Unattainable (4 page)

Preacher reached to the right of him
and Cage heard a desk drawer being opened, then closed.

“
Heads up,” he said, and
tossed a key chain over his desk. Cage caught it one-handed. It was
a single silver key on a Harley wings key chain. In the circular
center of the wings, Eva had been inscribed.

Thanking him, Cage took his leave and
wandered back out into the hallway feeling more at home in an MC
all the way across the country than he did in his own. Eva was
lucky, having a father like Preacher.

Real fucking lucky.

She was also the best thing that had
ever happened to his family, not that his father deserved her. That
man could make good on a million promises from now until the day he
finally kicked it, and it still wouldn’t make up for all the shit
he’d put her through.

But whatever, that shit wasn’t his
business.

About to head into the brownstone’s
stairwell, a curvy blonde came out of a nearby bathroom, smiling as
she passed by him, purposely brushing up against him. His arm shot
out and his hand gripped her wrist. Yanking her back around to his
front, he gave her a quick once-over.

Natural blonde, early twenties, cute
face, killer rack, hips he could get a good hold on. She was a
little meatier than he liked his women, and he was usually pretty
liberal, preferring his women soft, liking watching their shit
shake like fucking Jell-O while he slammed into them. But fuck it,
those tits were calling his name.

“
You family?” he growled,
yanking her flush against him.

She shook her head.

“
Anyone layin’
claim?”

She shrugged. “Preacher has me most
nights,” she said. That made sense. Preacher liked his bitches
curvier than most; the more to grab, the better, the man had always
said.

But if she wasn’t claimed, that was all
he needed to know.

“
Upstairs,” he ordered,
turning her toward the stairwell and slapping her hard on her
juicy-as-fuck ass.

When they reached Eva’s bedroom door,
Cage grabbed her again, pushed her up against the wall just outside
Eva’s old room, and shoved her too-tight T-shirt up over those two
big bad boys, already half hanging out over the scrap of purple
lace she was passing off as a bra. Thrusting her chest outward, she
helped them the rest of the way out and he watched, growing hard as
the soft flesh piled over. Bringing her small hands to her chest,
she cupped both breasts, squeezing and kneading, spilling through
her spread fingers.

“
You like?” she whispered,
smiling up at him.

He stared down at her. She might be
young but she knew what was up, and he had to wonder how many times
she’d been passed around the club already and to how many
brothers.

Fuck it. Why did he even bother to
wonder? He’d fucked so many club whores and random sluts, women he
knew had been passed from brother to brother and back again. Hell,
there’d been so many he’d lost count a long time ago.

Yeah. He was a whore. A man whore. He
knew it; hell, everyone knew it. He’d been sleeping with every
pussy that came his way since he’d lost his virginity, courtesy of
Mick and Tap, at the age of twelve to a club whore seven years
older than him. After that, after a few more sexual encounters, it
just seemed like it was…his thing.

The girls flocked to him. They thought
he was hot as hell and didn’t give two fucks if he fucked them once
and then tossed them aside because, really, all they wanted was to
say they’d fucked him.

But like he said, it was his thing. It
was almost expected of him to act like a slut. That was all anyone
ever thought about when they looked at him. And that was cool,
whatever, sex was fun as hell, he loved it.

Until he didn’t love it
anymore.

Now it was just…sex. And now, every
time he came, if he even remembered it, he was starting to feel
more and more like shit. He wasn’t even sure why he felt like shit.
What dude feels like shit after getting laid? Sometimes multiple
times in one night.

This dude.

Suddenly he didn’t want to touch this
bitch. He definitely didn’t want his mouth where he knew countless
other mouths had been and…

A vision of Preacher came to mind; the
old guy sucking on her fat tits, jerking his hips back and forth
between her thick thighs.

Feeling…off, Cage backed away, all the
way into the opposite wall, ready to tell her to take a hike, when
suddenly she dropped to her knees and yanked his leathers open. The
bitch had his cock out and in her mouth, sucking his shit like a
starving leech, faster than he’d ever freed that motherfucker
before.

Holy fuck. His head fell back against
the wall, his hands found her hair, grabbing handfuls, fisting, and
his eyes closed. This bitch wasn’t a leech, she was a goddamn
circus clown, the kind that blew up balloon after balloon, turning
those fuckers into ridiculously detailed balloon
animals.

Holding tighter to her hair, he punched
his hips forward, forcing her to take all of him. Jesus, fuck, that
felt good.

He expected her to protest, to gag,
something, but Jesus, she was so damn into it, sucking and licking
his shit, moaning and purring like a fat kid with a fucking ice
cream cone.

Groaning, he came quickly, more than
likely a straight shot into her stomach considering she’d been
champion deep-throating him like a sword-swallowing porn
star.

After licking him clean, she shot to
her feet, her tits nearly hitting her in the face as they bounced
with her swift movement, and curled her body around his. “My turn,”
she purred, grabbing his hand and helping him down the waistband of
her jeans.

Eh. Whatever. Fair was fair. Circling
her clit he went clockwise, counterclockwise, then slid a finger
inside her and began pumping slowly. All of two seconds passed and
he was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed this over with,
like, yesterday.

Grabbing her throat, he squeezed until
she gasped, then swung her around and shoved her up against the
wall.

“
Come on, bitch,” he
growled, cutting off all her air supply as he continued working
between her thighs. “Give it here.”

Eyes wide, eyelids fluttering, the girl
went stiff, shuddering silently through what was probably the best
orgasm she’d ever have. Cage silently thanked Bucket for telling
him, years ago, how to pull that shit off as quickly as possible.
Although, whereas Bucket used the trick to keep the bitches coming
back for more, Cage used it to get rid of them as quickly as
possible.

Releasing her throat, he backed away
from her and buttoned up his leathers.

“
You wanna fuck?” she
called out, her voice breathless.

God, fucking, no. That bitch was a
straight-up whore. Barely twenty and already a fucking champ. Her
pussy would be swinging wide open by thirty. Fuck that.

“
Nope,” he said evenly,
pushing past her. Pulling out Eva’s key from his pocket, he
proceeded to unlock the door.

“
Asshole,” he heard come
from behind him.

Uncaring what the bitch thought of him,
he stepped inside and slammed Eva’s door closed behind
him.

Falling back against the door, he took
several deep breaths. What the fuck was wrong with him? Since when
did he give a fuck who else was fucking who he was fucking? Aside
from club whores, he almost never fucked a bitch twice for that
reason, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes, or to ensure the
bitch didn’t get emotionally attached to him.

Maybe he was getting a cold? Maybe he
swallowed a bug on the ride up here and he was now dying of West
Nile virus?

Or maybe he was just sick of fucking
whores?

“
Whatever,” he muttered as
he scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his cheek and
jaw.

A quick survey of the room showed him a
bed, a dresser complete with an ancient stereo system, and a rack
of CDs beside it. An old, ripped bean bag chair sat on the floor,
and the yellowed-white walls were lined with posters: Led Zeppelin,
Janis Joplin, Johnny Cash, Hendrix…and Billie Holiday?
Huh.

Eva and her random, usually crappy,
borderline-obsessive taste in music would never fail to amaze
him.

Moving on, he found photos of a very
young Eva sitting on the back of Preacher’s Harley, holding tight
to her old man. Then one of Eva and Kami, they couldn’t have been
older than five or six, and the photos that followed were of them
growing up together as kids, teenagers, and women.

More photos of Demons barbecues and
out-of-state runs, photos of Eva and the boys as she grew up within
the club.

Eva’s high school graduation, her
college graduation, Kami’s first wedding to some douchebag lawyer,
and the birth of her first son, Devin (who looked nothing like that
lawyer and a whole lot like Cox).

Cage started laughing until he came to
another photo, and he stopped laughing.

Eva and Frankie’s wedding
picture.

Cage stared at the maniacal face of
Franklin “Crazy” Deluva, Eva’s first husband, the madman who’d
ganked Ripper on a run and slashed his face and body to shit; the
asshole who’d murdered Kami’s first husband in some sick
serial-killer-fetish fashion; the fucker who’d broken into the
Horsemen’s clubhouse, cuffed Deuce to a radiator, and made him
watch while he raped Eva.

The man who’d then taken Eva, who
probably would have killed her if she hadn’t killed him first. The
man who, because of all that, had fucked his already fucked-up
family even more.

Noticing something strange about the
photo, he stepped closer and studied it. Yeah, the bottom left
corner was pushed out. Lifting the picture off the wall, he turned
the frame over in his hands and flipped open the clasps holding it
together. After tossing aside the backing, he found what was making
the bulge in the photo. An old envelope, folded in half.

Setting aside everything else, he
unfolded the envelope and looked inside.

“
Fuck,” he
breathed.

It was Eva, sitting at the bar next to
Blue, her elbows propped up on the countertop, her chin resting on
the palms of her hands, grinning at the camera. And she was young,
real fucking young, like…

He looked around and locked on a photo
of her at her college graduation, wearing her cap and gown. She was
college young. Which meant…

He counted back the years
and…

Yeah, his parents had still been
together. Just barely.

Cage looked back at the photos. He knew
there was some hard-core history between his old man and her; he’d
heard some of the boys tease Eva about it on occasion, but he
hadn’t known the whole story. The most he’d ever gotten out of his
old man was after he’d first brought Eva back to Montana with
him.

“
Dad?”

“
Yeah?”

“
She the reason you’re
pissed off all the time?”

“
Yeah.”

“
She the reason you left
Mom?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You love her?”

“
Yeah.”

There was a long
pause.

“
Cool.”

“
Yeah.”

He continued flipping through the old
photos. Some were of Eva and the boys, some of Kami being mauled by
both Cox and Ripper, some of ZZ, some of Dorothy and
Jase.

Jesus. They were all younger than he
was now.

But it was the next photo that caused
his jaw to drop.

Lying on her back, propped up on her
elbows, butt-ass fucking naked, legs spread wide open, sprawled
across what he recognized as his old man’s bed at the club, was
Eva. College-age Eva with that “come fuck me” smile, and those
tits, hanging heavy off to her sides, begging to be—

Hurriedly, he tossed it aside. Yeah,
they weren’t actually related, but she was his old man’s wife and
the mother of his youngest sister, meaning he shouldn’t be using
her as bate material. At least, not anymore.

Back when he was eighteen, yeah, that
was a whole other story.

The next photo was even worse. It had
been taken at such an angle that you knew the person shooting it
had been lying down, capturing the person above them.

And the person above them was his
father, looking ungodly young compared to now. His long blond hair
was pulled back, his suntanned face drawn tight, his nostrils
flaring, his light blue eyes were hooded as he stared down at the
photographer with…

Lust.

Adoration.

Maybe even some disbelief.

And even though Cage couldn’t see
anything past his father’s tattooed chest, it was obvious what was
happening. Eva had snapped a picture of his old man while he’d been
in the middle of fucking her. No, not just fucking. That sorry old
bastard had been in love.

Even way back then.

Jealousy swamped him. Not jealousy over
Eva, even though she was one fine-ass female, but jealousy of his
own father.