Unattainable

by Madeline Sheehan

  Deuce’s beer slammed down on the counter. “No fuckin’ shit!” he yelled. “If you were, you wouldn’t be havin’ so much fuckin’ trouble out in Oakland!”

  Cage’s nostrils began to flare. “Who the fuck said I was havin’ trouble?” he demanded. “Just ’cause I ain’t doin’ shit your way doesn’t mean I’m doin’ it wrong!”

  Deuce’s nostrils began flaring as well. “Get your damn head outta your ass, boy. You keep this stupid shit up, I’m gonna promise you right the fuck now, I ain’t ever gonna die. I’m gonna live for-fuckin’-ever just to make sure you don’t run my damn club into the ground.”

  Cage glared at his father, and unsurprisingly, Deuce glared right back at him.

  Ripper burst out laughing and both Cage and Deuce turned their glares on him. Clutching his abdomen, Ripper doubled over, laughing harder.

  “You should see your faces,” he gasped between laughs. “You two fuckers look exactly the same. Fuckin’…priceless.”

  “Shut up,” Deuce growled at the same time as Cage muttered, “Asshole.”

  They turned their glares back on each other.

  Exasperated, I shoved Cage’s beer at his chest, gave him a mock curtsy while flipping him off, before whirling around and quickly exiting the kitchen. Three morons in one room was just too much moron for me to handle.

  “Give it back! Moooooooooooooommmmm! Devin won’t give it back!”

  My back hit the stair railing as Devin came running by me, laughing hysterically, closely followed by his little brother. When they’d disappeared into the living room, the coat closet door opened and Kami peeked her head out.

  “Was that one of mine?” she whispered, looking around the foyer.

  “Kami, get out of the damn closet!” Eva snapped. “And put some clothes on!” Holding a red-faced and crying Damon in her arms, she paused in front of me. “Hey, Tegen,” she said. “When did you get here?”

  The door to the coat closet opened wider and Cox poked his head out from behind Kami, who, from what I could tell, was half-naked. “About five minutes ago,” he said.

  “Excuse me,” Kami said. “But I look better without clothes on.”

  “Mom!” Diesel screamed. Cursing, Cox pulled Kami back inside the closet and slammed the door closed.

  Reaching up, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Only five minutes in the West home and I already had a migraine from hell.

  Sidestepping children, I hurried through the living room, then the family room where Harley was sound asleep on the couch, before bursting outside the back door and nearly collapsing onto the deck.

  “Having fun?”

  Danny, pretty in pukey-pink, sat on the top of the railing, a joint pressed between her lips. Taking it between her index and middle finger, she pulled it from her mouth and offered it to me.

  “It helps,” she said, smiling. “With the family-induced headache.”

  “Hell fucking yes,” I breathed.

  Taking the joint from her, I took a long, throat-burning drag and held it for as long as I could before blowing it out in a coughing burst.

  “How’s it going with the book?” she asked.

  I took another drag before answering.

  “Three more rejection letters,” I said, shrugging. “Apparently, no one wants to read about the mismanaged priorities of American society.”

  Danny grinned as she gestured for the joint. I handed it back to her, then hefted myself up on the railing beside her.

  “It’s cool,” I said. “I started something else, a lot tamer, more mainstream. Romance fiction. Boring, actually. You’d probably love it.”

  Danny cut her eyes at me. “Don’t start with me, little sister.”

  “Why not?” I asked, grinning. “It’s so much fun.”

  “Have I ever told you,” she said, glaring at me, “how perfect you and my brother are for each other?”

  “Have I ever told you,” I shot back, “how insanely bright your clothing is? I mean, shit, Danny, where do you find this crap? Did Skittles come out with a clothing line?”

  Danny opened her mouth just as the back door slammed open, causing both of us to jump.

  “Dinner,” Deuce growled. “Get your dope-smokin’ asses in-fuckin’-side.”

  Jumping off the railing, Danny shoved her joint at me.

  “It was Tegen’s idea,” she said, slipping past her father and disappearing inside. “She peer-pressured me!”

  “Liar!” I yelled, jumping down. Tossing the joint over the railing, I made to follow her inside but Deuce stepped in front of me, blocking the door.

  “Great,” I muttered. “What the fuck did I do now?”

  To my surprise, Deuce grinned and I could do nothing but stare at the nearly identical but older version of the man I loved. Deuce and Cage might not be pretty-boy beautiful, but they were no less breathtaking.

  But…none of that beauty made up for their shitty, sexist piggishness.

  “You gotta minute?” he asked.

  “Do I have a choice? I can’t exactly walk through you.”

  More grinning. Jeez. Was he drunk?

  “Wanted you to know I still ain’t heard jack shit about ZZ,” he said. “Not since one of Hawk’s contacts saw him out in Vegas. I’m guessin’ he went off the grid.”

  I nodded. A few months ago a nomad that Hawk would occasionally run into while on the road spotted ZZ in Las Vegas at an underground fight club. He wasn’t taking bets or running security. He was fighting. Without protective gear, bare-knuckled.

  And the guy he fought, he killed. In fact, according to the nomad, ZZ continued to beat on him long after the man was dead.

  No one had seen him since and I doubted anyone was ever going to hear from ZZ again. He’d been a Horseman; he knew the punishment for trying to kill a brother. And Deuce was looking for him, Deuce wasn’t going to stop either. If I were ZZ, I would have gone off the grid too. Fuck, I would have gone to Mars.

  “And I got somethin’ for you,” he said as he reached into his back pocket.

  I took the worn and cracked photograph from Deuce and stared down at the very young girl. I could see the family resemblance, the dimples it seemed Deuce had gotten from his mother.

  “I can’t take this,” I told him, knowing that Deuce never knew her, that this photo was all he’d ever had of her.

  “Yeah, you fuckin’ can,” he said gruffly. “It’s all I can fuckin’ give her now. She deserved somethin’ good, deserved to be my old man’s old lady, treated with respect, and she never fuckin’ got it. But Eva’s got it and you’re gonna have it too.

  “He don’t know it yet,” he continued. “But Cage is gonna need you more than he thinks. Sooner than he thinks too. I’m steppin’ down soon, Tegen, gonna be passin’ him the gavel and you being his old lady, you needed to know first. This job ain’t easy, but havin’ a good woman who’s got your back at the club when you’re on the road—havin’ her to come home to—that shit makes it a fuck of a lot easier to keep fuckin’ goin’.

  “The two of you, Tegen, are gonna be the only ones keepin’ this club above ground. Holdin’ those boys together, their women and their families. Shit gets hard, they’re gonna come to you, they’re gonna be expectin’ you to fix it. I ain’t gonna lie and tell you it’s gonna be easy ’cause more often than not it’s gonna straight-up fuckin’ suck. You’re gonna fight, you’re gonna wanna run, but I say it to all my boys’ old ladies, and I mean it every damn time, only when I say it to you, I ain’t just gonna be sayin’ it for the sake of sayin’ it. You’re different, you’re gonna be the prez’s old lady, you’re gonna have to eat, sleep, and fuckin’ breathe the life, Tegen.

  “You love the man,” he said. “You—”

  “Love the life,” I finished for him. “I know.”

  Deuce paused and stared down at me.

  “Do you?” he asked quietly. “Tegen, I know we talked this shit over before but this here is the real fuckin’ deal and I can’t be havin’ my boy as pr
ez of my club with a woman by his side who can’t hold her own. It’s gonna be your job to make sure he’s stayin’ level-headed, to keep the boys’ women and kids happy in their absence, to keep their fuckin’ secrets too.”

  “I can’t always love what goes on in the club,” I told him truthfully.

  Deuce’s hard gaze never wavered. “You don’t have to love what goes on. You only have to love the club and I know you love the club, Tegen. I know you love those boys. I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”

  I blew out a large breath. “I’m not Eva,” I told him. “There are just some things I won’t turn a blind eye on.”

  “Darlin’,” he said, laughing. “When Cage gets the gavel, what you do and don’t got a problem with, that’s gonna be his fuckin’ problem to be dealin’ with, not mine.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Darlin’ and dimples. This fucker was pulling out the big guns.

  “This is so unfair,” I said. “I never asked for this sort of responsibility.”

  Unfazed, Deuce turned away from me and started heading inside.

  “Yeah, you did,” he said over his shoulder. “You made up your mind the day you decided you loved my boy.”

  Alone now, I glanced down at the picture of Deuce’s mother and stared into the eyes of the girl who’d never been given the crown she’d deserved, and I wondered what had become of her.

  “All right,” I told her, sighing. “What do you say you and me give this shit a shot? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Realizing what I’d just said, I wrinkled up my nose. “Wait,” I said. “Don’t answer that.” Tucking the photo in the back pocket of my jeans, I headed inside.

  Everyone was already seated around the table by the time I reached the kitchen. I slid into my usual chair beside Cage, directly across the table from Ripper. Cage’s arm came down heavy across my shoulders.

  “Oh, hell no!” Eva suddenly yelled, slapping Deuce’s hand off the salt shaker.

  “Reel it the fuck in,” he growled, reaching for it again.

  Ripper’s arm shot forward, grabbing it before Deuce could. Deuce shot up out of his chair and Ripper sent it flying over the table, straight into Cox’s waiting hand where he promptly shoved the salt shaker down the front of his leathers.

  “Come and get it,” Cox taunted.

  “You are fuckin’ fired,” Deuce said, glaring at him.

  “Reel it in yourself, Daddy,” Danny said. “We want you around for a while.”

  And a whole new wave of arguing began.

  Sighing, I glanced over at Cage, who pulled me closer to him.

  “Don’t know what you’re always complainin’ about,” he said, kissing my cheek. “You fuckin’ yell just as much as any of ’em.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But me yelling doesn’t give me a headache.”

  “Gives me one.”

  “Giving you a headache makes me happy,” I said, turning my face and pressing my lips against his.

  “You’re a damn crazy little shit,” he muttered against my mouth. “But I’ll keep you.”

  I tuned out the noise around us and instead concentrated on the way his mouth felt against mine, the way his lips and tongue moved in sync with mine.

  He was mine. All mine.

  “Thank God,” I said, pushing away from him. “I was so very worried I might no longer be able to utilize my beer-fetching abilities.”

  Grinning, Cage turned away from me and as I went to carve into my steak, I found Deuce watching me.

  He winked. And I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

  And what did that old bastard do? He smiled back.

  Dimples.

  They were going to be the motherfucking death of me.

  THE END

  Sneak Peek: LOVE AND LISTS by Tara Sivec

  (Chocoholics #1)

  Chapter 1 – The List

  Can someone die from a severe case of blue balls?

  Yep, that just happened. I just typed that exact phrase into the Google search engine.

  My mother always warned me to stay away from Google. She told me it was the devil. I’m twenty-five years old and I still don’t listen to my mother.

  According to Wiki, the answer is NO. Just, no. Period. The end. No explanation whatsoever. You would think the person answering these questions could have elaborated just a little bit. Like, “No. You cannot die from blue balls, you fucking moron. Why the hell are you even asking this question? You do realize your internet history can and will be seen by everyone you know at some point in your life, right?”

  Note to self: delete internet history. I need to consult my mom on this. I believe I came across a contract between her and my Aunt Liz a few years ago…

  You’re probably wondering why I’m curious if someone can die from blue balls. You’re probably also wondering how in the hell I can possibly be twenty-five years old when just yesterday I was four. I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow. I’m not a foul-mouthed, cute little kid anymore. I’m now a foul-mouthed, cute adult. I take after my parents, so obviously I’m good looking. That might sound conceited to you, but oh well. I’m not one of those guys who are all “Awwwww, shucks. You really think I’m good looking? Naaaaah, I’m just me.”

  Fuck that.

  I walked around for most of my childhood talking about my penis to anyone who would listen. Owning it when people say I’m hot isn’t conceited. It’s me being comfortable with who I am.

  So anyway, where were we? Oh, right. Penis. Blue balls. Death by blue balls. There’s only one reason for my earlier Google question: Charlotte Gilmore. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met and my best friend. She’s the oldest daughter of my parents’ best friends, Liz and Jim Gilmore. She has long, dark brown hair, big gorgeous brown eyes, and a body that takes my breath away. Since we’re only three years apart in age, we grew up together. I’ve been told that we used to take baths together when we were little. Obviously the times we were naked in the tub never left a lasting impression on her since no matter how hard I try, I can’t get her to see me as anything other than a friend. The kiss of death. The “friend” curse.

  It’s all her fault that I even have blue balls, although to be honest, I really shouldn’t blame her. It’s not like she knows she’s causing me extreme pain. She has no idea that every time I’m within three feet of her my penis perks up like a meerkat when it hears a noise. It’s fucking Meerkat Manor in my pants. My penis is like a magnet and she’s a hot piece of steel. As soon as she walks into a room, the magnetic pull begins and I feel like I have to hold on tight to something. Otherwise, my penis will drag my body over to her and slam itself up against her, like a dog grunting and humping some poor, unsuspecting person’s leg. I’m like a fucking dog in heat when it comes to her. My poor penis wants to hump her leg and she just wants to be friends. I feel bad for my penis. He’s had a rough life. I love my penis and he’s totally getting the shaft. Ha! See what I did there?

  Anyway, I know what you’re thinking. Who doesn’t love their penis? But this is serious, yo. My mom still tells me stories about when I was a little boy and how much I talked about my penis. I’m an adult and I have to worry about inviting my mother to public events for fear she’ll tell everyone the story about how I got my first boner to Barney the Dinosaur. Do you have any idea how mortifying that is? A fucking purple dinosaur. Why couldn’t I be normal and get excited about the Victoria’s Secret catalog like all my friends? To this day, when I see a dinosaur, no matter what I’m doing, my penis instantly retracts itself up inside my body in fear. Even my penis is ashamed.

  So, anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, my penis. I get it. I’m a guy and guys think about their penises a lot. Maybe I’d feel better about this obsession if I had someone touching it other than myself. I grew up surrounded by girls. All of my friends are girls. Everywhere I look there are girls. And yet, I still go home alone every night and touch my own penis.

  Okay, I don’t touch it every night. That’s overkill.
Maybe once a week.

  Okay FINE! Every other night. I think the problem is my job. I love my job, I really do. It’s not something I grew up dreaming about doing, but I’m good at it, and I make a pretty decent living doing it considering I’ve only been out of college for a few years.

  As some of you know, my mom is a pretty famous person. She owns a huge chain of bakeries around the world. She taught me everything I know about cooking and covering things in chocolate. I always knew I would go into the family business when I got older, and I did. No, not that family business. The other one. Are you sitting down for this? Maybe you should be sitting down. I, Gavin Ellis, am the Creative Director for one of the largest sex toy stores in the world. I may have forgot to mention that the chain of bakeries my mom owns is connected to a chain of adult toy stores called Seduction and Snacks. Charlotte’s mom, Liz, owns that side of the business.

  So, while I don’t actually work in a store selling dildos, I’m in charge of the entire product development process for every single item Seduction and Snacks sells. Considering the fact that my job has made me a genius when it comes to pleasuring a woman, and I know the inner workings of every single toy ever made, you would think that women would be throwing themselves at me. Yeah, so not the case. You try being in a bar flirting with a chick and see the look on her face when you tell her you touch rubber penises all day. They all think I’m gay. Or a creeper. Like I’m going to just whip a dildo out of my back pocket and chase her around the room with it. That only happened once, and I was really drunk. I swear.

  And that’s me in a nutshell, since the last time you heard about me. Tonight, I spent three hours with Charlotte and let her cry on my shoulder because she got into a fight with Rocco, her boyfriend.

  ~

  “So did you guys break up or something?”

  Please say yes, please say yes.

  Charlotte cried harder and pressed her face into the side of my neck while I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.

  Is it wrong that I’m thinking about pushing her back onto the couch and making out with her instead of consoling her? I suck.