Unattainable (17 page)

“
You tryin’ to tell me
somethin’?” he asked, pressing into her. As she started to back up,
he palmed her back and pulled her flush against him, immediately
grabbing hold of her ass and pressing his quickly growing erection
into her stomach. The change in her was instantaneous; her eyes
widened, her lips parted, and Cage found himself thinking back to
last night, when he’d grabbed her in the foyer and then again
outside. How every time he would physically touch her, she’d quiet
the fuck down and soften, not just verbally but
physically.

And suddenly a lot of shit made sense.
The way she treated him, always screaming and yelling and spouting
off her hard-ass bullshit, always keeping her distance, refusing to
be in the same room as him, it could only mean one
thing.

Teacup still loved him.

He smiled down at her, watching her
drink him in, watching her pupils dilate, and feeling her body
relax even further.

“
Why are you smiling?” she
whispered.

Ha. No fucking way was he that stupid.
If he so much as mentioned the L-word to Tegen, he’d have a knee in
his groin and a fist in his eye faster than a hooker gave out
herpes.

“
Stay,” he said, running
his hands up and down her body. “Come inside. Back to my
room.”

He knew the very moment he’d fucked up.
Again. As soon as “my room” had fallen from his mouth, Tegen’s body
had gone stiff.

“
Let go of me,” she
muttered, pushing on his chest.

He didn’t release her. “Don’t start
this shit.”

“
Fuck you!” she cried,
glaring up at him. “I’m not one of your whores!”

“
No?” he yelled as she
struggled to get free of him but he only tightened his grip. “Then
what the fuck are you?”

“
To you?” she yelled back.
“To you, I’m nothing!”

Cursing, Cage released Tegen and she
immediately spun away from him.

“
Goddammit, Tegen!” he
shouted, running his hands through his hair, hating how crazy she
was and worse, how crazy she made him feel. “When are you gonna let
that shit go? I was nineteen! I was nine-fuckin’-teen! I don’t even
remember it!”

Glittering with rage, Tegen’s eyes went
saucer-wide. “You really fucking suck, West!” she spat. “You’re a
waste of big dick and a pretty face!”

Cage’s mouth fell open.

What. The. Fuck.

He. Was. Going. To. Kill.
Her.

Nostrils flaring, he took a
rage-filled, deliberate step in her direction when, “What the
motherfuck,” a familiar voice growled. Cage glanced to his left and
found his father standing on the opposite side of the car, peering
down at Jase and grimacing.

“
Wat up, little lovers,”
Cox drawled, walking up beside Cage. The asshole glanced between
him and Tegen, and grinned.

“
You gonna stick around,
Tegen?” Cox asked, looking her up and down, his smile full of dirty
fucking thoughts, blatantly checking her out, making Cage want to
grab the fucker and start ripping all his piercings out.
Slowly.

Even so, he couldn’t blame the guy. She
looked hot as fuck.

She was wearing a man’s white ribbed
beater, the bottom torn off, showing her tattooed midriff, no bra,
her nipple piercings showing through the thin material, and
shredded bell bottom blue jeans, two sizes too big for her, hung
low on her hips. Her dreads had been swept to the side in a long
braid that hung over one shoulder and tied together with a beaded
strand of hemp.

And she was barefoot, her toes covered
in toe rings, which, for some reason, turned him on something
fierce.

“
Are you serious?” Tegen
asked, gaping at Cox. “Because I’d rather grow a dick out of my
forehead.”

Cox shrugged. “You want a dick on your
forehead, I’m sure little West is up for the job, seein’ as
whatever the fuck you did to him with that patchouli-smellin’ pussy
of yours has got him all sorts of worked up, calling you his girl
and threatenin’ me and shit.”

Tegen’s eyes grew wide and, suddenly
embarrassed, Cage cursed.

“
Fuck off, old man,” Cage
growled, shoving at the crazy Puerto Rican.

Cox shoved him back. “Old man?” Cox
shouted, sounding offended. “Old fuckin’ man?”

“
Cox!” Deuce shouted.
“Make yourself fuckin’ useful for a change and help me get this
drunken shit outta D’s car. Cage! Go find me a fuckin’ prospect and
have them clean this up for Tegen!”

Embarrassed, pissed off, and horny,
Cage stomped off across the tarmac, muttering curses and mentally
berating himself for how he’d reacted earlier. But there wasn’t
much he could do about it now.

Inside the clubhouse, he grabbed the
first asshole he saw, Anger, a relatively new brother. He wasn’t a
prospect but he was close enough. “Prez needs you out front,” he
growled, shoving the guy in the direction of the front
door.

The half-Native American turned his
hard, angry, dark eyes on him, glaring, and Cage glared right back.
Anger might have been aptly nicknamed due to his volatile temper,
but Cage wasn’t scared of him. Quite the opposite. He thought the
idiot was rather comical when he was off in a fit of
anger.

“
What?” Cage demanded,
lifting his chin, silently begging the brother to start some shit
with him. He would do well to release some of this
pent-up…

Aggression? Sexual frustration? Or, how
about Aggressive Sexual Tegen Frustration. Yep, he had a bad case
of ASTF.

“
Nothin’,” Anger mumbled.
Cage stared after him, watching as he yanked open the front
door.

“
Watch it,
fucker!”

Anger reared backward as Tegen got up
in his face.

“
Fuckin’ bitches,” Anger
muttered, sidestepping her and heading outside.

“
Fucking bikers,” Tegen
muttered, glaring over her shoulder at Anger’s retreating
figure.

From across the room, Cage took it all
in, the too-big arm holes of her tank, baring the sides of her
small breasts, her long, sleek body, the small curve of her
ass.

All those damn tattoos.

Hell, even her dirty feet were making
him crazy.

Goddamn, he had to fuck her again. She
damn sure wasn’t going to go to his room, so what did that leave
him with? His house? She hadn’t had a problem letting him dick-dive
at his place.

Now he just had to figure out how to
get her there.

“
Tegen,” he called out.
“Jase’s ride at D’s?”

“
Yeah,” she said
warily.

Perfect.

“
Once they get the car
clean, you give me a ride over?”

Her eyes narrowed; she knew what he was
doing, but like he gave two fucks. She liked to play fucking games,
he’d play them right the fuck back.

“
Yes or no?” he asked when
she still hadn’t answered him.

Her teeth clenched. “Fine,” she hissed.
“But keep your dick to yourself.”

His teeth clenched.

The second he had her begging him for
it, he was going to zip up his fucking pants and walk away
laughing.

“
Not a fuckin’ problem,”
he shot back.

Screaming, Ellie bolted upright, her
arms swinging out in front of her, her legs kicking furiously. It
took her a moment to realize there was no immediate threat, that
she was, in fact, still on Dirty’s couch, covered with an old black
comforter, wearing the same sweats and tee she’d fallen asleep
in.

It took her another second to realize
that it hadn’t been her screaming but…Dirty?

Without thinking, just panicking, she
scrambled out of bed, tripping over the entanglement of covers as
she tried to run from the living room to the hallway, toward
Dirty’s bedroom where those god-awful sounds of agony were coming
from.

Grabbing the doorknob, she threw open
the door and rushed inside and…froze.

Dirty was naked, curled up on his side,
gripping his shredded pillow with one hand and the other
was…

Oh my God.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks
while he periodically cried out in loud gasping sobs.

“
Please,” he begged, his
voice hoarse and strained, sounding more like a little boy than a
grown man. “Please don’t hurt me…please…please, Mommy.”

Mommy?

But he’d seen her, his eyes had opened
and zeroed in on her, and now he was sitting up in bed, looking
straight at her.

“
You fuckin’ bitch,” he
seethed. “You disgustin’ fuckin’ bitch!”

In a flash, he was out of bed and
grabbing the gun on his nightstand. Ellie cried out as she spun
around, her mind spinning. Where did she go? Right? Back into the
living room or left, out his door and down the stairs and into the
street? She didn’t know, all she knew was she had to get away from
him. In the midst of her panic she made a split-second decision to
turn left, deciding to take her chances with the street.

She had her hand nearly on the doorknob
when she was slammed into from behind and thrown face first up
against the door. The impact caused her surfacing scream to lodge
in her throat.

“
I dream about hurtin’
you,” he growled, pressing his face into her hair. “Hurtin’ you the
way you did me. Doin’ all that dirty shit you did, not carin’ that
I was screamin’, beggin’ you to stop.”

Ellie’s breath caught. He was still
dreaming or…he was caught up in whatever he’d been dreaming about,
hadn’t yet realized he’d woken, or was too entangled in the
memories of his pain.

That’s when she felt it, the protruding
hardness pressing painfully against her backside and the cool metal
of the gun barrel being jammed against the side of her
neck.

“
I want you to scream for
me,” he hissed. “The way you used to make me scream for
you.”

Oh God, oh God, he was going to rape
her. This couldn’t be happening; how could this be happening to
her?

“
N-n-no,” she choked out.
“D-d-dirty, please, you’re dreaming.”

Her sweatpants were wrenched down
and—

She found her voice and screamed at the
top of her lungs, desperately trying to turn her body, no longer
caring that there was a gun pressed to her throat, only caring that
she was seconds away from being nearly raped again and she was not
going to let that happen. At the very least, she was going to do
everything she could to not let that happen.

The next thing she knew Dirty’s weight
was gone and she spun around to find he’d backed several feet away
from her. He was shaking violently, his eyes wide, focused solely
on the gun in his hands.

Trembling, she reached behind her,
trying to find the doorknob, when he glanced up and caught her
gaze. She froze, waiting for it, waiting for him to come at her
again but he did nothing, said nothing, just stood there looking
horrified and terrified and pained and sad and, oh God, so utterly
broken.

The gun fell from his hands and dropped
to the floor with a loud thud. Ellie used that moment to pull up
her pants, yank open the door, and burst into the hallway. She was
only five steps into her mad dash to safety when she heard a
slapping thud and a superseding grunt of pain. She faltered,
paused, and then decided to continue when she heard another noise,
this one worse than before, and she couldn’t stop herself from
turning.

Dirty had fallen to his knees, his gun
in his hand, the barrel pressed up against the bottom of his chin
while he slammed his face forward and into the wall. Ellie winced
as the meaty thud radiated out of the apartment and into the hall.
Blood ran down the side of his face and yet he didn’t let up; he
continued to smash his face into the wall over and over
again.

Ellie’s skin began to crawl as nausea
settled low in her gut. It made sense now; Dirty made sense. Dirty
wasn’t the biker pig she’d remembered him to be; in fact, she was
pretty sure he wasn’t a pig at all, but instead a damaged, deranged
shell of a man more than likely with a past worthy of a Lifetime
movie. She’d taken enough psychology classes and had interned at
women and children’s shelters to know a history of abuse when she
saw it.

Please don’t hurt
me…please…please, Mommy.

He’d been crying out in pain yet
simultaneously jerking off, screaming and begging for whatever
demons his memory was forcing him to relive, to stop…

Bile rose in her throat. Her vision
grew fuzzy and her body heavy.

“
Oh God,” she breathed,
reaching out for the wall, suddenly no longer able to bear her own
weight.

His mother. His mother had hurt him.
His own…mother.

Her vision swimming with unshed tears,
she backtracked her steps into the apartment and shut the door
softly behind her.

Blood dripping down his face, he warily
watched her approach him, his body suddenly rigid. She made sure to
keep her distance for both his sake and her own, and took a seat
several feet away from him but still close enough that she was able
to extend her arm and offer him her hand.