UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8) - Hayley Faiman (rooftoppers TXT) 📗

walks out of the darkness and into the light so that I can see him. “You’re not takin’ her up on what she’s offering,” he points out.

“I’m not,” I say, nodding my head in agreement.

“Care to enlighten me? You made a big fucking deal about saving her. About bringing her here, and she’s practically begging you to claim her and you won’t do it? Why?”

I should tell him to fuck himself and worry about his own shit. I don’t though. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead, and I’m not stupid enough to think that his influence isn’t a major reason why I’m not currently six feet under.

So, I have no choice but to answer his questions, to tolerate him, even if it’s the last thing that I want to do with him. My anger is gone, but I don’t know that we’ll ever be friends. As much as I betrayed him, he did me too. He just went about it a different way.

“I’m trying to be better, Eagle. I’m trying to do better. She deserves something and someone different than me, than what I can give her.”

He watches me for a moment, his eyes searching my face, then finally he clears his throat. “Got that wrong, Jag. The man you are now, that’s who she needs.”

“The man I am now? What makes you think I’m any different than I was when I shot you?” I ask on a growl. “Plus, the man I am now is pretty fucking pathetic. I couldn’t take care of her, even if I tried.”

He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t give me a narrowed gaze, or show any reaction to my words. Instead, he just watches me. It’s eerie the way he can just look at you and his face remains expressionless. I don’t fill the silence with any words, instead I wait for his response.

Eventually, he does respond. I don’t know if he had to think about his words or if he was trying to make me stumble over my own, either way, it doesn’t matter because I know that I’m not right for Pamela.

“You don’t see it yet. Hopefully you will before it’s too late with Jailbait. You’re different, Jaguar. If you were the same man that you were when you shot me, you wouldn’t give a flying fuck if you were good for her or not. You ain’t him, brother.”

I open my mouth to respond, to tell him that he’s wrong, but he doesn’t let me. It’s just like fucking Eagle to turn and walk away in the middle of a conversation. He said what he wanted, and now he’s done.

Fucker.

Instead of going inside immediately, I stay out and enjoy the warm air. Now that the sun has set, it’s starting to cool down, but it won’t get cold. At least not tonight. There’re still a few months left until that happens.

Walking over to the picnic table, I climb up and sit on top of it, placing my feet on the seat. I could use a blunt right about now, but I know that I don’t have any on me. Dragon would frown on it anyway. Prospects don’t drink and they don’t smoke, not without permission.

Prospect.

I still haven’t allowed myself to think much about it. I’m a goddamn prospect. I haven’t been one of those since I was eighteen years old, and here I am, starting over. Except, it’s not completely over because all I did was completely fuck myself and my brothers over.

Starting over implies that I’m starting again with a clean slate and I’m not doing that. I’m eating crow. I’m shoveling shit to eat. And I’m good with that because I deserve every fucking second of it.

What I don’t deserve is Pamela.

Even if she’s everything that I’ve ever wanted.

The music inside slowly becomes louder and I decide to make my way in. I’m not partying, but I’m sure I’ll be required to do cleanup. Another thing that I’m oddly okay with these days. Used to be, I needed the party. I needed the pussy, booze, and to escape. I find I’m not needing that much these days.

My focus is elsewhere.

Chapter Fifteen

PAMELA

I’m surprised to see Pinkie sitting in her bed when I finally make my way into the room. Dylan may have scolded me and sent me to bed like a baby, but I didn’t do that.

Rebellion bubbles beneath my surface. Although I didn’t get into any trouble because I lamely stood against the wall and watched all of the people drink and start to party around me, I still felt bad.

Pinkie doesn’t say anything right away and I can’t help but feel uncomfortable alone in this room with her. Stiffly, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the empty wall in front of me, not wanting to turn to look at Pinkie, yet wanting nothing more than to turn and look at her.

“You okay, honey?” she asks in her sugary-sweet tone.

I hate it, because I kind of like it all at the same time. I don’t want to like her, I don’t want to like anything about her. She slept with Dylan last night and did God knows what today. I need to hate her and him, both of them.

Except, I know this life and I probably couldn’t hate either of them if I tried. They’re still better than anyone I’ve ever been around. That makes me hate my dad a little more, though I didn’t think that was possible.

“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh.

She doesn’t say anything right away, then she clears her throat and I can feel her eyes on me. They practically burn into my profile. Slowly, I turn my head to look over at her. I blink at the sight of her.

Pinkie’s face is all splotchy, like she’s been crying, her eyes are puffy and rimmed in red. She’s barefaced and her hair is up in a messy bun. But that’s not all, she’s dressed in clothes that