Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Dad ain’t a whore, stupid. Dad didn’t do nothin’ Mom didn’t do. Saw her suckin’ dick plenty of times. And it wasn’t Dad’s.”

  What? Now Randy was just plain lying!

  At the bottom of the steps, Chris dropped his bag on the narrow sidewalk and, with a roar, rushed his brother.

  Before he could make it to the steps, Randy jumped down and tackled him. Chris fell backward and his head just missed the edge of the concrete.

  “You’re an asshole!” he screamed, grabbing Randy’s hair and ripping on it.

  A wild, flailing fist made contact with Chris’s cheek and the pain caused him to lose his breath.

  He growled and tried to roll his brother, but he was much smaller and couldn’t get his weight behind him. Instead, he shoved his brother with both palms, knocking him off balance.

  As soon as he rolled on top of Randy, he found himself once again on his back in the grass, unable to catch his breath. His brother was sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs and pinning his arms to the ground.

  “Knock it off, you little shit. You made my fuckin’ lip bleed.”

  “Good!” came out on a half-sob. He couldn’t cry. Not in front of Randy. But he couldn’t wipe the tears away while his asshole brother held him down. “Lemme go!”

  “Only if you stop tryin’ to fight me. I didn’t do this to you. That bitch did. You think she gave two shits about you? She didn’t. Her leavin’ just proved it. She was just the twat used to squirt us out. That’s it. Nothin’ more.”

  “You’re wrong.” Why was Randy lying like that?

  “Yeah, so wrong,” Randy muttered and shook his head. “I’m gettin’ off you. You try fightin’ me again, I’m not gonna hold back. Dad will find you out in the yard when he gets home with your ass kicked. Then he’ll kick it a second time for bein’ a whiny-assed pussy.”

  Randy slowly lifted his weight and, when he was on his feet, his brother wiped the back of his hand across this mouth, smearing the blood. He spat into the grass next to Chris’s head. Luckily, Chris twisted it away in time to keep from getting splattered.

  “We don’t need that bitch. What the fuck did she ever do for you?”

  Chris laid in the grass, taking deep inhales since his brother was no longer crushing him. Anything to keep himself from crying.

  With another shake of his head, Randy walked over to Chris’s worn, dirty teddy bear that had tumbled out onto the dead grass, along with the rest of his things, when the bag spilled during the struggle. His brother picked up the stuffed animal, stared at it for a second, then came back to where Chris laid sprawled on the ground. He dropped it onto his chest. “I’ll tell you what the fuck she’s done. Nothin’. So, don’t be such a fuckin’ baby. We’re better off without her.”

  Chris laid there, staring up at the late afternoon sky, and a hot tear slid from the corner of his eye. He heard his brother stomp back up the steps, go inside and slam the front door shut.

  From inside the house, Chris heard a muffled shout of, “Fuck her!”

  He grabbed his teddy bear, hugged it against his chest and curled into a ball around it. “She’ll be back,” he whispered, unable to stop the tears anymore. No longer caring who saw him cry.

  Shortly after, the tears stopped.

  And much later, he forgot what she looked like.

  Because that night, when his father got home, he burned every damn photo of her in that house. Anything she left behind was burned, too. Then he told them never to mention her name again.

  That rule wasn’t difficult to follow because Chris never knew what her name was.

  He’d only ever called her Mom.

  Chapter One

  Fucking Mondays.

  Monday mornings were always the hardest.

  Cage’s hand slipped down his bare chest and under the tangled sheet to find another reason mornings were hard.

  With one hand wrapped around his morning wood, he yawned. He needed to take a piss but that wouldn’t happen any time soon. At least not until his current dilemma was resolved.

  The toilet flushing in the small bathroom attached to his room in the club’s bunkhouse had his eyes popping open and his heart skipping a beat.

  What the fuck?

  Who the fuck was in his bathroom?

  He jackknifed up to a seated position and glanced around the room, trying to remember everything that happened last night at, or after, the club’s pig roast.

  They’d gone on a Sunday club run. Check.

  They had a pig roast afterward since they had a lot of leftovers from the prior weekend’s charity poker run. They’d raised a shit ton of scratch for the Kids Can Do Foundation. So, he stuffed his gut full of good grub. Check.

  He’d played a couple rounds of pool with Ozzy and scored a Benjamin. Check.

  Then he lost it to Dodge at darts. Unfortunate check.

  Billie had been trying to drag him back into his room all night. She didn’t succeed. Check.

  Wait.

  Or did she? Uncheck.

  Fuck.

  He scanned the floor for a female’s clothing. No black combat boots or goth shit. No heavy makeup staining his pillow. Thank fuck. Check.

  He usually ended up hurting after Billie got her hands on him. She was into some crazy shit. Currently, he wasn’t sore, bleeding or bruised. Check. Check. Check.

  He quickly continued to go through his night as he heard the water run in the sink.

  Whiskey? Check.

  Lots of whiskey? Check.

  Too much whiskey? Fuck.

  So much so, he didn’t have a fucking clue who was going to pop out of his bathroom like a stripper coming out of a surprise birthday cake.

  Did it really matter?

  Probably not.

  The only problem was, one of the bunkhouse rules was no women overnight. He didn’t need Trip kicking his ass out of his room. He liked living here. It was cheap. He had his own crapper. He had full access to the stocked kitchen down the corridor. He could get drunk off his ass and just stumble his way back to his bed. And, best of all, plenty of pussy was always available.

  He held his breath as the doorknob on the bathroom turned.

  It was like spinning a roulette wheel. His dick could’ve been placed in anyone’s box.

  Well, female only, of course.

  The door swung open and...

  He blinked.

  The woman smiled and tossed her long platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder.

  Well, at least she wasn’t fugly.

  But he had no idea who she was. “Uh...”

  Her smile widened as she climbed into bed with him. Naked.

  He had to admit her body was banging.

  Which was probably why he banged her. Even drunk he had good taste.

  “We banged, right?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  Cage weighed his options on answering that with a lie or not. “Last night’s a little sketchy. We use a wrap?”

  She combed her fingers through his hair, making him pull his head away and grimace. “Of course.”

  Oh, thank fuck. Last thing he wanted was to knock up some woman he didn’t know. Or, hell, any fucking woman.

  “Three.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. Huh. He guessed the amount of whiskey he drank, which robbed him of his memory, hadn’t done anything to affect his studly performance.

  “The last time I had to work a little harder.”

  Damn, he wished he remembered it now.

  “If you’re a little sore back there, that’s why. I had to work you deep for a while to get everything up and running properly.”

  Say what? Back where? “Uh...” He clenched his ass checks, checking to see if anything felt different.

  She laughed and slapped his bare chest. “I’m just kidding!” Her laughter faded away. “You really don’t remember?”

  He scratched at the whiskers on his chin. “Bits and pieces.” Total fucking lie.

  She pouted.


  Oh fuck. “Look, you gotta go. You can’t be in here.”

  “You invited me.”

  “Right. For...” Whatever the fuck we did. “For that, yeah. But we got rules.”

  The sweet butts knew the rule about scramming before sunrise. If they wanted to keep in good standing with the Fury, they followed the rules. Rules like any brother with an ol’ lady was off-limits. No hard drugs. Their good-looking lady-friends were welcome as long as they were legal, open to anything, and could keep their fucking mouth shut.

  Since he had no idea who this female was, it made sense this one didn’t know the rules. But whoever invited her to the party last night should’ve told her.

  Or he should’ve. Fuck.

  “I gotta get to work and you gotta get outta here before you’re spotted.”

  “I have to sneak out?”

  “Sneak out. Crawl out. Evaporate. Don’t care. Just do it.”

  She grabbed his hard dick over the tented sheet, causing his hips to jerk. “You don’t want me to take care of this first?”

  He pursed his lips as he considered her offer. “What time is it?” What did it matter if she left at seven or seven-fifteen? It would still give him enough time to get to the garage.

  “Almost a quarter after eight.”

  Oh fuck! He surged from the bed, dislodging not only her hand but the rest of her body, too. As nice as it was. “You gotta go. I’m gonna be late for work.” Not gonna be, he was.

  “You work?”

  He frowned. “Of course I fuckin’ work.”

  “I thought you guys just rode your motorcycles and sold drugs or something.”

  He stared at her. “Who the fuck invited you here last night?”

  “You did.”

  “No. To this property. It’s by invitation only. Who invited you?”

  Her over-plucked eyebrows pinned together. “Janie.”

  “Who the fuck is Janie?”

  The naked twenty-something on his bed shrugged, making her really sweet tits jiggle. Fuck, they were so damn perky. “A chick I met at a party in Williamsport.”

  “Who the fuck invited her?”

  Platinum Barbie shrugged again, put a fingertip to her lips and tilted her head. “I think...” She put that finger in the air. “Janie.”

  Cage gritted his teeth. “You just said Janie invited you.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. I don’t know then.”

  Christ. It was clear he hadn’t brought her back to his room for her smarts. “Don’t matter. You gotta get your ass outta here.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Not a discussion. Get dressed, get out. Do it quick. Do it quiet. Just go.”

  She huffed.

  “Takin’ a fuckin’ shower. Be gone before I get out. Don’t steal shit. Don’t touch shit. Just go.”

  “Don’t you want my number?”

  He paused only a step away from his bathroom. Did he? No. He couldn’t remember how she was. She might have totally sucked and, if she did, he didn’t want to get stuck doing her again when he was sober.

  He learned that lesson before.

  A couple times.

  “All right... uh...” Fuck, he didn’t know her name. “You. See ya ‘round.” Thanks for the fucking memories. Or lack of them.

  She wasn’t moving. She sat there wearing nothing but a disappointed look.

  “Only gonna take me about five minutes to shower, so...” So, she needed to move this along.

  She smiled and perked up. “Oh, you want me to wait?”

  Damn it. “No. Stick to the original plan. Be gone before I get out.”

  Again, the fucking exaggerated lower lip pout. It wasn’t sexy, it was fucking annoying.

  He shook his head and went into the bathroom.

  Eight minutes later he stepped back out into his room. Once again, his heart skipped a beat.

  Instead of one blonde, another one stood in her place.

  “Jesus fuck,” he muttered.

  Reilly grinned and didn’t even blush as she raked her eyes over his damp, naked body.

  Fuck it, if she didn’t care, he didn’t, either.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she had the nerve to ask.

  “How’d you get here?” She didn’t have her own cage and she’d been living temporarily at The Grove Inn. She certainly didn’t hoof it there on foot.

  She shrugged. “Ozzy.”

  “Why the fuck would Ozzy bring you here?”

  “Because you never showed up to get me this morning.”

  Damn, it had been his morning to pick Reilly up from the motel and take her to work. They needed to get her a damn cage. And soon.

  But she couldn’t afford one yet and the stubborn woman was determined to do everything on her own. And right now, she was saving up for first and last month’s rent on an apartment, along with a security deposit.

  “So, why the fuck didn’t you get Ozzy to drop you off at the garage?”

  “He did. But as soon as I got there, Dutch was on a damn rampage and told me to find your ass... or else.” She growled the last part in a deep voice, but not even coming close to just how grumpy his father could sound.

  Jesus Christ.

  She grinned. “You were pretty fucked up last night.”

  He didn’t need that reminder. His pounding head was a constant one. “Figured that out.”

  “Your head hurt?”

  “No,” he lied.

  “I would have a wicked hangover if I was in your shoes.”

  “You don’t wear my fuckin’ shoes. You just gonna stand there while I get dressed?”

  “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  He shook his head. Whatever. He dug through the piles of clothes thrown on the floor and draped over his dresser, and everywhere else, to find a half-decent pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Not that it mattered if they were clean, they would end up with grease on them by the end of the day, anyway.

  Deacon’s ol’ lady’s sister leaned back against the closed door as he dressed. She had her arms crossed over her chest, which pushed up her tits nicely, and a grin on her face as she watched his every move.

  She was hot as fuck, but he also wasn’t stupid.

  Not always, anyway. Sometimes his decisions could be questionable.

  Even so, both Judge and Deacon had given the “hands off” rule when it came to Reese’s younger sister.

  So far, so good.

  And he wasn’t going to be the first to break that rule.

  Fuck no.

  He lifted his head when he finished buckling his belt. “Where’d she go?”

  “I pointed her toward the back door. She was cute. A little dumb, though.”

  “Musta fucked her brains out.”

  Reilly rolled her big green, doesn’t-miss-a-thing eyes. “Sure you did.”

  Cage turned in a circle, searching for his cut. He followed where Reilly pointed and jerked his chin up in thanks.

  “Do you even remember anything?”

  “Sure. Best fuck I’ve had in a while.”

  “Huh. Is that right? What’s her name?”

  Fuck. “Tonya.”

  Reilly laughed. “No, it wasn’t.”

  He shrugged on his cut and made sure the keys to his ’75 Shovelhead were still tucked in the inner pocket. “Yeah? What was it?”

  “Not Tonya.”

  Reilly was known to meddle, but still... “Why would you even ask her?”

  “I didn’t.” She held out her hand. In it was a piece of scrap paper.

  “Fuck, that her number?”

  Reilly nodded with a grin. “And her name. Should we make a bet on how many times it would take you to get it right?”

  “Nope. Let’s go. Dutch is gonna be up my ass.” Cage ignored the paper when Reilly tossed it on his bed.

  “Oh yeah. He’s already on a roll, grumping and growling. Everybody’s cursing you out for getting him all worked up.”

  “Great,” he mutter
ed under his breath. “Where’s Oz?”

  “Probably in the kitchen. He said he’s making himself a big greasy breakfast this morning to soak up some of last night’s booze.”

  “I could go for one of those, too.” Hint, hint.

  “You’re getting a stale donut leftover from Friday, along with a Dutch-sized boot up your ass.”

  Fuck.

  Reilly stepped up to him, reached into the opening of his cut and patted his gut. “I’ll make you a strong pot of coffee when we get there.”

  “Then what the fuck we waitin’ for?”

  She grabbed his cheeks between her fingers and squeezed them together, giving him duck lips. “You’re so cute,” she teased with a laugh. She released his face and walked out the door.

  Cage followed.

  “Cage...” she threw over her shoulder as she headed toward the rear exit.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to know... Are you a show-er or a grower?”

  A snort came from his left. He spotted one of their newer prospects, Tater Tot, standing just inside the prospect’s bunkroom.

  Cage stopped in his tracks and shot him a searing look. “You supposed to be in here right now? Don’t you got somewhere to be?”

  The chunky nineteen-year-old’s eyes went wide. “Don’t gotta be at Pete’s ‘til one.”

  “Don’t give a fuck where you gotta be at one. Where you gotta be now?”

  Tater’s mouth dropped open and he stuttered, “I... I...”

  “I got a room full of dirty fuckin’ laundry. You got ‘til you go to Pete’s to get it all fuckin’ washed, dried and put the fuck away. You get me?”

  The kid’s Adam’s apple jumped. “Yeah.”

  “I find you missed one thing—a sock under my bed, a pair of boxers in my bathroom, one of Reilly’s cum-stained thongs hidden in my sheets—gonna find somethin’ even shittier for you to do.”

  Tater stood frozen in place.

  “Go!” Cage roared.

  The prospect jerked, then lumbered past him and down the hall to Cage’s room.

  He sliced his gaze from Tater back to Reilly who was waiting by the back door, appearing amused.

  “My cum-stained thong?”

  “Was told I couldn’t touch you. Never was told I couldn’t fantasize.” He grinned, stuck out his tongue at her and jerked his hand up and down in the air like he was whacking off.