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

she doesn’t make me ask her what the fuck she’s talking about, instead she tells me.

“Pinkie told me about her past, a little anyway… enough. Then she praised you, told me how wonderful you are and admitted she loved you. I knew that already though. She says it’s not a romantic thing, but I can tell that you love her too. I don’t understand why you aren’t with her. I just don’t want you to start this with me, then realize that she’s who you really need.”

I would laugh, but she’s serious. “Babe.” I chuckle, unable to keep a straight face.

Her eyes widen at my laugh as she looks at me. Fuck, she’s wide-eyed and innocent, she’s fucking perfect.

“What?”

Reaching for her, I wrap one arm around her waist, pressing my palm against her lower back. The other hand, I tangle in her hair again. I don’t pull her head back again, instead I just look into her eyes, unable to see anything but her.

“Love Pinkie, always will. She has a special place, but never in my life would I make her my Old Lady. She’s a good woman, but that’s not what we are, not what we’ve ever been.”

“But you’ve slept together.”

Arching a brow, I refuse to answer that, she already knows the answer anyway. I continue to watch her, wondering when she’ll get it, that she’s the only one that I want. She’s thinking about Pinkie, but other than spending yesterday with her, Pinkie hasn’t crossed my mind since Pamela walked into my life.

“There’s nobody but you, babe.”

“There isn’t?” she asks with a snort.

Shaking my head slowly, I continue to focus my gaze on her. “There isn’t, not since I met you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one I want.”

Chapter Seventeen

PAMELA

Lifting my thumb to my mouth, I chew on the side of my nail, biting off a bit of skin there as I stare straight ahead at nothingness.

Because you’re the only one I want.

The words play on repeat.

Dylan said them to me, then he released me completely, turned around and walked away from me, leaving me alone in the kitchen. It’s been hours since I’ve seen him. He’s not even on the property today, I saw him load up on a bike and take off with three other men.

It’s been hours since he was here and I’ve completed all of my duties for the day. I’m afraid to go outside, worried he’ll get pissed off at me again, but I can only stay inside of this clubhouse for so long before I completely lose my mind. Plus, all I can do is think about what he said, which makes me feel even crazier.

“Hey,” a voice calls out.

Turning my head, I see Della standing a few feet away. Frowning, I lift my gaze to meet hers. I don’t really understand the dynamic between her and Dylan. They were a thing, he wanted her, and she got married to another brother. That’s all I know, but she feels guilty so she’s being extra nice to me to ease that guilt.

“Hey,” I say, giving her a fake smile.

Her own smile falters, obviously seeing my fakeness. She clears her throat, then sits in the chair across from mine. I watch as she presses her lips together, rolling them a few times before she clears her throat.

“You must be bored,” she offers.

Nodding my head slowly, I let out a sigh. “Bored stiff,” I say with a snort.

“Do you read? I could maybe get an e-reader loaded with books for you?”

“Are you being extra nice to me because you feel guilty?” I ask, deciding not to pussyfoot around anymore.

She blinks, her head jerking back slightly before she lets out a long exhale. “It’s that obvious?”

Shrugging, I tap my finger against the scarred wooden pub table. “Since day one,” I point out.

She laughs softly, leaning back in her seat. “I just want him happy. I found my happiness and it wasn’t with him. So, yeah, I feel guilty about that.”

I watch her for a moment. She’s gorgeous in a natural and classy way. I could see her working in a bank or a fancy office. She does not seem like the biker babe type, the wife of a criminal.

She doesn’t talk like most of the women that hang out at clubs, then again none of the Old Ladies here do. They’re all a bit classier than any of the women I’ve ever seen at the Donkey Punchers, even Pinkie has more class than the Old Ladies at the Punchers.

“You shouldn’t,” I point out. “Feel guilty, that is. Dylan hasn’t ever said he’s angry about what happened.”

She looks down at the table, then lifts her eyes to meet mine and they’re glassy and wet with unshed tears.

“I’m glad he hasn’t. But I would feel better if he were settled with the woman for him.”

I want to tell her that, that woman, she may not be me. I don’t bother though, it doesn’t matter. If he wants me, he knows he can have me. He’s not there yet, and I’m not going to sit around and beg him.

That’s just not who I am.

I’ve already begged him not to hurt me. It made him practically push me away, it scared the shit out of him. He says he only wants me, but I don’t believe him, not yet. I have zero proof that his words are anything but words.

“That seems like something you need to talk to him about then,” I say.

I try not to sound like a bitch, but this whole thing is dumb. Pinkie has said the same thing, the only one who hasn’t is Dylan himself and I’m tired. Standing, I brush my palms down my hips, trying to keep it from showing that my hands are shaking.

I’ve never stood up to anyone, not that I’m really doing that now. But this is ridiculous. It’s stupid. I’m into Dylan, but he’s denying what he feels for me, if he feels anything. I can guess that he