CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“So, is it just your arms or do you have other tattoos?”

I jerked my eyes away from the window and back to the man across the table. “Hmm?”

He gestured at my arms with his hummus-covered fork. “Your tattoos,” he said. “Do you have more?”

“Oh,” I said blandly. “Yeah, I’m covered.”

“That’s so hot,” he replied, grinning. “I love women who don’t conform to society’s ideals.”

Slumping back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow. Why the fuck had I agreed to this? Oh, right, because Hayley is a persistent bitch determined to marry me off to some douchebag.

Last week it had been a personal trainer named Todd who obviously frequented a tanning salon more than most women did. He’d loved talking, but only about himself and how crazy awesome he was. Halfway through dinner, unable to stomach another second of Todd’s love affair with himself, I’d shoved my chair back, got to my feet, and said, “Really, this was great, I absolutely loved hearing all about your body mass index and how sexy your abdominal muscles are, but I’m really late for an important date with a screwdriver.”

Poor thing had looked so confused.

“A screwdriver,” I repeated. “I need to jam one into my skull to try and erase this last excruciatingly painful hour of my life.”

And this week it was David, the computer analyst. He was decent-looking, I guessed. Another hipster, like there weren’t enough in this fucking city already, with shaggy hair and a love of skinny jeans. But he was boring and had the personality of a rock. I’d almost prefer to be with Todd the Tool; at least then I’d have something to mentally poke fun at.

Sighing, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I’d promised Hayley I’d see this shit through but more importantly, I’d promised myself that when I got back from Miles City I wasn’t going to wallow in everything that could never be.

I’d told myself, in no uncertain terms, that I would give ZZ the boot in the kindest way possible and then move on to giving another man a fighting chance. I told myself that I would finally start working toward my goal of someday becoming a novelist, but most importantly, that I would keep myself busy so as not to resort to self-pity, self-loathing, and ultimately self-destruction.

So far, nothing I did was working. ZZ hadn’t come back yet, and I was a goddamn train wreck.

Fuck Deuce. Fuck that mean old bastard.

Doin’ this for your own good, Tegen. Cage ain’t never gonna change. Seen this shit before, him thinkin’ he’s fallin’ for a bitch and then it all goes down the same in the end. Him gettin’ bored and goin’ back to stickin’ his shit in all sorts of filth.

Deuce had been right. Cage had played the same game for years. I’d watched him, jumping from woman to woman to woman to woman to woman.

Why should I be any different? Just because I wanted it so badly?

Ha.

Three weeks ago, the moment my plane had landed in San Francisco, self-pity had taken root and self-loathing said hello the very second I’d walked into my empty apartment. I had no doubt that self-destruction was waiting just around the corner like a goddamn pickpocket bouncing on his heels, just watching from the shadows, waiting to pounce, anticipating the moment my guard would be down.

I couldn’t let it go. It was every inch as painful the last time I’d had my heart broken. Only…no, this was so much worse.

That stupid motherfucker had told me he loved me. Positioned over top of me, easing himself slowly into my body so that I felt everything, every stretch, every quiver, every clench of my muscles, all the while staring down at me, into my eyes.

I love you, Teacup.

And suddenly I wanted to run straight back to Miles City, to the clubhouse, to Cage.

You know exactly what you’re gonna fuckin’ do here. You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my fuckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean, and you’re gonna fuck me whenever the fuck I want it.

I’d been so close to throwing away everything. What about what I wanted from life? One weekend with Cage and suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore?

Yeah, whatever. I was such a flake. I didn’t even know what my own wishes were anymore. A fucking wishy-washy bitch with a bad attitude. Flip-flopping like a dying fish on the shore. I could get another million tattoos and piercings, but it still wouldn’t cover up what I’d been trying to hide all these years.

That I didn’t have a clue who I was. Or what I wanted.

It was official. I was an asshole with a permanently broken heart.

I stared vacantly across the restaurant, feeling a million different things. Shame, lust, love, pain, guilt, humiliation, anger, bitter acceptance…

And hate.

Yep, I hated myself for letting myself feel anything, for letting that man inside of me again. For being so completely and utterly weak when it came to him that if he touched me, all was lost. Every brick in the wall I’d built up around myself would instantly crumble and I’d immediately succumb to the feelings I’d always had for him. Feelings that I was terrified were never going to die out.

“I don’t have any, myself,” David said. “I’m not a fan of needles but I respect anyone who has the pain threshold to withstand the amount of tattooing you have.

“It’s a proven fact,” he continued, “that women have a higher tolerance for pain than men do. I believe it stems from the fact that women are built to bear children, whereas men—”

“Do you want to go fuck?” I interrupted, bored to tears yet filled with an anxiety-ridden sense of longing that I couldn’t seem to shake.

David’s eyes widened. “What?”

I snorted. “You heard me, fucker. Yes or no?”

“Uh…” Bewildered, David shook his head. “Yes?”

“Great,” I said curtly, already getting to my feet. “Let’s go.”

Scrambling to his feet, David yanked his wallet out of his pocket and quickly tossed several bills on the table. Then we headed toward the exit and were on our way back to my place.

As soon as my apartment door closed behind us, David’s greedy hands were all over me. Closing my eyes, mentally detaching my soul from my body, I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t care; I just wanted the pain to stop.

Self-destruction, I thought bitterly. Party of one, please.

• • •

Positioned behind her, Cage gripped the woman’s thigh, raising her leg, and pushed inside her body.

Several strokes passed and he whispered, “Feel good, babe?”

He stopped moving. Every time. He said the same damn thing to every bitch he fucked, every fucking time.

“Oh yeah, baby,” she whispered back while grinding her backside against his hips. “Sooo good, baby, sooo big and so good.”

Already bored with her, he reached for her chin, gripped it, and turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her lips. Crushing his mouth to hers, he shut her right the fuck up and resumed fucking her, faster this time, not too fast but rhythmic. The slap of bodies, the sound of messy kissing, her breathy moans escaping when he allowed her small glimpses of air.

It was all the same.

He was on autopilot. He wasn’t even attracted to her.

Average body, average face, only attractive because she was still young.

Why was he even hard?

Of course he was hard. Of-fucking-course. Why wouldn’t he be? This was what he did. It seemed like he did it for a living. He should be getting paid for his motherfucking services, he did it so damn much.

And all he could think about was not this stupid bitch, but another woman. One who’d played the fucking game as good as he did.

But he kept at it, kept at fucking the bitch until she was soaking wet and whimpering against his mouth. Reaching between her legs to where they were joined, he found her. He worked her skillfully, doing the same damn thing he’d done a million times before to a shit ton of different women.

“Cage,” she gasped, sucking in a sharp quick breath as her body locked up. He stopped kissing her and watched as her eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly, feeling the usual sort of detachment he usually felt watching a woman orgasm. From his position behind her, he saw her toes curl and the tendons in her feet bulge.

“One more,” he said blandly, still using his fingers on her. “Gimme one more, babe.”

She came again and that’s when he decided enough was enough. Pulling out of her, he pushed her onto her stomach and took her again from behind, this time with her ass in the air. He fucked her. Hard. And came within a few short minutes, feeling like he’d just emptied out nothing but air, leaving him feeling even emptier than when he’d started out.

“You can go,” he muttered, flopping onto his back and reaching to his nightstand for his smokes.

“Sorry?” she asked as she got to her knees, pushing her shoulder-length brown hair out of her eyes.

A cigarette pressed between his lips, he glanced her way. There was nothing remotely interesting about her. She was just tits and a pussy, neither of which were all that remarkable.

Not one damn thing. Once she left his house, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her if he ran into her two days later.

“You,” he repeated harshly, “can go. Now.”

Her eyes widened and just as he knew she was about to start sputtering nonsense at him, he pulled his smoke from his mouth and pointed the cigarette at her. “Just go, bitch. Don’t bitch or whine or start fuckin’ cryin’. You knew what this was from the get-go and don’t be pretendin’ somethin’ different.”

In an angry rush, muttering curses, the girl scrambled for her clothes while Cage turned away from her and faced the wall. That had been the fourth bitch he’d fucked since Tegen had disappeared on him.

One was a club whore he’d fucked a million times, two were local waitresses, and now this bitch. He had no idea what any of their names were. And to be honest, he didn’t give a fuck either.

He heard the pitter-patter of angry footsteps running down his stairs and—

He cringed as his front door slammed shut.

Whatever.

Sighing, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and crushed his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Running his hands through his unbound hair, he looked around the room.

Dresser. Mirror. Closet door.

He’d told that fucking psychopath that he’d loved her and what did she do? Snuck out in the middle of the night. She hadn’t said it back either.

That resolve he’d seen in her eyes while he’d been sliding inside of her…it hadn’t been for him. It had been to leave him.

Yeah, Tegen had shaken his shit up. How fucking unexpected and random had that shit been? Christ. The woman fucked liked she talked. Dirty. Hard-core. Even when they’d reversed positions and he was the one doing the fucking, it was still her taking him for a fucking ride, taking it all.

The more he thought about it, about her, about the two of them together, the more he felt his body responding.

Fuck.

He found himself fully erect, leaning back on his bed and wrapping his hand around his cock. Closing his eyes, he pictured her, Tegen, straddling him in the woods, her hard green eyes staring directly into his, her lips parted, her small hands gripping his pectoral muscles as she lifted her hips, slammed her hips down, lifted, slammed, lifted, slammed. Then she was grinding, back and forth, faster and faster, quick circular motions before lifting her hips and slamming them down.

And then later, in his bed, their limbs entangled while he took her from behind…slow, smooth, thrusts…harder and harder but never faster.

And then when she’d come…just from kissing him.

Just from…fucking…kissing…him.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, still pumping his hand as he released all over his stomach.

He lay there for a moment, letting his breathing return to normal, then blinking back the last lingering haze of orgasm, he slowly sat up.

When was the last time he’d jerked off? He couldn’t even remember. Why use your own hand when you had mouths and pussies at your immediate disposal? And after just fucking some bitch, too?

“Jesus, fuck, Teacup,” he muttered, scrubbing his palms over his eyes. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

She’d fucked him. Literally and figuratively. He was fucked.

She was all he could think about. He wanted her back, back home, back in his bed, just back, back, back.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that when his cell phone began to vibrate, he jumped. Cursing, he leaned across his bed and grabbed it off his nightstand.

Dad: Where the fuck are you?

Cage glared down at the text message from his father. Home, he typed in. Another moment passed and his phone vibrated again.

Dad: You stupid? We got handouts today.

No, he wasn’t stupid. He’d known, he just hadn’t cared. But…

“Fuck this shit,” he muttered and jumped out of bed. Getting drunk wasn’t working, fucking wasn’t working. He might as well stop by the club and see what runs his old man had in the works. Maybe once he put Miles City in his rearview, he could forget this shit with Tegen, forget how pathetic he’d been, and hopefully forget her entirely.

• • •

“Vegas,” Deuce said. “Who wants it?”

“Legal prostitution? Count me in.”

Cage glanced down the long rectangular meeting table to where Tap was seated. The guy lifted his arm and held up two fingers.

Eying Tap, looking annoyed, Deuce palmed one of the file folders in front of him and slid it down the table. Tap’s arm shot out and snatched it up. Leaning back in his chair, he started leafing through it.

“Dirty,” Deuce continued, holding up another folder. “As usual, you got Philly and—”

“No.”

All eyes shot to Dirty, who was shaking his head. “Can’t do it. Can’t leave Miles City right now.”

Deuce cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah? You mind sharin’ why?”

Dirty continued shaking his head. “Can’t.”

A couple of the boys burst out laughing until Deuce’s fist slammed down hard on the table and the room went silent.

“Is this still about Ellie?” Deuce asked. “’Cause you already fuckin’ know Mooresville ain’t touchin’ her. We set his shit straight, yeah?” Deuce glanced to Mick, who nodded.

“He ain’t touchin’ her,” Mick confirmed. “Had a nice long chat with the fucker myself. He gets it, knows he needs us ’bout as much as we need him if he wants to keep livin’ in fuckin’ luxury.”

“We told him the bitch is off-limits,” Cox added as he cracked his knuckles one by one. “Told him with my fists a few times too. He gets it, brother. You don’t gotta worry.”

“Prez,” Dirty said hurriedly. “Maybe we could talk? In private?”

Cage cocked his head to the side and stared at the guy. What the fuck was up with him? Something was different about him. Something other than the fact that he’d been showering and shaving.

Holy shit.

“Dirty,” he said, drawing all attention to himself. “You fuckin’ Ellie?” All eyes shot right back to Dirty and simultaneously widened with surprise.

Ellie was hot, but from what Cage remembered she had a damn stick up her ass. The bitch wasn’t any fun. At all. He’d fucked her once way back when and never had any inclination to go back for more. But Ellie and…Dirty?

What the fuck?

“Dude,” Anger said. “You’re tappin’ that shit, ain’t ya? That’s what the pretty boy look is all about, yeah?”

Cage watched as Dirty’s expression went from uncomfortable to scared shitless, looking like he was about to bolt. Deuce saw this and gave a quick nod.

“After the meeting, we’ll talk,” he said tersely and Dirty, looking relieved, slumped back in his chair.

“Ripper,” Deuce said, back to business. “You’re headed out to Cali next week, right? I’m gonna need you to swing by Oakland and—”

“Can’t do it,” Ripper said, wincing when Deuce’s death glare turned on him. “Sorry, Prez. Harley’s gettin’ tubes put in her ears and if I ain’t there for the surgery, your daughter is gonna leave my ass.”

“My daughter,” Deuce bit out, “knows how it goes. She ain’t gonna say jack-fuckin’-shit.”

Ripper snorted. “Maybe not to you, but me? Yeah, Prez, I’m gonna get an earful and that ain’t all she’ll do either.”

“You scared of your old lady, Ripper?” Mick said, laughing. “What’s she? A buck thirty soakin’ wet?”

It was Ripper’s turn to shoot a death glare. “Fuck you,” he shot back. “I ain’t scared of shit except havin’ nowhere to put my dick when it gets cold and sad and wants a motherfuckin’ hug.”

The entire table cracked up, every brother except Cage, Deuce, and Ripper roared with laughter. Mick was even wiping tears from his eyes.

Deuce flashed Ripper a disgusted look and the guy grimaced. “Sorry, Prez,” Ripper muttered. “But you know how it go—”

“Don’t finish that fuckin’ sentence,” Deuce growled, his nostrils flaring angrily. “And the rest of you assholes,” he said, looking around the table. “Reel it the fuck in before I put a bullet in each of you.”

Despite Cage being thoroughly disgusted by the mental image Ripper had just painted for him, he’d gotten stuck on what his father had said.

You’re headed out to Cali next week, right? I’m gonna need you to swing by Oakland.

Oakland. Twenty fucking minutes from…

Tegen.

“I’ll take Oakland,” he said loudly, ignoring Cox as the fucker turned to face him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You sure ’bout that?” Cox drawled. “Lot of hippies crawlin’ ’round close by.”

“You ain’t never ran Cali territory,” Deuce said. “Why the fuck would I send you?”

“Because I’m not a fuckin’ moron,” Cage spat. “I’ve ran East Coast, why the fuck not west?”

The table went silent as father and son stared each other down, but Cage wasn’t going to back down this time. He wanted this run because he wanted to see Tegen, and he didn’t give a fuck that every brother in this room knew exactly what his game was. So much for forgetting the bitch; he was contemplating tying her to the back of his bike and bringing her ass back home where he would promptly tie her to his bed until she agreed to stay.

“When we’re done here, you fuckin’ talk to Ripper. You fuckin’ breathe in every word that motherfucker tells you and you best hope it sticks. Shit goes south in Oakland, it’s on you. You feel me?”

Cage gave his old man a brisk nod.

Two days later he was eating concrete, California bound.