Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(33)

Sex. That’s all he was about. It’s all he would ever be about. If I spent the entire weekend with him having sex, more sex meant more feelings were going to slip out, and more feelings meant I’d end up doing something really f*cking stupid.

Like telling him I loved him…again.

Which would mean I had indeed turned into my mother even after all the promises I’d made myself to never be some dirty biker’s second choice. Or third. Or his whore.

Suddenly I wasn’t just mad at myself, I was mad at him and my mother and my father and my grandparents and Jase and the whole lot of stupid bikers that had set this all in motion, all over again. And then I wasn’t just mad, I was f*cking livid and suddenly wanted to cry and scream and rip my hair out for being such a stupid girl! Again!

“Tegen?”

“Hmm?”

“Fuckin’ really, woman? I’ve only been askin’ how long you’re f*ckin’ stayin’ for the last ten minutes.”

“I’m tired,” I lied, rolling away from him as I faked a yawn. Grabbing the blankets, I pulled them up over my shoulder. “Let’s talk in the morning.”

Muttering nonsense about women and decision-making, Cage rolled over, reached under the blankets, and gathered me in his arms. His large hands slid over my bare body, one stopping on my breast and the other between my legs.

“I had fun tonight,” he whispered as his lips found my neck. A shiver tore through me even as I grimaced.

He had fun.

Was I supposed to take that as a compliment? When didn’t Cage have fun? Fun was one of his two middle names, the other being “slut.”

“Lips,” he growled, nipping his way across my face. Unwittingly, I turned my head and met him, countering every stroke of his perfect tongue with one of my own. We kissed for a while, touched, but Cage was spent and even though I’d never admit to it out loud, I was too, not to mention a little sore.

Eventually exhausted, we fell away from each other.

It took all of fifteen minutes before Cage was sound asleep. Then I was up, dressed, and calling my mother from his cell phone.

? ? ?

The next afternoon, upon arriving at the clubhouse, Cage headed straight for his father’s office holding the small envelope of photos he’d taken from Eva’s room in New York. Things had gotten so out of control so quickly last night, he’d forgotten to pass them along. Finding the office door already partially open, Cage walked in and found Deuce seated behind his desk, looking over a pile of printed pages that looked to him like laundry lists. As in the dirty money the club laundered through their legitimately owned businesses.

“Tell me you didn’t f*ck the hippie,” Deuce said, not bothering to look up.

Cage grimaced.

Yeah, he’d f*cked the hippie. And then the hippie had taken off and never came back.

So she hadn’t wanted to spend the weekend with him. She hadn’t even wanted to spend the night with him. Which was fine. Whatever. So what if he’d never had a bitch just up and leave in the middle of the night before, not even a club whore. But hey, there was a first time for everything. Which was…fine.

He’d hit her up later today for a re-run.

“You f*cked her, didn’t you?” Deuce growled, finally looking at him. “Even after I told you to leave her the f*ck alone?”

They stared at each other and Cage felt like he was looking in a mirror thirty years in the future. A cranky, pissed off, judgmental bastard of a mirror.

Cage opened his mouth and Deuce’s hand lifted, then crashed back down on the desk.

“You got any idea how f*cked-up D is? She barely sees her daughter as it is and what do you do? YOU GO AND FUCK HER!

“It was real f*ckin’ simple,” he continued. “I told you to leave the girl alone, but stickin’ your shit in anything that’s walkin’ by you is more important than followin’ orders, isn’t it?”

Cage didn’t respond. He’d heard this speech enough times that he knew it by heart. He also knew that interrupting his father would only make the man angrier.

“You’re pushin’ thirty f*ckin’ years old and still ain’t listenin’,” he continued, looking at Cage with unmasked disgust. “You’re never goin’ to amount to jack-f*ckin’-shit, are you?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an answer. He knew it, his old man knew it, and Blue, who was in the front room asleep at the bar, knew it too.

“Here,” Cage muttered, pulling the pictures from his cut as he walked toward his father. He tossed the envelope on the desk.

Deuce’s gaze dropped. “What the f*ck is that?”

Cage shrugged. “Found it at the Demons MC, in Eva’s old room.”

Deuce glanced down and picked up the envelope. As he looked over the first photo in the stack, Eva seated next to Blue at the bar, Cage watched his father’s expression shift from indifferent to downright sappy.

“Where the f*ck did you find these?”

“Hidden,” Cage said, knowing better than to bring up anything to do with Frankie, or Frankie with Eva, to his father. Shit might be happy-go-lucky between them now, but it wasn’t always that way and Frankie had been the reason.

“Behind a photo,” he finished.

“Fuck,” Deuce muttered, slowly going through the stack, his eyes growing more and more unfocused with every picture. “Look at her…just f*ckin’…look at her.”