Cyrus (The Henchmen MC Book 9)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Good. I'm happy for you. I hope you can someday deign to deserve her."

  With that, he walked away, leaving me smiling still.

  Leave it to Reeve to tell me he was happy for me, then follow it right up with a ribbing.

  That being said, he was right.

  I did hope to deserve her.

  I didn't.

  I still recognized that. I had no right to put my hands on her. I had no right to let my fingerprints mark her perfect, beautiful life. But I apparently did not have as much willpower as I had been thinking I did. So, while I was going to put my hands on her. Often. Thoroughly. Until I knew every single inch. I was going to work at it. Work at deserving her. Work at being the kind of man she deserved to have in her life.

  "I know that fuckin' look," Reign declared as he moved up beside me, giving me a somewhat bemused smirk that made the skin next to his green eyes crinkle up. "This friend of yours isn't just a friend. You fucking kids are dropping like goddamn flies," he said with a chuckle. "At least in your and Pagan's cases, you had enough debauchery all through your twenties to last a lifetime. She didn't get marked up tonight, did she?"

  That was Reign.

  Hardass outlaw MC leader, killer of more men than I would ever know about, but also a big ole softie when it came to women.

  "Shaken up. She's not like Lo, Janie, Maze, and Mina. She's..."

  "Softer," Reign finished for me, nodding, knowing the type because he was married to it. "New?"

  "Ah... tonight it became more than friends."

  "Yeah, and she's not running screaming after getting almost gunned down?" he asked, brow quirked up. "Might not be an awful idea to take off with her for a long weekend," he offered. "You know, so she doesn't drop your ass over this shit."

  With that, he was gone.

  And me, well, I had all the permission I needed.

  I had some planning to do.

  Because my ass was going to show Reese a little bit more of the world.

  She wasn't getting away from me.

  ELEVEN

  Reese

  "Um, what?" I asked, slow-blinking at Cyrus who was standing at my door at six in the morning, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-bearded.

  I repeat.

  Six in the morning.

  Before I got any coffee in me.

  Before I got to shower.

  Before I was even supposed to be awake.

  I had thought I had heard the buzzer for the main door, but had just tossed and turned through it. But, I realized, as the pounding started outside my door, jostling me awake with a speeding heart, whoever it was had found another way in.

  At six in the morning, I couldn't imagine it being anyone other than maybe my mother. She was always a morning person. The freak.

  So I ran a hand through my hair, which likely just mussed it up all the more, and stumbled through my apartment toward the door, wiping sleep out of my eyes as I unlocked in a zombie-like state.

  But it wasn't my mom.

  Nope.

  I wasn't that lucky.

  It was one thing for your mom or sister to see you at six AM, sans makeup, eyelashes all stuck together, wearing a tee with no bra, and a pair of pajama pants with pigs all over them, crazy hair, and morning breath.

  It was a complete other for the guy you had just started dating to see that. Literally eight hours after you started dating.

  He had done a once-over, coming back smiling, eyes all crinkly and perfect in his stupid flawless face, amused at my morning-ugly.

  But I forgot all of that when he opened his mouth.

  "Pack a bag, angel."

  Hence the um, what?

  Because... um, what?

  He reached into his pocket, pulling out two small rectangular pieces of paper with all kinds of small print on them, a bar code and... no way.

  My eyes shot up to find him watching me, smile huge.

  "Bookjam?" I whisper-hissed.

  He had two tickets to Bookjam?

  It was impossible to get tickets to Bookjam, unless you sat at your computer when the tickets went up for sale. It was the equivalent for bookworms as Comic Con. It was huge. All the best authors were there, indie and traditional. And the swag. Oh, my God, the swag.

  I mean, not that I knew from experience. I had tried the past two years to get tickets, but had never been able to. But I had trolled the social media posts about it. And, yeah, I could go broke at the merch stands.

  "You mentioned it, I don't know, fifty-six thousand times," he said, waving the tickets at me. "And I found these bad boys on eBay. Don't worry," he said as I snatched them away. "They're legit. I called to make sure."

  I knew what they went for on eBay.

  And he had already spent way, way too much on trying to please me.

  "You can't say no," he said, seeming to pick up on my train of thought. "I already called Pinch-Face Barb and told her. She was excited for you to bring back new books." At my brow raise, he laughed. "Okay, so she said it was ridiculously short notice, and a huge inconvenience. But fuck her. It's her inconvenience. You're going to Bookjam. So pack a bag."

  "Wait... this is tomorrow," I said, my brain not seeming able to compute things as quickly as it usually did.

  "Yes, it is. In the city. And there is a train out of here in two hours which will put us in the city just in time for check-in."

  "Check-in?" I asked, brows drawing together.

  To that, Cy chuckled, touching me under my chin. "Sounds like someone needs some coffee," he declared, moving to step forward.

  And because of my aforementioned morning-ugly and morning-breath, I backed up twice as far as I needed to. "I, ah, yeah, it's early."

  "You go do your morning thing. I'll make coffee and feed the fish."

  And, well, yeah, I needed to do my morning thing. Like bathe. And brush my teeth. And get somewhat pretty.

  I rushed through the process, almost painfully aware someone was waiting on me, and hated keeping people waiting. My hair was still wet as I came out of my room in black leggings, a Bronte tee, and an oversized, long sweater.

  "This stuff smells lethal," Cyrus declared as I walked into my kitchen, waving my bottle of blueberry syrup at me.

  "It's organic," I insisted. "And I only use one pump."

  Or, you know, two when I was having a bad morning.

  With that, he put one pump in a fresh cup which he held out to me with a smile. "What?"

  "Even your mugs are bookish."

  Okay, so maybe I totally got the mug set from Penguin Books. You know, the ones with the colors and the names of classic books.

  I was a darn dedicated bookworm!

  "Oh, and I found this under the fish tank where you store fish food," he said, producing a small mass market paperback that had come in one of my subscription book boxes. It was over the top cheesy, and, unfortunately, not in the good way. Hence how it could sit there forgotten, and not get devoured.

  "He called her 'lovebug,' and said he would die without her," I informed him with a lip curl as I took the book and put it down on the counter. I had a strong feeling it was going to go in my rare DNF pile.

  My general rule was, if I bought it, I read it.

  But sappy wasn't my cuppa tea.

  Real men didn't talk mushy.

  Case closed.

  And I refused fiction that didn't at least get the characterization realistic.

  Cy snorted at that too. "He'd live just fine without her. He'd drown it in whiskey and pussy, and move on."

  "Right!" I declared, happy he got it. I had gotten into more than a few online arguments about sappy heroes.

  "Like when jock assholes are with their buddies claiming they 'destroyed that pussy,'" he commented, making my face heat slightly. It had been a while; I forgot how, ah, easily Cy used phrases like that. "You didn't destroy shit, man. She's fine. She's home, probably a little disappointed, but she's gonna bounce back."

  I laughed at that, the smile so big that my
cheeks hurt.

  "Missed that fucking smile," he said casually, making my belly do the flutter thing again. "So, now you got some caffeine in your system. Your brain finally working again? Can we talk about Bookjam without your head exploding now?"

  "I think I can manage that," I agreed, but my head was actually kind of still spinning at the idea.

  I mean, he was taking me to Bookjam?

  In the city?

  After only, technically, dating for half a day?

  Who did that?

  "Good. Like I said, we have a train leaving in an hour and a half now. Which should put us in the city around ten or so."

  "But... no hotel does check-in that early," I objected. I knew this more from books than, ah, real life. In fact, I had never stayed in a hotel in my life. I was kind of super excited about it.

  "They do if you reserve the night before, and call them to tell them. I ironed out all the kinks, angel. You just have to tag along, and enjoy."

  Enjoy.

  Yeah, I was pretty sure that wouldn't be a problem.

  "So this fish," he said after a moment.

  "What about him?"

  "I'm assuming he needs to eat every day."

  "Oh! Right." Geez. I almost forgot all about poor Knightley in my excitement. I, ah, hadn't exactly made friends with any of my neighbors, so that only left my mother, Paine, Elsie, or my sister. My mom and Paine were still in the dark. So was Elsie, though I could tell her. I just didn't want to put her in that position.

  But telling Kenz, though she already knew about him in general, meant enduring about one-thousand texts while I was in the city. All in varying degrees of teasing explicitness.

  Oh well.

  I had to do what I had to do.

  "I will ask Kenzi to drop in to feed him. I will probably come back to my clothes all in a Goodwill bin, but..."

  He laughed at that. "What's wrong with your clothes?"

  I wanted to tell him about her comment about my grandma sweaters being 'cock kryptonite,' but I couldn't quite seem to force those words out.

  "Come on, with a look like that on your face, now you have to tell me. And I'm not above using torture methods."

  Torture.

  Yeah, about the third time we went out, he had accidentally figured out that I was ridiculously ticklish. And when he wanted something out of me, he used that knowledge shamelessly.

  "She has an issue with my 'grandma sweaters,'" I hedged.

  "What kinda issue?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself.

  Oh, God.

  I was pretty sure I had never used the word 'cock' out loud before, let alone around a guy I was dating.

  But I didn't want to almost pee myself through a tickle session either.

  "They're, apparently, cock kryptonite," I informed him, words coming out too fast, almost tripping over each other.

  There was a long pause before Cyrus threw his head back and laughed.

  "Cock kryptonite, huh?" he asked, giving me a smile. "Well, I appear to be immune. Your grandma sweaters have big pockets for you to store books in."

  I totally did do that when the book was pocket-sized.

  He got me.

  I wasn't sure if anyone had ever truly gotten me before.

  People knew me, sure. Like my family. They knew my habits and quirks. But no one seemed to understand me.

  Cyrus did.

  "Exactly," I agreed.

  "So, you're going to need to pack about... four of them in your bag," he concluded.

  "Four sweaters for a day? I don't... what?" I asked when he gave me another keen smile.

  "We're going for a long weekend."

  "Wait... what?"

  "We'll go up today, explore a little, then do Bookjam tomorrow, and then checkout is Sunday morning, so we can head back then."

  A whole long weekend in the city with Cyrus?

  In a hotel room?

  Oh.

  In, um, the same bed?

  "What's the matter?" he asked, always seeming to read me far too easily.

  "Nothing. I was just thinking. We'll be back by like two on Sunday right?" I asked, trying to cover my discomfort with a change in topic.

  "Don't worry, I'll have you home before the Wrath of Kenzi befalls you."

  I had maybe gone off one late Sunday night when we met for coffee after a particularly stressful cooking session with my sister.

  The monster actually took my book and hid it so I couldn't sneak off to read.

  "Okay, good."

  There was another pause, and Cyrus clinked my mug with his. "Guess that hasn't kicked in fully, huh?

  "What?"

  "You gotta pack, angel. Chop chop."

  I laughed, shaking my head as I moved down the hall.

  I noticed about five feet down that he was following me.

  "What?" he asked innocently, tucking his hands into his front pockets, making his shoulders hunch forward slightly. "I didn't get a tour."

  And the apartment was in no shape for one either. But there was no stopping him, I was sure, with an argument as weak as that one.

  So we passed Kenzi's old room, the walls still as she left them. Except now there were a ton of Ikea bookshelves lining them, and a big, old, lumpy, amazingly hideous burgundy couch that had been around since I was a little kid. My mom was ready to throw the old thing - that she had been keeping in her spare room - away when I intercepted it and saved it. I spent way too many hours laying in various positions, falling in love, having adventures, seeing new worlds on that couch for it to end up in a trash heap.

  So what if the cushion was dented in the very center and the wood part would dig into your butt? Who sat directly in the middle of a couch anyway?

  "Damn, there must be ten grand worth of books in here."

  "Um..."

  He turned to me, brow raised. "More?"

  "More than double that. Average eight a book. There are about three thousand books here."

  "Christ. Fuck the jewelry; raid the library."

  "Don't even joke about them getting stolen," I gasped in mock-horror, clutching a hand to my chest.

  "Don't worry, with all those locks, I think your paperbacks are safe," he said, putting an arm over my shoulders as I moved back into the hall toward my bedroom.

  There was an odd surge of insecurity as we stepped into my bedroom with its mellow light yellow walls, my full-sized bed with its white lacey comforter, my nightstands piled with books I was currently reading, or planned to read next, my small white desk near my closet, facing the wall, with piles of paperwork for the library, bills, and three coffee cups I had somehow forgotten to clean up.

  "This is very you," Cyrus declared, making me even more self-conscious. What did that even mean? "It's very, I don't know, soft-looking. Like you," he added, bumping my hip before moving to sit off the end of my bed.

  Soft?

  Soft... how?

  Soft as in, like sweet?

  Or soft as in I could use to lose a few pounds?

  I mean, I could, that was for sure.

  But that would be a pretty crummy thing to say to me.

  "Ree," Cy's voice called. When my head shot up, his chin ducked a little. "What'd I say?"

  "That I'm soft," I answered without thinking.

  "And you're taking that as a bad thing... oh, get the fuck out of here," he said, smiling huge, somewhat inappropriately big given the circumstances. "First, you're the right amount of soft in your body, angel. Fucking perfect. Second, I would never comment on a woman's weight because that's about the biggest dick move you can pull. And third, if I had said something like that, your reaction should be to tell me to get the fuck out of your apartment, not worry if it was true."

  I knew he was right. I was even raised on that very same mentality. But where ideas like that really seemed to sink into Kenzi and take root, for me, there had always been a bit of a problem with my security regarding my appearance. No matter how badly I tried. And I had the self-help books and
browser history to prove it.

  "Alright, let's move on," he said, seeming to get that I wasn't ready to go over that kind of topic. "You have a bag, right?"

  I nodded at that, moving toward my closet to pull down a huge, old, hideous, but adorable floral piece of luggage I had asked my grandmother for when I was younger.

  I went immediately for my dresser, grabbing a few pairs of leggings, a few tees, and then tried to very discreetly throw in some undies and bras before moving to my closet to grab some sweaters, rolling them up so they didn't wrinkle.

  I could just wear the shoes I wore today for the other days. It was easy to pair anything up with a set of black ballet flats.

  I ran to the bathroom to throw a couple basic necessities into a plastic bag, then made my way back into my room.

  "Got an extra suitcase?" he asked, taking it from me after I zipped it.

  "I don't need one. This is all I need for a few days." That part should have been kinda obvious since it was only like a third full anyway.

  "Cute that you are so low maintenance, Ree. But I meant for the books. I'm assuming we'll need to rent a moving truck to store them all?"

  "You know me well," I said with a smile as I went to my closet to get a plain black duffle that actually managed to fit a lot. "Okay. I think that's it," I declared, unzipping the other suitcase to slip the duffle inside.

  "Nope."

  "What'd I forget?" I asked, looking around.

  "Good morning, Ree," he said oddly, making my gaze move to his face. "You forgot to say good morning."

  "Oh, um," I mumbled, shuffling my feet because this seemed incredibly awkward. "Good morning?"

  His lips twitched as he reached out to put his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. Pulling me until my legs pressed into his knees, then started pulling me downward. A little too dazed to pull away, I ended up on his lap.

  "This kinda good morning, baby," he declared a second before his lips went to mine.

  And, well, yeah.

  I stopped thinking for a good, long time.

  And I only started again when he pulled back, stroking his thumb over my swollen lower lip.

  "That's how we say good morning from now on."