how he got. You didn’t want him turning his anger on you. That’s me without good coffee and decent food.”

  “Like to eat.”

  “I appreciate a good meal. This is why I’m not a size six.” Not even close.

  She curled her fingers and dug her nails into her palms to quell her reaction when he raked his eyes over her from head to toe.

  “Not seein’ the problem.”

  “I didn’t say there was a problem. But I’ll never be one of those women who can eat three pieces of leafy greens and a baby carrot and be satisfied.”

  She wasn’t the type of woman who could give up simple pleasures—like sweets—to keep her body in an unrealistic shape. Mostly because she wouldn’t be doing it for her, she’d be doing it for the wrong reason, which would be attracting men who like thin, in-shape women, who spent time in a gym. She was none of that and never would be. If she felt like a donut, she would eat a fucking donut and not deprive herself of it. Life was too fucking short.

  Plus, she hated to exercise. She tried it once. That was all it took to decide it wasn’t for her.

  “Takes a lot to satisfy you.”

  She opened her mouth to deny that in general, but then realized it was actually true. Whether it came to food or sex. “Yes. I’m not easily satisfied.”

  This was another reason she didn’t like casual sex. With every man she’d been with, it took time and guidance for her to teach them what she liked and what made her orgasm. One night with a man wasn’t long enough for him to figure it out, and she’d walk away disappointed.

  She reminded herself that wasn’t what they were talking about, they were supposed to be talking about food.

  “Chris,” she started.

  “Nobody fuckin’ calls me Chris. Not since I was old enough to work on cars.”

  “And how old were you when you started tinkering with cars?”

  “When I was old enough to hold a wrench. When Bebe left, Dutch started takin’ us to the garage every day. While we were there, he taught us how to work on cages and sleds, and once we knew what the fuck we were doin’, he put us to work.”

  “Huh. Sounds like that might have violated some child labor laws.”

  The uninjured side of his mouth pulled up. “Think Dutch gave a fuck?”

  Jemma smiled. “No.”

  “Right answer. Gave us a skill and a way to make a livin’. Not to mention, cheap labor for him.”

  “But not a way to keep you boys out of trouble, apparently.”

  Cage scratched his chin, considered what she said, then headed into the back bedroom. A second later he came out with a shirt in his hand. “Gonna go grab some grub from the bunkhouse. What do you need?”

  “The staples. Milk. Eggs. Bread. For now, stuff to make a quick breakfast. Creamer, if there is some. Sugar, too. I don’t drink my coffee black. I might have to make a trip to the grocery store.”

  He gingerly tugged his shirt over his head but didn’t put his arms through the holes. It hung around his neck like a scarf. “Jem.”

  “Yeah?” She lifted her gaze from his damn chest. Ugh. What the hell was wrong with her? Could he see the turmoil brewing inside her?

  His expression wasn’t of amusement, but of pain, maybe even a touch of embarrassment. “Don’t got money for groceries.”

  Fuck.

  “Needed to pay my dad back for all the baby shit, still not done doin’ that, and you keep addin’ to the list of shit I need to buy...”

  This was why condoms were cheaper than kids. “Food’s important, Cage.”

  “But the Amish...” He ground his teeth, then sighed. “The fuckin’ Amish supply us with a bunch of shit. Gotta make due with whatever they bring for now.”

  “Which was why Trip was so pissed about you guys fucking with the Amish. You threatened that supply.”

  “Yeah.”

 
“It saves not only you guys, but the club, a lot of money,” she concluded.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that should’ve been a good reason not to fuck one of them.”

  He blew out a breath. She could see the anger rising into his face.

  “You didn’t fucking think, Cage. You did something stupid that threatened a relationship the club has. All because you were selfish and wanted some tight, virgin pussy.” She fed off his anger, letting it bubble in her own gut.

  Last night, she had seen how passionate Trip and Stella were about making the club solid and successful. What Sig did, what Cage did, had risked that. Doing stupid shit was what destroyed the original Blood Fury. Both Sig and Cage knew that better than most—since they were both witnesses and victims of the result—and did it anyway.

  “Jemma.”

  “No, you’re not getting a pass on what you did. I get why Judge doled out punishment for breaking that rule. I don’t agree with how that punishment was delivered, but I get he needs to enforce those rules. They’re in place to protect the club.”

  It also pissed her off that what Cage did forced her brother to beat him with a club and possibly kill him. Which might have potentially thrown Judge in prison like Ox. And if her brother got thrown in prison for murder, she would never, ever forgive Judge or anyone who drove him to it.

  Never.

  Judge promised he’d never end up like Ox. He needed to keep that promise.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Jemma.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered roughly and opened her eyes, not missing the regret in his. “I know you’ve already taken enough heat. And Dyna will be a reminder for breaking that rule for the rest of your life. But you guys need to stop thinking with the heads between your legs and start thinking with the heads between your shoulders instead.”

  “Us guys? Or just me?”

  “Whoever it applies to.”

  He glanced around the trailer. “I’m the only one standin’ here, Jem. So right now? It only applies to me. And, yeah, I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I don’t need you remindin’ me when my reminder, just like you said, is lyin’ right on that fuckin’ blanket.” He shook his head. “Gonna go grab some shit from the bunkhouse.”

  He stormed out of the trailer and, luckily, didn’t slam the door.

  Jemma pressed a hand to her forehead and blew out a breath, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had tightened every muscle in her body.

  She had given him more shit than necessary for no reason other than to distract herself from how she was feeling. But that wasn’t the only reason.

  She was scared.

  She was scared for Judge and what the club might do to her brother. She was also scared for all the children who would be raised within that club.

  For the first five years of her life, she had been raised in an outlaw MC. She had seen nothing good, but everything bad. That tiny human asleep on the floor didn’t deserve to see or experience the same things she and the rest of the kids belonging to the Originals had.

  But pushing Cage’s buttons wouldn’t change anything. However, anger was easier to deal with than fear.

  Anger was also easier to deal with than the weirdness between her and Cage. She was sure he didn’t feel it, it was only her.

  That bothered her more than anything.

  She wasn’t looking for a quick hookup. She wasn’t looking to stay in Manning Grove. She wasn’t looking to get sucked into the MC life.

  She was a fortunate escapee and wanted to keep it that way.

  But it also scared her that Stella had been older, saw the same things Jemma had all those years ago and let Trip suck her back in anyway.

  She needed to shower and get dressed but didn’t want to do that until Cage got back. Instead, she sank onto the couch near the BFMC blanket and watched Dyna sleep.

  God, she wished she could sleep just as soundly.

  She picked up the stuffed monkey tucked in the corner of the couch and held it tightly to her chest.

  She lost track of how long she sat there. She jumped when the trailer door opened and Cage entered, his T-shirt still hanging around his neck, his feet still bare, but now dirty, and a white garbage bag full of stuff in his hand.

  He carried it into the kitchen and Jemma popped up off the couch, leaving the monkey behind. She swished his hands away from the bag and began to pull out whatever he had scored.

  “Go shower and get ready for work. I’ll make breakfast.” Plus, it was hard to stand next to him and not touch him. Not like a nurse, but like a woman.

  She really wanted to shake some sense into him. That was what it was.

  Without a word, he went into his bedroom, left the door open and shucked off his jeans, then went into the bathroom wearing just a pair of boxer briefs. Not that she was looking...

  She sighed.

  She dug fresh cream—in an actual glass bottle—and a bag of generic sugar out of the unorthodox grocery bag and made herself a large mug of coffee, sucking down the caffeine in hopes that it would help her think more clearly.

  Her reaction to Cage made no sense.

  She searched the lower cabinets and found an old fry pan. In the garbage bag, she also found a half loaf of homemade bread and a container of churned butter. She discovered a dozen farm fresh brown eggs and a butcher-paper wrapped package of thickly sliced bacon. There were only a few pieces left, but it would be enough for this morning.

  These guys had access to the best food. It truly would’ve been a loss if the Amish had broken ties with them. She might have to take Dyna over to the bunkhouse later and check out what else these guys had and what she could use. From what she saw so far, the selection was way better than any grocery store.

  She made up two plates of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast and placed them both in front of the stools.

  She was sitting on one of those stools, sipping her second mug of coffee when he came out of his bedroom, once again shirtless and only wearing a pair of old jeans. She fucking knew he’d look good in holey jeans.

  Damn it.

  These weren’t as clean as the previous pair he had on, so she figured he only wore certain pairs to work since they probably got ruined by working on cars.

  His damp hair was only toweled dry, so it was still a mess. She wondered if he owned a damn brush.

  He paused at the coffeemaker, poured some coffee into an old, chipped mug and then, without a word, came around the long counter to settle gingerly on the stool next to her. She shifted when his denim-clad knee brushed her bare thigh. She should’ve put on some damn pants.

  “Shit looks good, Jem.” He forked a small mountain of eggs into his mouth.

  “Are you done being angry?”

  He lifted his blue eyes to hers. “Are you?”

  “I think you know where I’m coming from, Chris. We share a similar past of which I don’t want to repeat.”

  “Not lookin’ to relive the past, Jem.”

  “Good.”

  “Ownin’ up to my fuck up. Now we need to move on.”

  She would like to move on, but... “It’s hard to move on when I was asked to come home.”

  “You’ve been home before.” His almost perfectly straight, white teeth sank into the buttered toast.

  What the fuck? Why was she imagining those teeth sinking into her inner thigh?

  Good lord, coming home was making her lose her sanity.

  She cleared her throat. “Only to appease Lottie. That’s it.”

  “And now for me.”

  She picked up her fork and gripped it tightly in her hand like a switchblade. “For Judd,” she corrected him. She needed to eat before her meal got cold, but her stomach was fluttering strangely like it was full of butterflies.

  Or murderous moths.

  She needed to kill those fuckers with bug spray.

  “Judge ain’t in this trailer right now, Jem. I am. Dyna is. Judge wouldn’t have blamed you if you had said no
.”

  “I have time on my hands until I find a new job.”

  “Still could’ve said no.”

  She should’ve. Her nightmare last night was the same that she had whenever she was back in town.

  “If I said no, where would you be right now?”

  “Here in this trailer, strugglin’ on my own. I’d be lucky to be eatin’ a leftover stale donut at work, not a breakfast like this. That’s even if I went to work. Mighta been stuck here without anyone to take care of Dyna.”

  “I’m sure one of the women would’ve stepped in temporarily.”

  “Yeah, Jemma, one of the women did. You.” He took another crunchy bite of his crispy toast, then turned on his stool until his knee pressed against her outer thigh again. “You don’t know how much I fuckin’ appreciate it, Jem. Know you hate comin’ home. Judge told me how much. But you did it... For me. Even though you keep sayin’ you did it for him. Ultimately it was for us, Dyna and me. Can’t fuckin’ thank you enough.”

  “Chris...”

  He dropped his head for a minute and Jemma put her fork down, since she hadn’t even touched a bite of her food yet, and stared at him. She swallowed, trying to loosen her closed throat.

  She tentatively reached out and brushed her fingers over the top of his damp hair. “Chris,” she whispered.

  Stella had warned her last night about what a cocky asshole Cage could be. But Jemma hadn’t seen much of that. Not yet.

  For the most part, she’d seen him act nothing but humbled.

  But then, she guessed getting kicked squarely in the balls might take a man down a peg or two. And having a surprise baby dropped off at your work one morning was equivalent to a direct knee to the nuts.

  Her lungs locked up when he slid long, warm fingers around her bare knee. She was still only wearing panties and that long tee, which had worked its way up to her upper thighs when she sat on the stool.

  She’d had plenty of time to put on pants. Why hadn’t she?

  When he lifted his head, he locked eyes with her and her nipples instantly reacted. And when he leaned in, her breath hitched and her blood began to hum.

  With the one hand on her knee, he curled his other hand around the back of her head and pulled her toward him as he leaned in even farther.