UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8) by Hayley Faiman (e book reader pc txt) 📕

of prize. I haven’t of course, but victory is victory, even if it only means Pinkie is going to spend the day staring at me in silence. She doesn’t need to be alone right now, and that’s all that matters.

“Go get some pants on, I’ll wait.”

She smiles, and she turns from me. I snort at the sight of her completely bare ass as she walks away from me. There is a little pep in her step, and I hope to whatever fucking god that is watching over her, that this moment takes a little tarnish off my soul. Though I doubt it’ll do much. I’m pretty much damned at this point.

Finishing my coffee, I pour the last of it in my cup before starting another pot. With a heavy sigh, I wonder what Pamela has been doing. I shouldn’t wonder shit, but I haven’t been able to get her off of my mind.

Touching her was so goddamn wrong, but it felt amazing and perfect all at the same time. I shouldn’t have dirtied her with my touch. I should stay far away from her and she should me, too.

Nothing good can come from her innocence near me, except that’s exactly what I want.

“Thinkin’ hard or hardly thinkin’?” a voice calls out, interrupting my thoughts.

My body jerks slightly and I turn to look at Mamba who is watching me. His arms are crossed over his chest, his head tilted to the side.

“Both,” I admit. “Thinkin’ some stupid assed shit.”

He laughs, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, feelin’ ya on that shit, brother.”

“You good?” I ask.

He shrugs a shoulder. “Good as I can be.”

He’s not though. He’s not good at all. I can see it working just behind his eyes. I don’t ask him for more though, he doesn’t trust me in the slightest. No way in fuck is he going to trust me with any personal shit right now. I wouldn’t trust me either, if I were him.

I try not to read too much into the elusive brother that he added to the end of the sentence. I tell myself that it’s just a throwaway word, but inside, I can’t help but feel—peace.

“You my warden today?” I ask.

He snorts. “Yeah.”

“Pink’s going to join us, tough day for her,” I murmur.

He frowns, shifting his gaze to his shoes, then lifts it to meet mine. “You know her, really know her, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I exhale. “Known her since she landed here. She was in her early twenties.”

Mamba doesn’t say anything. He jerks his chin, opening his mouth to speak when Pinkie walks into the room. She’s wearing oversized sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and she’s wiped all the makeup from her face. She looks younger like this, smaller. Softer.

We don’t say a word. The three of us just silently walk toward the warehouse. I can feel Mamba’s gaze on me the entire way. I could tell him about Pinkie. I could tell him a lot of things, I don’t.

What’s hers, is hers.

What’s mine, is mine.

PAMELA

Sitting straight up, I look to the side where there is a digital clock on the single dresser in the room. It’s early. So much earlier than I would usually wake up, except, I want to see him. It’s been days since I’ve seen him.

It’s been since he gave me an orgasm.

My cheeks pink at the memory of what we did together. I feel so stupid now. Humping his leg like a freaking idiot, but at the time I couldn’t control myself. My body moved without permission, I was feeling and not thinking at all.

Now, all I do is think. Every hour of every day, think. I can’t stop it, I can’t stop the way my mind wanders and there is only one place it goes. To him. I can’t get him off of my mind. That night, alone and against the wall, pathetically, that was the best moment of my entire life.

Slipping from bed, I throw some clothes on and hurry toward the main room, then the kitchen. I can hear voices, a man and a woman. Tiptoeing, I slip into the room and smile at the sight of Dylan in the room.

He’s looking to the side. His profile is sexy as sin and I can’t help but lick my lips at the sight of him. Then he takes a step forward and I watch as he lifts his hand. He curls it around a woman’s neck before he presses his forehead against hers, just like he did mine a few days ago.

My eyes shift down the woman’s body and my heart stops beating inside of my chest. It completely stops, because there standing in front of him, is Pinkie wearing nothing but a see-through tank top and thong panties.

Pinching my eyes closed, I shake my head a couple times and stumble backward, then I turn and run back to my room. The other whores are fast asleep, most of them practically crawling into the room early this morning, just a few hours ago.

Slipping my feet into a pair of sandals, I grab my one sweatshirt and slip it on before I run out of the back of the building. As soon as I’m outside, I suck in gasping breaths trying to just breathe. Looking up at the blue sky, I wonder if this is what my life is destined to be like.

This is what these men are like, I remind myself. This is what they do. Just because they don’t rape, just because they aren’t cruel, doesn’t mean that they are all that different from the Donkey Punchers.

I have to remind myself all of these things over and over again, because it’s easy to see these men as completely different beings. It’s easy to forget and let them inside. All of them.

“Hey, babe, you okay?” a soft voice calls out.

Turning my head, I see a dark-haired woman that I recognize, but don’t know well. She’s