Unattainable Read online

  “He can’t hurt me anymore,” she continued. “And if you’re not ready for this—”

  “No,” he growled, shaking her grip off him and grabbing her shoulders. “We’re not out of the woods yet. People are fuckin’ talkin’ ’round town. His family’s got money. They keep diggin’, who knows what they’ll find out.”

  Ellie pressed her lips together and averted her eyes. She knew he was full of shit. She knew that there was no way anyone was ever going to figure out what had really happened to the good chief of police. Not that there was anything left to find.

  “You’re not ready,” she said softly, backing away from him. “And that’s okay.”

  Suddenly, Dirty found himself really motherfucking pissed off. Was she fucking scared of him? Was she trying to back out of moving in together? Had this whole thing just been some sort of ploy to get him to break it off because she was scared of what he would do to her if she tried to break it off?

  Not that he blamed her. What good woman, or any woman with half a brain, would want to end up with him? He couldn’t even fuck her properly.

  “Fuckin’ leave then!” he shouted, kicking her box of books and sending it sliding across the floor. Books flew from the tipped box and ended up scattered across his living room, which only served to piss him off even more.

  When she didn’t as much as flinch at his outburst, he grew even angrier. “Get the fuck out, Ellie!” he yelled. “I know that’s what you’re wantin’, so fuckin’ get!”

  “That’s not what I want,” she said, staring directly into his eyes, her expression serious. “So stop acting like this.”

  Why the fuck was she so fucking calm? He was freaking the fuck out and here she was a picture of cool and collected. That wasn’t fucking fair! Why couldn’t he be normal too? Why couldn’t he be the sort of man, a normal one, a good one, one who deserved to have a woman like this moving in with him, sharing his bed, giving him all sorts of shit he didn’t deserve and never fucking would?

  “Get out!” he yelled, sounding every bit as hysterical as he was feeling. He advanced on her, towering over her, and bore down into her personal space. “Did you fuckin’ hear me? I said get the fuck out!”

  She didn’t even blink.

  “GET OUT!” he roared.

  Ellie spun away from him and immediately bent down, reaching for her box. Dirty stood there, shaking, watching as she hurriedly began picking up her books and tossing them into the box. When she was finished, without looking at him, she brushed quickly past him, headed for the door.

  No.

  He didn’t want this…but he did want this.

  He didn’t know…

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, sending his clenched fists into his forehead. “Fuck! Ellie, wait!”

  Ellie stopped walking but didn’t turn around and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m just, I don’t know, I don’t fuckin’ know, everything is—”

  The box fell from Ellie’s hands with a loud thud and then she spun around. Before Dirty had any real time to process what she was doing, she was halfway across the room, unbuttoning her shirt as she stalked toward him.

  By the time she reached him, she’d lost her shirt and was in the process of unhooking her bra. Standing in front of him, she tossed the black lace aside and went to work on her black dress pants.

  “Sit down,” she ordered as she stepped out of her pants. Her underwear was next and then she was standing before him, naked. He took his time looking down the full length of her, feeling all sorts of ugly thoughts rear up inside of him, mixed in between how beautiful he thought she was, and how desperately he wished he could be with her the way a man was supposed to be with a woman, before meeting her eyes once again.

  “Michael,” she said forcefully. “Sit down on the damn couch!”

  He didn’t know what she was doing, but he didn’t want her to leave, so he backed away from her slowly until his legs hit the couch. Once he sat down, he looked up at her. Now what?

  Now what became suddenly clear when she followed him over and bent down in front of him. Dirty went stiff as her hands reached for his leathers and he fought the urge to slap her away.

  “You want me to fuck you,” he said, clenching his teeth. “You coulda just said so.”

  Ellie yanked down his zipper. “I don’t want you to fuck me,” she said, sounding angry. Freeing his cock from his boxers, she grabbed hold of him. “I want to fuck you.”

  Dirty’s chest heaved hard as fear exploded inside of him. His hands flew to his sides and his fingers dug into the couch cushions. He was getting hard, he didn’t want to be, he would have given anything to cut his own dick off, yet still he was growing harder in her grip.

  “What…the…fuck…are…you…doin’,” he said, sounding breathless as if he’d just run a marathon. She knew he couldn’t play it this way, she fucking knew.

  He did not want to hurt her. He did not want to hurt his Ellie.

  Ellie ignored him as she straddled him. He gripped tighter to the couch cushions and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t do this,” he gritted out and then, rather weakly added, “Please.”

  But she didn’t stop and once he felt her positioning him at her entrance, he knew she wasn’t going to stop and suddenly it wasn’t just fear that was red-hot, pulsing wildly through him, but it was pain, and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think straight.

  “Look at me,” Ellie demanded and when he didn’t, she repeated, “Michael, look at me.”

  His jaw locked, his body strung tight, he opened his eyes and tried to focus on her.

  “I am not going to hurt you,” she said forcefully.

  His vision swam. He needed her off him. Away from him. He needed her to stop fucking touching him.

  “Michael!” she yelled. “I’m not going to hurt you! I am not her!”

  No. No, no, no, no. That’s what she always told him, that she wasn’t going to hurt him. She promised every time, swore she wouldn’t hurt him, and then she did. She always, always did, she hurt him over and over again until he was crying and screaming and begging her to stop and she never did.

  Dirty let out a ragged gasp as Ellie pushed down and he slid slowly inside of her. He was going to kill her; he didn’t want to, but he was going to. He was going to let go of this fucking couch, wrap his hands around her neck, and wring the fucking life from her. He just had to let go of the couch.

  “Michael,” he heard her say, her voice soft. “Please look at me and let me show you what love is.”

  Air shuddered from his lungs in loud, noisy spurts.

  Love.

  She had never shown him love.

  Ellie wasn’t her.

  Ellie was not her.

  Ellie was…love.

  Not her.

  Love.

  Dirty tried again to focus on her and when he did, when he really, truly looked at the big blue eyes looking back at him, it was what he didn’t see that startled him back into awareness.

  He didn’t see lust. Or need. He didn’t see the hungry gaze of a madwoman. He saw not one trace of pleasure being derived from his pain.

  All he saw was Ellie. His Ellie. With tears in her eyes.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said. “I’m going to unpack my books and put every single one of them on your empty shelves. I’m going to unpack my clothes and hang them up inside your empty closet. I’m going to fill up your refrigerator with food and your cupboards with dishes and your bathroom with feminine products and I’m going to buy pretty-smelling candles and colorful sheets and curtains and I’m definitely buying a carpet for this big ugly bare room…and I’m going to make you breakfasts and dinners and I’m going to force you to watch stupid movies with me and I’m going to cry and yell once a month for no good reason and I’m going to sleep next to you every night and wake up beside you every morning but most of all, Michael, I’m going to love you. I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to de
al with that, the fact that I need to love you. Because I’m not going to stop, not ever. You did this, you made me love you by just being you and, all my life, everything I’ve ever wanted, I worked hard to get it, and now I want you and I want you to love me and want you to want to be loved in return. Do you understand? I want to love you, not hurt you, not ever hurt you.”

  He was shaking now, not out of fear but because he was crying. Because everything she’d just said had been everything he’d always wanted to hear, he just hadn’t realized it. Not until right now.

  “Are you going to let me love you?” she whispered.

  He swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak; if he tried, he would just end up sobbing, so he nodded instead and Ellie’s beautiful face, her eyes, her mouth, smiled at him in return.

  • • •

  Lying atop Dirty, Ellie traced the lines of his face. He looked so different when he was sleeping. Peaceful, not tormented. She would give anything to see him look that way while awake. Anything.

  He was like a child in so many ways. Everything was new to him and so she’d gone out on a limb, hoping and praying it wouldn’t backfire, and took control much in the way a parent would an out-of-control child. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but while she was trying to save Dirty from himself, by taking control, she’d inadvertently taken back a little piece of what she’d lost at the hands of Daniel.

  Kissing his lips softly, so as not to wake him, Ellie climbed off the couch and bent down to retrieve her clothes. As she dressed, she surveyed the apartment, full of her boxes waiting to be unpacked, and shook her head.

  This wasn’t at all how she’d thought her life would go.

  Not even close.

  But she wouldn’t change a thing.

  Not one damn thing.

  She’d fallen so deep into his world, into him, that when he was hurting she felt that, deeply. She wasn’t even sure anymore where she began and he ended and to be honest, she didn’t want it any other way.

  Dressed, she ventured into the bedroom to retrieve her phone from her purse and dialed her voice mail.

  The first two were from work and the third…

  Ellie, it’s Dad. Mom’s been taken to the hospital. Honey…it’s not good. You need to get here as soon as possible.

  Grabbing her purse, Ellie rushed from the bedroom.

  “Michael!” she cried and he shot up from the couch, his eyes wild.

  “What?” he yelled.

  She shook her head frantically. “My mom,” she said, her eyes filling. “She’s…I’ve got to go. She’s at the hospital.”

  Dirty was up on his feet and zipping up his pants as he crossed the room. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward the door.

  “Shoes,” he said, pointing to her flats as he snatched his keys off the end table.

  Ellie hurried into her flats and then Dirty yanked her out of the apartment and into the hallway.

  They climbed on his bike together, Ellie wrapped her body tightly around his, and then they shot off down the street.

  • • •

  Later, much later, after her mother had passed away, after she’d spent months grieving her loss, after she and Dirty had bought a house up in the mountains together, and after he’d surprised her with her very own motorcycle, a bike he’d built from the ground up, specifically for her, and after he’d finally felt comfortable enough to tell her he loved her…

  Ellie would think back on that moment and remember that Dirty hadn’t so much as flinched when she’d touched him.

  In fact, he’d never shied away from her touch again.

  Not once, from that day forward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  As he exited the hospital elevator, Cage paused to lean up against the cool wall. He felt like a steaming pile of dog shit that hadn’t just been shit out and left behind to rot away, but had been lapped up by the same dog that had shit him out and then regurgitated. A few times over.

  He hadn’t slept in days, he couldn’t eat without it coming right back up, he couldn’t even stay hard long enough to fuck his woman, and he was jonesing for a high something fierce. His heart was racing, his skin clammy, his body sluggish, he felt cold when he was sweating and crazy when he should feel happy. He needed something. Some blow, some pills, fucking anything at all. But he’d promised Tegen no more drugs and, to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t thought quitting the shit was going to be a problem until he’d sobered up and immediately wanted to be fucked-up again.

  He’d tried hitting the bottle to take the edge off and all that did was get his ass kicked by Tegen. Not because he was drinking but because drinking had done nothing but worsen the cravings for something more. As well as cause him to think something more would be a really great idea, so he’d relapsed. Twice.

  Which in turn caused Tegen to take his keys away, smash his cell phone to bits, and slap him in the face a few times.

  It was fucking official. He was a goddamn junkie.

  So yeah, it was a problem.

  And because of all that bullshit, because he couldn’t trust his temper, he’d been putting off an important conversation that needed to be had.

  With his motherfucking old man.

  His old man who’d not only fucked with Cage’s life, but had almost ended his own life because he was a stubborn old bastard with a bad temper who was so busy worrying about everyone else he hadn’t been taking care of himself.

  “Cage?”

  Cage lifted his head just enough to see Tegen standing beside him, her green eyes filled with concern. “Are you going to puke again?”

  Yes. Yes, he was.

  He tried to glare at her. “No,” he bit out. “And stop treatin’ me like a little fuckin’ girl.”

  “Stop acting like one,” she snapped.

  “You treat all sick people like fuckin’ shit?” he muttered. “Or just me?”

  “I’ll admit,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm, “that my bedside manner leaves much to be desired, but you, you fucker, are not sick. You are cracked out, tweaking, wishing you were high. There is a fucking difference and if you don’t stop looking like you’re plotting ways to lose me and run straight to your friendly neighborhood drug dealer slash underage hooker extraordinaire, I’m packing up my shit and going back to California.”

  “She isn’t underage,” he hissed.

  “Out of everything I just said!” she yelled, making him wince. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

  Shaking his head, he stood up straight and turned toward her. “I’m not havin’ this conversation again. Not inside a fuckin’ hospital, not when I’m about to go see my old man laid up in bed because he almost fuckin’ died less than fifty fuckin’ feet from me and I was too fucked-up to even know it was happenin’. Not fuckin’ now, Tegen.”

  “Cage,” she shot back. “You’re stalling. Put on your big girl panties, stop acting like a little bitch, and get in that room and talk to your father. Otherwise, we are going back home and you are going back to bed, where you should be anyway!”

  He wanted to yell at her. Fuck, he wanted to knock her out for talking to him the way she did. But instead of yelling at her or adding “beating on women” to his list of wrongdoings, he smiled at her.

  Home. She’d called his house “home.”

  If he didn’t feel like at any moment he was going to lose what little bile remained inside of his stomach, he would have grabbed her, thrown her up against the wall, and tongue-fucked her mouth until she goddamn choked on her bad attitude.

  Fuck, he loved her. He fucking loved the shit out of her.

  She was crazy. She was loud and demanding and meaner than hell sometimes. She didn’t listen to a damn thing he said, she did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it, and the bitch loved to fight. All the damn time. Face slapping, shin kicking, balls to the wall, knock-down-and-drag-out fights.

  But she fought like she loved. Hard. And he hadn’t ever been loved like this; he knew he wouldn’t e
ver be loved like this by anyone else.

  She was his. She’d always been his, and if he’d taken half a second to look up from all that pussy he’d been eating, he would have realized way back when that he was hers. Always had been.

  “Why are you smiling?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes. “Are you high? Did you get high while I was in the bathroom?”

  His smile fell. “Shut up,” he muttered, turning away from her. “For two motherfuckin’ seconds.”

  She was suddenly in front of him, sliding her arms up around his shoulders and pressing her body up against his.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his. “I’m just worried about you.”

  Taking his bottom lip between her teeth, she sucked it inside her mouth and then darted her tongue in between his parted lips. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her small waist, took an ass cheek in each of his hands and, despite how sick he felt, kissed her hard.

  “Let’s go home,” he growled softly against her mouth. “I need inside of you.”

  Beautiful green eyes, full of need and dancing with laughter, blinked up at him.

  “You need to talk to him,” she said, giggling. “You haven’t seen him since…before…”

  She stopped talking and grabbed him, held him close, and hugged him tight. “You need to talk to him, Cage,” she whispered. “Then we’ll go home.”

  Yeah. He needed to talk to his old man. Only problem was, what the fuck was he supposed to say to a man who’d just had a massive heart attack? He couldn’t flip the fuck out like he wanted to, accuse him of destroying his relationship with the only woman who’d ever given a fuck about him…when it may very well throw the bastard into another heart attack.

  Yeah, he might hate his old man, but he didn’t want him to die. Because maybe he still loved him too. Just a little.

  The elevator doors beside them dinged and Ellie, her face streaked with tears, ran out into the hallway, Dirty following closely behind her.