UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8), Hayley Faiman [good books to read for women txt] 📗

my chin and turn from him, walking into the bar, then slipping down the hall to send a text to Dragon.

THEY ARE RUNNING SCARED. KNOW YOU’RE COMING.

DRAGON: STALL WE’RE ALMOST THERE.

Fuck.

Stall.

How in the fuck do I stall even more?

Making my way into the bar, I cringe as Pamela is being dragged from the basement to the bar. I watch as she is stripped down to nothing and hoisted onto the table before she’s strapped down.

I have to adjust my dick, not because I like the idea of her being raped, but because being strapped down like that looks an awful lot like the women at the Savage Beast club who are getting ready to be branded. Pamela would look hot as fuck with a brand on her body.

Looking around the hall, I bite the inside of my cheek and try to think of a way to stall. What the fuck am I going to do? I have to try and figure this out. If I don’t, I’ll lose my chance of ever going back home, of ever being a Beast again.

And Pamela will be fucked up for life. Not that she already isn’t, but this will be irreparable damage. The men start to line up, and unlike the last time, they’ve already started undoing their pants, palming their dicks in anticipation.

I stand in the back of the room, trying to look like I’m in line, but in reality, I’m trying not to puke everywhere when Riot appears.

“Men, this is going to be quick. We have to get the fuck out of here and fast. Intel says that the Beasts will be here by end of day. I have been waiting for this moment for almost eighteen years. We’re going to celebrate early. We deserve this, we’ve earned it and we’re going to take it because tomorrow isn’t promised,” he shouts.

My heart starts slamming against my chest, sweat gathers at the small of my back. I don’t know how in the fuck I’m going to get her out of this without getting both of us killed. Riot Turns away from the group and walks away with the promise to return shortly, claiming he needs to load up one more batch of guns before they get started.

The men around me seem as though they can’t wait for him to come back, they are fucking drooling at the sight of her. Slipping my hand in the back waistband of my jeans, I tug out my gun, palming it in my hand as I try to think of a way to get both me and Pammy out of here alive.

Fuck it.

Riot isn’t here, these fucks literally have their pants down, they won’t be able to get to their pieces in time. Walking around the room, I make my way over to Pamela. She’s whimpering, crying as quietly as possible, her body jerking with sobs in her restraints.

Lifting my gun, I point it directly at the men in front of me, right before the door bursts open. The sound of gunshots fills the room. Unhooking Pamela from her restraints, I drag her to the floor and gather her in my arms, shielding her naked body from the flying bullets.

PAMELA

The three women in the cell across from mine huddle together. They’ve been huddled together for two weeks. I don’t know their deal, I don’t know who they are or where they’ve come from. I stopped talking to them about two minutes after I came down here.

Unlike me, they aren’t free to roam around the space. They are completely locked away in a gigantic cell-like prison cage. They are fed, though not as well as me, and they are watered, though they shit in a bucket in the corner and I’ve yet to see them shower.

I want to help them, but I don’t know how.

Two men appear and I blink at the sight of them. They look even crueler than usual, and that cruelty is focused on me and nowhere else. I gulp, unsure of what is happening, but knowing that it’s not anything good.

“You’re up, baby girl. Time to earn your place here,” one of them sneers.

I don’t bother saying a single word in retaliation. Their meaty hands grab for me, each one of them gripping one of my biceps before jerking me up to standing. I walk with them, even though they’re half dragging me up the stairs and to the bar.

My eyes widen at the sight of the men standing in line. I don’t even realize they’re tearing my clothes off until they’re mostly in shreds. I gasp and open my mouth, but one of them growls and it shuts me up completely.

“It’s your turn, bitch. We’ve earned it,” one of them says, repeating his words from just a few moments ago.

I’m lifted up and practically thrown onto a table, I have no clue what is going on or why. I had two more weeks, two more weeks before this was supposed to happen. I don’t know why things have changed, but I’m not eighteen, I was safe for two more weeks—at least I thought that I was.

Their hands are all over me, but they don’t touch my breasts or my center, when they take a step back, I try to lift my arms or legs and I realize that they were strapping me down. I whimper, my eyes filling with tears.

My entire body trembles as tears fall down the sides of my eyes. I can’t stop myself from sobbing, even though I really don’t want to. I feel so weak, I should be stronger, but I’m not. You would think after knowing this was coming, after being warned for years, that I would be numb to all of this—I’m not.

Then, something happens. The air around me shifts right before light pours in from the doorway and loud popping sounds ring out. I feel the straps being loosened, then I’m shifted from the table to someone’s lap.

“You’re okay,” a deep voice rasps.

Looking up,