Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

Yes. I needed this. Pain to make the pain go away.

“Prez,” ZZ said, sounding strained. “I don’t care how many years he’s been running shit through the Cali territories. If you send that motherfucker out here, I will put a fuckin’ bullet in him.”

Still working him with my mouth, I glanced up at him. He had to be talking about Ripper. Ripper had a house in Los Angeles.

“You think I give a motherfuck about him bein’ your son-in-law?” ZZ hissed. “I ain’t workin’ with him. Not fuckin’ now, not fuckin’ ever.”

I took more of him, worked him harder, lightly grazing him with my teeth, all the while watching him.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ got this shit,” he said hoarsely, looking down at me through hooded eyes. “Listen, Prez. I gotta go.”

Releasing my hair, he grabbed his phone and tossed it aside.

The next thing I knew his hips punched up, sending his dick down the back of my throat. Gagging and cursing, I pushed backward only to have him grab my upper arms and haul me up and onto his lap again.

“How was your date?” he sneered, smelling strongly of liquor.

“It wasn’t a date,” I shot back. “I was at Hayley’s.”

“Yeah?” he said, and laughed. “You expect me to believe she wasn’t tryin’ to hook your ass up with one of those dick-suckin’ friends of hers? Those fuckers who got pussies where their assholes should be?”

He kissed me before I could respond, a brutal kiss, all teeth, biting and sucking on my lips, popping blood vessels, and splitting skin. I closed my eyes, reveling in the pain. I wanted it rough tonight, to make me forget for a few minutes what the span of years could not.

I needed to focus on something, anything but the nagging memories.

I kissed him harder, this time plunging my tongue into his mouth, and a throaty, pleased growl erupted from the back of his throat. “We fuckin’ dirty tonight, baby?” he asked.

“Yes,” I mumbled against his mouth.

“Good,” he grunted, shoving me off him and face first onto the couch. Behind me, he pulled down his boxers and then he pushed against my backside.

“Break’s over,” he muttered.

“Make it hurt,” I whispered into the couch, letting my tears fall freely now that he couldn’t see me.

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

Cage pulled up to his father’s house, a log cabin that could no more be considered a cabin than a New York City penthouse could be considered an apartment. He cut his engine and glanced up at the home that, for the most part, he’d grown up in, and let out a long-suffering sigh.

Because neither he nor Danny lived at home anymore, weekly dinners were a thing now, mandatory by way of Eva, who was insistent that they all spend some quality time together.

For the most part Cage appreciated her efforts, loved her for trying so hard, but dinner at the West home almost always ended in catastrophe, usually because of his stubborn-as-fuck father always giving him shit. He couldn’t do anything right in his old man’s eyes. Nothing. As far as his father was concerned, he was a useless asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Forget that it was him who, when his old man was off doing whatever the fuck he felt like and their mother was off drinking herself to death, Cage was taking care of Danny. Then later, after he brought Eva home with a difficult pregnancy, he’d left Cage to pick up his slack. And even later, when his old man couldn’t seem to hack it yet again, Cage had been taking care of Ivy too.

Yeah, Deuce liked to conveniently forget all that. It always came back to sex.

And, what the fuck ever, his old man was a hypocrite. Just because, now, the asshole wasn’t sticking his dick in everything that showed his old ass any interest didn’t mean it had always been that way. Before Eva, Christ, even during Eva, Deuce had been fucking bitches left and right.

Cage never understood that. When you had a woman like Eva, hot as fuck and willing to do anything his old man wanted, loved the bastard even, why the fuck would you stray from that?

If he had a good woman, an old lady dedicated to him and the club, someone with a clean past who didn’t spread her legs for every motherfucker out there, he’d never touch another woman.

Shaking his head, Cage swung his leg over his bike and started for the porch.

The door was unlocked, so he kicked his boots off in the foyer and headed left through the living room. In the family room, he found his youngest sister, Ivy; his three-year-old niece, Danny and Ripper’s daughter, Harley; Cox and Kami’s kids, Devin and Diesel; and to his surprise, Christopher, Dorothy’s four-year-old son, all seated around the flat screen TV. With the exception of Christopher and Harley, they all had controllers in their hands, their eyes glued to the violent video game on the screen in front of them.

He nudged his little sister’s leg with his foot. “Yo, princess,” he said.

Ivy glanced up and her perfect little face split into a huge grin. “CAGE!”

The next thing he knew she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, squeezing the holy shit out of him.

“Jesus, you’re gettin’ heavy. How old are you now, twenty-fuckin’-five?”

Ivy laughed. “Nine, stupid! I’m only nine!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and set her down. “Makin’ me feel old, little sister.”

“Cage, when are we gonna work on bikes again?”

He grinned down at his little tomboy of a sister. “Soon, baby,” he said. “Soon.”

He gave the trio of boys a quick chin lift, Harley a hair ruffle and a kiss, then headed through the foyer and into the kitchen area. His father was leaning back against the kitchen counter, a beer in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Eva with his free hand resting on the slight bulge of her stomach. Her long brown hair was piled messily on top of her head, and she was wearing an old pair of sweats and one of his old man’s tees.

She was four months along in another high-risk pregnancy that his idiot father had insisted on. Because for some reason three kids weren’t enough for the asshole, he wanted another, for reasons God only knew why. To make sure the world knew he still had swimmers? Cage would never understand that man.

Cox and Kami were opposite them, Cox sitting on top of the counter, Kami standing between his legs, both drinking beers.

“Yo,” he said, giving a halfhearted wave.

Cox nodded his way, Kami gave him a wave and a smile, but it was Eva who pulled away from Deuce and came at him with her arms wide open. As he folded his arms around her, he locked eyes over her shoulder with his father who, instead of saying hello, grunted something incoherent and turned back to Cox.

Ass. Hole.

“What’s little Kelley doin’ here?” he asked, referring to Christopher.

“Hawk’s on his way,” Eva said as she pulled away from him and gave him another genuine smile. Reaching up, she tugged on a lock of his hair that had pulled free of his rubber band.

“God,” she whispered, her big gray eyes sparkling. “You look just like your dad when he was your age.”

He started to smile at her despite her comparing him to his old man, because, fuck, how could you not smile at someone who loved as hard as this woman did?

“He looks like his fuckin’ mother.”

Cage lost his smile.

His mother might be a club rat turned deadbeat and she might love drinking more than she loved her own kids, but she was still his mother, and half of what had happened to her had been his old man’s fault in the first place.

“Ignore him,” Eva whispered. “And go say hi to your sisters.”

“Speaking of, where’s the brat?” he asked, referring to Danny.

Eva smiled and pointed upstairs.

Looping back around, Cage headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he was standing outside his sister’s old bedroom. Without bothering to knock, he turned the knob and pushed open the door.

“Jesus fuck!” he yelled, slamming the door closed.

“Knock much?” Danny screamed from inside her room, where he’d just seen her naked, on her knees, getting nailed by her husband.

Fucking hell.

It wasn’t the first time he’d accidentally walked in on them, either. Those two idiots couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchen pantries, didn’t matter where they were. Their home, someone else’s home, the clubhouse, a restaurant, the two of them were always all up in each other’s shit, all the motherfucking time.

The door flew open and Danny, looking disheveled but thankfully clothed, stormed into the hallway. “What the fuck!” she yelled.

He rolled his eyes. “Was comin’ in to say hi, you fuckin’ brat.”

The corner of her mouth curved and a dimple appeared. The next thing he knew she was lunging, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing.

“Get the fuck off me!” he bellowed, shoving her backward into Ripper’s arms, who was also now thankfully clothed. “You fuckin’ smell like Ripper,” he said, feigning disgust.

Ripper, laughing, swung one of his arms around Danny and held out his fist. Cage eyed it warily before fist-bumping him quickly.

“Don’t know where that shit has been,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Ripper said. “You just get back?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that shit go down?”

“Wham bam,” Cage told him. “In and out. Spent the night at Preacher’s, shot the shit with the Demons for a few, did what I had to do, then took the scenic route home.”

“Nice,” Ripper said. “Prez’ll be happy.”