Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(73)

Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.

God, this was all my fault. All of it. Why couldn’t I do anything right? What the f*ck was so wrong with me that I couldn’t even coexist like a normal f*cking human being?

“Tegen!”

At the sound of my mother’s voice, my body spurred into action. Shaking off the detective, I jumped out of my seat and went running toward the reception area where my mother met me halfway and threw her arms around me. Suddenly, I was roughly yanked out of her arms and Deuce was gripping my arm painfully tight and bearing down on me, his blue eyes burning. “Where is he?” he growled.

“I-I…” I swallowed hard and tried again. “He’s in surgery,” I finished quickly.

“Not Cage!” he shouted, shaking me. “Where the f*ck is ZZ?”

My eyes filled. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “He just left…he shot him and left.”

“Deuce,” Eva said quietly, appearing beside us. “Let her go.”

Deuce ignored her and continued to glare down at me. “This is your f*ckin’ fault, you stupid f*ckin’ bitch, and if my kid dies in there, you’re f*ckin’ next, you feel me?”

My stomach seized and my tears spilled over.

“Let her go!” my mother cried.

“Dammit!” Eva yelled, trying to pry Deuce off of me. “You’re hurting her! Let her go!”

“Is there a problem here?” Both detectives had joined the fray and were both frowning heavily at Deuce.

“You f*ckin’ kiddin’ me?” he barked in their direction. “My kid is who the f*ck knows where with holes in him and you pantsuit-wearin’ motherf*cks are askin’ me if there’s a motherf*ckin’ problem?”

Again, the two detectives glanced at each other.

“Cole West,” the male said, his voice flat, his expression clearly repulsed.

“Yeah,” he snarled. “You wanna f*ckin’ autograph?”

“Either you release Ms. Matthews,” the female warned, “or I will arrest you for assault.”

“Baby,” Eva said softly, running her hand up his arm and gripping his bicep. “This isn’t Tegen’s fault and even if it was, this isn’t helping Cage at all.”

Nostrils flaring, glaring down at me, Deuce yanked me roughly forward and up onto my tiptoes.

“Get the f*ck outta this hospital,” he gritted out. “Stay the f*ck away from my boy and my f*ckin’ club. I see you, Tegen, I f*ckin’ so much as smell you, I will crack your f*ckin’ skull wide open.”

With a hard shove, he sent me stumbling sideways into my mother.

“Let’s go,” she whispered loudly, gripping tightly to my middle. “Right now, baby.”

“Don’t leave town, Ms. Matthews,” the male detective called out.

Shaking, I turned my body into my mother and let her guide me toward the elevators.

“I mean it, D,” Deuce bellowed from behind us. “I see her anywhere near—”

My mother skidded to a stop and whirled around. “You’ll never see her again!” she spat angrily. “You’ll never see me or my kids again!

“And if this is anyone’s fault,” she continued. “It’s mine for bringing an innocent little girl around a criminal motorcycle club full of self-important *s who think with their dicks and their guns instead of their brains!”

On our way to the elevators, we passed by Danny, Ripper, Cox, and Jase, and I turned back toward my mother, refusing to meet their eyes.

“D!” Jase called out.

My mother picked up her pace.

“D, what the f*ck!”

Stopping again, she spun around to face Jase as he quickly approached us, and pointed her index finger at him. “Don’t say a f*cking word,” she hissed. “I’m not married to you, I don’t share a child with you, I have absolutely nothing in this world tying me to you.”

Jase’s eyes widened. “But you said we could talk.”

“I said that before my daughter was forced to experience yet another violent result of your club, and then publicly humiliated and shunned by the only family she’s ever had because of it!”

“D,” he whispered, raising his arm and holding out his hand. “Don’t do this.”

Setting me aside, my mother stepped forward and slapped Jase’s hand away.

“Come near me again,” she spat, her features twisting with disgust and hatred. “And I will kill you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Find what you love and let it kill you.

— Charles Bukowski

One year later…

Time passes differently when you’re stuck in emotional limbo. It’s slower. Hours go by at a snail’s pace, your feet drag through the days, the weeks; years take forever to come and go. You don’t see things as they are but instead you see them as the way you feel. Things are dark, heavy, even the air feels weighted down. People aren’t smiling at you, they’re whispering about you, they’re laughing.

Not even the sunniest day can overcome the shield of gray skies you’ve built around yourself.

I spent nearly all my life stuck inside an emotional limbo of my own making, constantly waiting for my life to begin, yet completely unaware that with each passing year, I’d remained cemented in the same frame of mind, unable to break free from my own binds.