Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC 5)

A few fucking someones. Including him.

Cage hissed and bit back a few whimpers as they made the slow, what seemed like endless, trek to one of the picnic tables under the pavilion.

Jemma must have been following because he heard her next command. “Sit him on top of one of the tables.” Once he was settled, she stepped in front of him and said softly, but firmly, “Leave us.”

“You good?” Rook asked him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Go.”

“Cut’s next to you.”

Without turning his head, he reached out and slid his fingertips over the familiar leather and patches, giving him a little bit of solace.

His brothers’ boots faded away as they headed toward the barn, but he kept his gaze locked on the woman who stood in front of him watching him with her arms crossed over her tits and her head tilted slightly.

She waited until no one was within hearing distance and whispered raspy words that weren’t meant to be sexy in any way, but it still affected him just the same.

“I remember you, Chris.”

Chapter Five

Jemma pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head, pulling her hair back from her face.

She’d only been five when the original club imploded. Chris had been eight. But, yes, she remembered him. The older Fury kids wouldn’t allow Chris or her to hang out with them. They were always pushed away and told to get lost. Even called babies.

To add insult to injury, Chris had wanted nothing to do with her.

But now? He needed her.

How shit had changed...

“You gonna hold a grudge about somethin’ that was nothin’?”

Jemma pursed her lips and stared at the beaten man before her. He sat on top of the table with his blood-spattered boots planted apart on the bench. “Nope. My brother just beat the living shit out of you. I’m thinking that’s enough karma right there.”

“He didn’t do it for you.”

“No, he didn’t.” She continued to study him. The boy had grown up to look like a man, but the beating proved he might not act like one. He had done something stupid and paid the price. “I figured you would have turned out a little smarter. Guess I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” he said in a low, rough voice. “You were wrong. Today proved it.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “It’s rare to hear a man admit he did something stupid.”

“Yeah? Well, got proof of bein’ stupid. Someone I can’t hide. She cries, shits and eats a lot. Gonna be hard to forget that mistake.”

Mistake.

The mistake had been made when he broke club rules, fucked one of the Amish and got her pregnant. She figured that was what he was calling a mistake, not the baby which resulted from his bad decision. Because if he was...

She decided to test her theory. “Why don’t you just give her up for adoption? You’re not obligated to raise her. She could have a better life elsewhere.” In fact, Jemma was sure the baby would have a better life somewhere else.

“Who says she’d end up with a better life?”

Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as she first thought. “Good point.”

“And anyway, she’s blood.”

Jemma barked out a laugh. “And since when has that meant anything?”

“Means somethin’ to me.”

His face might be busted up, but she could see the intensity in his eyes. Under the shade of the pavilion, she couldn’t tell exactly the color they were. If she remembered correctly, blue.

Even so, she remembered him. And his circumstances. Just like she was sure he remembered hers.

That week so long ago had been the worst for them all. No one—not one of them—survived without scars, visible or not.

“Because your mom left you?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

She sighed. “Let me take a closer look at you.”

“Don’t gotta.”

“You’re right,” she murmured, “I don’t.” She stepped closer to the table. “Take your shirt off.”

“Want my pants off, too?”

Typical cocky asshole. Oh, yes, please, drop your pants, stud. There’s nothing I’d like to see more than your fucking tiny dick. Thank you for being so generous. *giggle giggle*

“No. I want to check your ribs. I don’t give a shit if your legs are bruised up. I know nothing’s broken below the waist because you walked over here.”

“Barely.”

“Still, you don’t have anything major broken because you wouldn’t be sitting here calmly. Trust me.”

He only hesitated a second before he tried to pull up his shirt. With a loud groan and a curse.

With another sigh, she stepped between his bent knees and did it for him, slowly working the bloodied tee up his torso and over his head, careful not to catch his busted lip or nose.

“Idiot. Why would you let anyone do this to you?” She dropped his shirt onto the table and picked up one hand, inspecting it. She picked up the other and did the same. Not one bruised or split knuckle to be found. Not one. “And not even hit back.”