Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

“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.

Upon entering the hallway, Cage could hear music and laughter, smell the green, the booze…the sex.

Nostrils flaring, his fists clenched, he stopped walking and took a deep breath. If she were in there with…

Anxiety like he’d never felt before painfully cinched his stomach.

If she were in there with ZZ or with another guy, he’d kill him, then her, then everyone else in her fucking apartment, and, depending on how he was feeling after that bloodbath, possibly everyone in San Francisco too.

Goddamn, he fucking hated her. Hated how she went out of her way to make him feel like the biggest idiot to ever walk the planet, hated that she couldn’t care less if he looked her way or not, hated that HE wanted her so fucking bad he could taste it and she wanted nothing, fucking nothing at all, to do with him.

He’d told her he loved her. He’d opened up his entire fucking world to her. And…

She’d fucking snuck out on him, for Christ’s sake.

Yeah, so why the fuck was he here? He was a glutton for punishment, that much he was painfully aware of. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every time he closed his eyes, there she was…

At thirteen, with glasses and braces and the biggest, ugliest, frizziest hair he’d ever seen, following him around like a lovesick puppy.

At sixteen, when he taken her virginity and she’d told him she loved him and he’d been a nineteen-year-old asshole who’d told her, “It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

At seventeen and eighteen, when she’d refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his existence.

At nineteen, after being away at college for a year, when she’d come home to Montana and he’d taken one look at her, her new look, her new attitude and wanted her. And she hadn’t wanted him.

And now, at twenty-four, she was everything he wanted in a woman. But she still hadn’t forgiven him, still didn’t want him.

All of it consistently churned within his thoughts, fucking up even the simplest of tasks.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the doorknob, pushed open the door, and was greeted with a thick cloud of smoke. After several minutes of shoving half-naked, dancing, drugged-up bodies out of his way, he saw her.

Seated in the middle of an old, battered lime-green sofa was Tegen. Her long copper dreads were pulled back in a heavily beaded ponytail, her head was thrown back, displaying her numerous braided hemp necklaces, her pierced lips were parted, her hooded sweatshirt was unzipped, exposing her small breasts.

She didn’t even notice him. She was too fucking busy noticing the two guys who were mauling her, one with his hand down the front of her jeans, the other palming her breast while he went to town on her neck.

Shaking, Cage pulled his gun from the back of his leathers and aimed. The first bullet hit the right speaker, the second one the left, and the music stopped instantly. All eyes flew to him.

“Get out!” he roared, gesturing with his gun. “Get the fuck out before I blow a fuckin’ hole in every fuckin’ one of you!”

Screaming, people started scrambling, grabbing their shit and running for the door, edging fearfully around him as they scurried around the room.

One of the skinny, stupid motherfuckers that had had his hands all over Tegen looked back and forth between Cage and her.

“Tegen?” he asked warily.

“David,” Tegen said, her eyes on Cage. “Go.”

“But—”

“Just go, David!” she screamed.

“But—”

“GO!” Cage roared, pointing his piece at the motherfucker’s forehead.

He got.

Tegen pushed herself up off the couch and stood. “You know the cops are gonna be here any second, right?” she yelled.

“YES!” he shouted. “And I don’t give a motherfuck!”

He should care. He should care that his father was going to lose his shit when he found out that he hadn’t even made it to Oakland, that instead he’d come straight to San Francisco, straight to Tegen. But he didn’t. What he cared about was her.

“God, you are really stupid,” she muttered.

His nostrils flared. “I ain’t stupid,” he spat. “I know the fuckin’ difference between fuckin’ some bitch and fuckin’ you! You cryin’ into my mouth, grindin’ your shit on me, beggin’ me for more! You were right there with me, bitch! I did not fuckin’ imagine that shit!”

Her green almond-shaped eyes narrowed. “You wanna fuck me some more, Cage?” she said evenly. “Is that why you came here and shot up my apartment? ’Cause if that’s the case, then let’s get to it.”

He watched her shove down her jeans and underwear and then kick them away.

He glared at her, wishing he could just turn around and walk away. Because he sure as fuck felt like a fool, she always made him feel like a fool. But standing there staring at her slim, sleek body, her high, perky breasts, the nipple rings, the belly button jewelry, the beautiful artwork tattooed over her milky-white freckled skin… He couldn’t. Ah, God, fucking shit. He was stupid. Stupid for coming here.

“I fucking hate you,” he hissed as he shoved his gun back in his pants and quickly crossed the room.

“I’ve hated you for years,” she hissed back. “Guess we’re even no—”

He grabbed her ponytail and yanked her head sideways but kept moving, forcing her to stumble backward until her back hit the wall.

“You don’t hate me,” he said, yanking open his leathers with his free hand. Dropping his face into her neck, he took her skin between his teeth and lightly rolled it.

In his grip, she shook her head wildly. “Stop,” she breathed. “Cage…wait.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, sliding his hand down her slim body. “I know what I saw, I know you still love me, Teacup.”

“Don’t call me Teacup!” she screamed. “I am not your Teacup!”

It was the wrong thing to say, but he’d already known that before he said it, he just didn’t care anymore. He’d spent the last month thinking about little else but her, her absence, and not knowing how she really felt, both driving him crazy. So, no, he no longer gave two fucks about her violent temper tantrums.

Hooking a hand beneath her knee, he yanked her leg up and situated it over his hip. Grabbing his cock, he pushed up against her already wet pussy and Tegen’s body trembled in response. Satisfaction roared through him. She wanted him. She still fucking wanted him. He’d been right.

With her hair wound tightly around his hand, he yanked her head forward, bringing them nose to nose.

“You’ll always be my Teacup,” he growled.

“Shut…up,” she whimpered breathlessly, trying to turn away from him but his grip on her hair allowed her no movement.

“Just say it,” he muttered. “Tell me the fuckin’ truth for once. Tell me you fuckin’ love me, babe.”

Her lips parted and knowing her, knowing she was seconds away from telling him to go fuck himself, he jammed his tongue inside and put an instant stop to her bullshit.

• • •

“Oh God,” I murmured, my hands flying to his face, frantically gripping his hair, kissing him harder, trying to crawl up his body to get even closer. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he whispered. “Me too, babe.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to follow me back to California. He was supposed to be home, in Miles City, doing his thing. Fucking women, engaging in criminal activity, yada, yada, yada.

And I was supposed to be continuing on my path to self-destruction because…

Because fucking why? I couldn’t remember anymore.

“Say it,” he growled, gripping my head and pushing me off him. “Tell me you love me.”