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

actually allow me to walk across the street, but only certain days. I have a feeling it has nothing to do with allowing me to do it and more like he needs me out of the clubhouse for a while.

That works for me, seeing as I absolutely hate living here. I despise it. I also know that there’s no way out of it. He would hunt me down if I tried to run away. He would drag me back by my hair and if he didn’t kill me, he’d definitely make me wish I was deader than I already do.

“She’s doing a Meals on Wheels run, said I could tag along,” I say with a shrug.

“You got your phone?” he demands.

Shoving my hand in my pocket, I pull out my phone and wiggle it so he can see that I have it on my person.

“Be back before dark. We’re having a party. You need to be locked in your room before it starts. Can’t have any of the guys think you’re fair game yet,” he chuckles.

He laughs like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t scare me to death what he’s going to allow his men to do to me. I only know what they do because he’s explained it to me, in detail, every year on my birthday since he took me from my mom. I don’t even know if she’s dead or alive. I assume she’s dead, because I never saw her again.

It’s my duty, he says. I’m the president’s daughter. All of the men’s daughters do this. It’s tradition. It’s been tradition. It’s their right to do this to me.

Their right.

Their right.

I owe them this. He owes them this.

It’s their right.

They will take me on my eighteenth birthday. One by one. They’ll stand in line. My own dad gets dibs on my virginity. That’s his right as the president. He’s never said he wouldn’t take me first, he’s just always said it’s his right. I don’t know if it’s to play with my head, or if he’s planning on fucking his own daughter.

I’m terrified to find out.

Either way, I have four years to come up with a plan. It seems like a lifetime away, but I know that it will happen in a heartbeat and I find it hard to even breathe some days.

JAGUAR

THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD

Barracuda was wrong. Love ain’t shit. He’s still sitting at the end of the bar, day in and day out. He’s gone though, his mind is fucking gone. He sits and he drinks. That’s all. He hasn’t been a contributing member of this club since Sosh died. Breast cancer took her from us, from him, and he’s never been the same.

But he was wrong.

Love ain’t shit.

Loyalty.

That’s what matters in this world.

Loyalty.

The moment I laid eyes on Della I knew without a doubt that she was meant to be mine. It wasn’t about love, because I don’t believe in that shit. Gut told me that she was mine and that’s all I was willing to accept.

In the end, all I did was fuck her up, fuck myself up, and fuck my club over.

Cunt.

Shouldn’t be as powerful as it is, especially with the abundance in which I’ve had it since becoming a patched member of the Savage Beast MC.

Cunt.

It made me crazy, manipulated me, and I tried to take my own brother’s life because of the way it made me feel. I aimed and pulled the trigger, lost in my head, in my anger—in cunt.

I can’t even lay blame at Charm’s or even Della’s feet, because at the end of the day it was my weakness, my weak mind that made it all possible.

Just like my father always said—I’m worthless.

Charm wasn’t just a clubwhore, she was a drug lord’s sister sent into the clubhouse to gain information and she was good at her job. She played it to a fucking T. I bought her act—hook, line and sinker, mainly because I was so lost in complete fucking jealousy over Della and the loss of her to Eagle.

He took her from right under my nose, but in hindsight, I didn’t deserve her and she wasn’t really mine. I couldn’t see that though, not while I was in the middle of it all. Walking away from Charm’s lifeless body after ending her life, watching her blood spill, I knew something needed to change and it wasn’t Della or Eagle, it was me.

There is only so much bad a person can do, so many selfish acts they can commit before it makes them regret being alive.

I regret being alive.

But I’m not ready to die, not yet.

I’m going to do something that nobody could or would ever expect.

I’m going to prove how much I love my club by betraying them.

PAMELA

SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD

I stay hidden in the corners as much as I can. It’s been harder the past year. Those lingering gazes, they’re more than lingering these days. They know my time is up. One year. That’s all they have to wait until they each get a piece of me.

My stomach rolls just thinking about it.

But then I see him.

His hair is a little too long, he’s tall and muscular, but when his eyes scan the room—he sees. He’s wearing a prospect patch, but this man is no prospect. He’s bigger than some lost puppy that the Donkey Puncher MC usually brings into the fold. They like the broken ones, the sick and twisted ones, the easily manipulated ones.

This man is none of those things. Except maybe on the verge of breaking. He’s a little battered and bruised, but he’s not completely broken. This man is not who he claims to be. And I wonder, if it’s possible, could he be my saving grace?

His gaze catches mine and he freezes for just a moment. Those eyes. I could get lost in them, in their depths.

Deciding that I need to get the hell out of here, I walk down the hall and toward the back door. A strong