Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

Only his old man’s top boys—Mick, Ripper, Cox, and now Tap, who got promoted after ZZ ran off—knew the nitty-gritty.

Which was fucking fine with him; he didn’t need to know shit, he was perfectly happy doing what he was told. Yep. It didn’t bother him at all that his own father didn’t trust him with club business.

Whatever.

Reaching Preacher’s office, he curled his hand into a fist and gave the door a good, hard knock.

“Yeah?” yelled a familiar gruff voice.

Cage grasped the knob and pushed open the door. Damon “Preacher” Fox was alone, sitting behind his monstrous desk, his head bent over a laptop as his fingers tapped hesitantly at the keyboard.

Cage gaped at him. Preacher. Laptop. It wasn’t adding up in his head.

“You know how to use this thing?” Preacher muttered, glancing up at him. “I feel like a fuckin’ rat in a maze over here.”

Cage laughed. “Sorry, that’s Danny’s territory. I ain’t no good with computers.”

Preacher grimaced at the machine, then swiveled around to face him. “Fuck this shit. Take a seat, kid, and tell me how those beautiful sisters of yours is doin’. And that fucker Danny married? They got a baby now, don’t they?”

It was Cage’s turn to grimace. Fucking Ripper. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay with Danny’s choice in men. The asshole had been sleeping with his sister in secret, during which Danny had been forced to kill one of Ripper’s girlfriends because the bitch had pulled a gun on Ripper. And if that weren’t bad enough, Ripper took off after that, leaving Danny alone and out of her mind depressed only to find out later she was knocked up.

After an abortion and a whole lot of misery, Danny started dating ZZ, the best of them, the nicest brother the Horsemen had ever seen, and she’d pulled herself out of it. Then fucking Ripper came back and shit went to hell again. Yeah, they were together now, married with a kid, but at what fucking expense. The club had lost ZZ and Danny wasn’t ever going to be the same fun-loving, ditzy little sister he’d once adored.

So yeah, fuck Ripper.

“They’re fine,” he grumbled, taking a seat in one of Preacher’s uncomfortable high-backed chairs. “He’s fine, the kid is fine too.”

Preacher studied him. “Yeah, good to fuckin’ know, and how ’bout you? You fine too?”

Sure. Why not.

“Yeah,” he said.

Preacher’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah sure, kid. But it ain’t my business. So, movin’ the fuck on. What’s bringin’ you to my neck of the woods? Deuce didn’t say shit about it last time we talked.”

Cage fought back his grimace. Nobody needed to know how he really felt about putting a man to ground. It was the way of his world. Only…he’d thought after the first few times it would have gotten easier.

But it hadn’t.

And if it ever did? Well, Cage feared that day.

“Bannon,” he said, referring to one of the most notorious crime bosses on the East Coast, who ran his business out of Philly. “His right-hand man fucked up, thinkin’ he was just dealin’ with a pack of redneck bikers, and made the mistake of shortchangin’ the Horsemen.”

Preacher grinned, the expression taking a good ten years off the man’s face. Like Cage’s own father and unlike most of the men in this life, Preacher didn’t look his age. His long brown hair had very little gray, although his short-trimmed beard was nearly all gray. Laugh lines gave his already squarely defined features that much more definition. Cage would even go as far as to say that Preacher was definitely a ladies’ man.

Not that he was gay or anything, but a dude knew when another dude had pull with the bitches.

“Bannon know it’s comin’?” Preacher asked.

“Fuck, yeah,” Cage said. “Fucker set it up himself. Texted me the location ’bout two hours ago. Shit’s goin’ down tomorrow.”

Preacher’s loud laughter echoed throughout the small room. “Give ’im two,” the man said. “One in each eye, one for Deuce and one for me.”

Cage smiled grimly. Preacher’s signature “I can see you, fucker” hit was infamous. Everyone knew a bullet in each eye meant the Demons had gone and cleaned house. Everyone. MCs countrywide, nomads, cops, the Feds…everyone. Trouble was, no one could pin it on him. The man was just that good.

“Will do,” he said, standing up. “But right now I need shut-eye. Tiny said Eva’s old room is up for grabs?”

Preacher nodded. “Only for family,” he said. “And that means you, kid.”

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.