Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Her head jerked in my direction when I spoke.

  And I don't know what fucked me up more, the way her brilliant eyes went huge, or the way her lips formed a perfect O.

  Either way, fucked, that's what I was.

  She shook her head slightly, slinging her bag further up on her shoulder, making her spine stiffen. "Are you following me?"

  I chuckled at that, shrugging. "Possibly."

  "You get how creepy that is, right?"

  "Creepy? Walking a single woman to her car? What a fuckhead, huh?"

  Her brows drew together at that, likely torn because I had fed her two different realities in the course of two minutes. I wanted to keep her guessing, keep her on her toes. Because I had a feeling she was the type of woman who, when she thought too much, fucked up good things way too easily.

  Me fucking her until her throat was raw from screaming was definitely a good goddamn thing.

  "I'm walking," she said after a long second.

  "All the more reason for an escort then," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets, knowing full-well I was an intimidating guy, and figuring she would feel safer around me if I looked less threatening.

  "It's really not that fa..."

  "Damn, honey," a third voice joined the conversation, making her hand instinctively tighten, a movement I was observant enough to catch, noticing that her fingers were slipped into some self-defense keychain. Somehow, I was all the more intrigued knowing that she wasn't some braindead broad thinking she was bulletproof, and was aware that we lived in a town where genuine bad guys could be around any corner. And was ready to gouge their mother fucking eyes out.

  Yeah, I liked me a woman who was willing to blind a man for looking at her sideways.

  "Fuck off," I barked at the group of idiot twenty-something frat boys who were likely on their way to Chaz's after obviously doing a lot of pre-gaming.

  "Who the fuck is talking to you, biker dude?" The one who spoke to Kennedy first, obviously the most loud-mouthed of the group, asked. "I'm just saying... that ass, though. I got eyes; she got a body."

  "Move the fuck along before..."

  "Before what? You make me?"

  "Before I take those eyes from your useless fucking skull and use them for olives in her fucking drink, asshole."

  It was the tone more than the threat; I knew that. Threats were a dime a dozen. Men tended to be hot-headed. But the fact that I sounded like I meant it, because I fucking did, had him stiffening and moving back a step.

  "Come on," he said after swallowing hard, whacking his buddy in the chest, "let's get to the bar. She's hot, but she ain't that hot."

  They shuffled off and Kennedy's body noticeably relaxed, likely realizing that, had I not been there, she'd have had to deal with them on her own. And, given how drunk they all were, and that they were jackasses, that would likely not have gone well for her.

  "Fine, you can walk me home," she allowed, not looking at me, but watching the guys retreat. Then she turned away from me and started walking, leaving me to follow like some goddamn puppy.

  Which, for some reason, I did.

  "Anyone ever tell you the inside of your salon looks like a pussy?" What can I say, I wasn't great at the small talk thing.

  And those words didn't have the response I had maybe been expecting- shock or outrage. She did freeze mid-stride, half-turn back, then look at me for a long second before throwing her head back and laughing. Hard. Until her belly hurt. I knew that because she pressed her hand there sometime in the middle.

  Fuck if I didn't feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips too.

  "Benny tells me that almost daily."

  "Benny the gay guy working for you?"

  "That'd be him."

  "He had fake eyelashes and liner on, and he doesn't like pink?"

  "Benny is his own person that way. Alright, this is me," she announced, waving her hand to the side.

  I turned, finding a small ranch that couldn't have been more than two beds and one bath, slightly overgrown lawn, and looked like the entire thing hadn't seen an upgrade since the seventies.

  "This is where you live? Looks like some old geezer lives here."

  "He does," she surprised me by saying, releasing her fingers from the holes in her kitten keychain.

  "Sugar daddy, huh? Keeps you fully stocked with Bengay and five-cent coupons."

  She snorted at that. "I'm not dating him, you perv. I'm just living here."

  "You own your own business, but you're renting a room."

  "Any other personal details you would like to know? My credit score? Cup size?" she asked, lifting a brow, making it clear I pressed a sore spot. What that sore spot was was beyond me, but it definitely took the woman from somewhat soft, a little awkward, and sweet, to annoyed, snarky, and haughty in all of a second.

  Interesting.

  I took a step closer, making the tips of my boots touch the front of her shoes. And because she was in a stand-her-ground type of mood, she didn't go back a step like she probably wanted, knowing me being close was problematic for her. That problem? It was because being within a foot of her had her panties wet. I didn't even have to check to know. I'd bet my left nut that she was soaked earlier at her shop from just having me behind her. And I'd bet my right one that she was getting wet with me right in front of her old-man house.

  My hands settled at her hips and slid slowly upward, my cock twitching to life at the way a small shudder moved its way through her body at the chaste touch. Maybe her system was anticipating that my motives were anything but innocent. Her eyes found mine, hers wide, rounded with surprise. Her lips were parted in what had to be anticipation. But I wasn't going to take her lips.

  See, I decided sometime between the shop and her driveway that shit was different. I was going to play my hand a way I never had before.

  So even though all I had been thinking about was getting inside her all week, it wasn't going to happen this night. Even though I knew I could have her if I wanted to.

  My hands pressed in a little firmer as they passed her ribs, feeling the band of her bra, then letting my palms close around her breasts and squeezing until an almost silent moan escaped her lips. Her nipples hardened almost instantly, pressing invitingly against my hands. And, well, I was only a man. I couldn't help but let my hands shift so that my thumbs could work over the tightened points. Until she almost swayed into me she was so far gone already.

  Then I let my hands fall away.

  "Dunno. I'd say that's about a thirty-six C. Have a good night, Kennedy. I'll be seeing you around."

  It wasn't an empty conversation-ender.

  It was a fucking promise.

  I was going to see her.

  I was going to see her spread across my bed stark fucking naked, pussy wet, nipples hard, begging, fucking begging for my cock.

  I was going to see her on her knees with my cock buried in her throat.

  I was going to see her on all fours with my hand fisted in her hair, claiming her ass as mine.

  Oh, yeah.

  I planned to see a fuckuva lot of Kennedy.

  But not before I got her to beg for it.

  Yeah, that was the hand I was going to play.

  FIVE

  Kennedy- 2 days later

  Sundays were the slowest day of the week at the shop.

  You wouldn't think that. You would think that it's the day that everyone is off from work and had time to get their hair and nails done.

  As it turned out, that was not the case.

  Maybe it was a mix of the religious going to church, the soccer moms with whatever practice little Timmy and Jenny had to cart them to and from, and the frazzled working lady trying to cram a weeks' worth of errands into one afternoon.

  But whatever the reason, we almost always sat around twiddling our thumbs.

  Usually, I sent Benny home half-day so he could go enjoy some rare free time with his boyfriend. But Ricardo was on some kind of shoot for the day, so Benny was o
n his own. Apparently, he preferred to spend his free time with me. Which, given how awesome he was, was really flattering to me.

  "Doesn't anyone give a shit about going to work on a Monday with chipped nails?" he asked, standing suddenly and pacing.

  Benny was a ball of energy. He could work all day and night without losing steam, without losing his abundant upbeat charm. But give him ten minutes of downtime to flip through a magazine, and he was miserable.

  "Maybe I should reconsider staying open Sundays," I mused, knowing it was unlikely. Because every little bit helped. If someone was just walking around town, got a wild hair about some new cut or color, we were there to give it to them and get some extra money.

  "Maybe we should..." he started, getting cut off by the bell.

  It was a sound that almost always filled me with hope. One more client, one more payment, one more day closer to being solvent again, to having a bit of my confidence back.

  But as I watched Benny's grin go wicked, I had a gut feeling that whoever had come in wasn't suddenly in need of a three-hundred dollar makeover.

  "Typically, our clientele is female," he practically purred at who must have been a man.

  "Yeah? 'Cause with a shop that looks like a snatch, I'd think men would be the ones more fucking likely to pull up a seat."

  So Niro was in my shop again.

  After that weird feel-up thing and then brisk goodbye two nights before, I had been on edge thinking he was going to pop up at any moment. I wanted to tell myself that it was nervousness that made me feel that way, but it was perfectly clear that it was excitement, anticipation, a desire so strong they needed a new freaking word for it.

  It was crazy.

  I didn't know him.

  There was no way I should have been so into him.

  I had always been a bit more cerebral about my choices in men. It had more to do with personality than looks, and I had never been the type of woman to drool over some random hot guy.

  Then again, Niro wasn't just any random hot guy I passed on the street. He had something. And I wanted more of it.

  Despite my better sense.

  "Your hair seems freshly cut," Benny said, engaging him while I was still too chicken to turn around. "Are you here for a manicure?"

  At that, I couldn't help it, I turned, smile pulling at my lips, my cheeks maybe the slightest bit pink.

  "Do I seem like the kind of man to get his nails painted?" he asked, but it wasn't snippy, his tone was light, amused. "Hey pet," he called to me, the words making my belly do a wobbling thing that was at once weird and completely delicious.

  I had a sudden, ridiculous, and almost overwhelming surge of insecurity, wishing I had chosen something other than my plain jean shorts, white tee, blue and white striped ballet flats, and a long gold necklace.

  Hell, my hair hadn't even gotten any attention that morning, knowing it was a waste on a Sunday, and it was gross out, so I just wrapped it into a side braid and called it a day.

  "Oh, ah, hey," I mumbled, feeling awkward.

  "Aren't you going to introduce us?" Benny asked, clearly thinking Niro and I had gotten better acquainted.

  Meanwhile I freaking still didn't know his name.

  As if knowing exactly what my dilemma was, Niro's face broke into a devilish little smile, making him seem all the more trouble than you already thought he was by glancing at him.

  "The fuck you been calling me in your head when you're wet-dreaming over me over the past week?"

  Oh good lord.

  Could one die of embarrassment? Because I was pretty sure I was just about to.

  "Niro," Benny supplied, making me aware that it was, in fact, possible to be even more mortified than I already was.

  "Wh..." Niro started to ask when the door chimed again, making all of us turn.

  And of course it was him.

  Because that was just perfect.

  Again, there was a swelling discomfort about my outfit choice. Not because I particularly wanted Ethan to ogle me the way I wanted Niro to, but because I liked to look put-together around Ethan. Nothing about jeans and a tee said 'put together.' In fact, generally, it said 'fuck it.' And 'fuck it' wasn't the image you wanted to project on someone who still was capable of changing your future.

  Ethan's eyes looked over at Pagan, distaste quickly overtaking his features. But he shook it off, nodding his head at Benny. "Hey Benjamin," he said, tone annoyingly formal, and I could see Benny fighting the urge to correct him seeing as his name was not Benjamin. "Kennedy, honey, can I speak to you for a minute?" he asked, eyes sizing me up, and if I wasn't mistaken, finding my outfit just as lacking as I did seeing as he was in a three-piece suit even though it was a thousand degrees out. He wasn't even sweating. The freak.

  "Sure," I said, giving him a smile that hurt it was so fake, as I waved out a hand in a 'follow me' gesture. "What's up, Ethan?" I asked when we reached the back of the store, you know, all of ten feet away. But it was as private as we could get without going into the bathroom. Storage was off since we had the broken window and Ethan would have been pissed that we didn't fix it already.

  "What is a Henchmen doing here, Kennedy?"

  There was an ache in my muscles at forcing my brow to not raise at the disapproval in his tone, in the underlined, unspoken way he thought he knew better than me.

  "We don't turn away business because of their profession," I hedged. It was true. We didn't turn away business. And while Niro wasn't around to get his hair cut or dyed, he didn't know that.

  "Those are dangerous men," he went on, eyes bigger than normal, like what he was telling me was vitally important, like I was some idiot child who couldn't figure that out for herself.

  I took in a slow, deep, deliberate breath to remind myself that Ethan Criss was someone I, as much as I hated it, needed in my life. "I'm sure that's true. But business is business. We aren't in the position to turn away paying customers."

  To that, he knew he had no valid argument given my situation.

  "Alright, honey, I just want you to be careful," he said, reaching out toward me. The sleeve of his suit slipped up, revealing a stunning gold and black watch that I knew cost more than the entirety of my wardrobe, shoe, makeup, and jewelry collection combined. His fingers, cool even though it was hot as could be outside, pressed down on my wrist, giving me what I was sure he thought was a reassuring squeeze.

  His hand didn't drop after what might have been considered an appropriate length of time. It just stayed there, a cold, constant contact.

  "What can I do for you today, Ethan?" I asked, wanting to move the conversation on.

  "Kenny, baby, I didn't like how we left things in the coffeeshop last week. Maybe I was too abrupt with you. How about we go out again sometime this week and open up a dialog about your plans?"

  It was stupid.

  It was a dead-end.

  I knew that.

  But I also knew that even if there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that he might agree to let me expand, that I owed it to myself and my future to be open to that.

  So as much as it made my skin crawl to do so, I forced a smile. "I would appreciate that."

  "How about Famiglia on Friday?"

  "Sounds good, Ethan."

  "Would you like me to pick you..."

  "I'll meet you there," I rushed to say, having never told him about my living situation, and believing that was none of his business. "What time?"

  "Eight?"

  "It's a plan," I said, giving him a nod, trying to put an end to the uncomfortable conversation, fully aware that both Benny and Niro were watching intently just ten feet away.

  "I'm looking forward to it, Kenny," he said, giving me a slick smile and pulling his hand away. Thankfully, he turned and moved back toward the front of the store. "Baby, wear that black dress with the slit," he said, making me stiffen as I moved to stand next to the desk. Who the hell did he think he was to demand an outfit? "It's a nice place," he added, somehow saving
himself but simultaneously making me feel really, really small. Like I was so low brow, so poor that I didn't know to wear something nice to a classy restaurant.

  With that, he was gone.

  "I know I've asked you this already," Niro said, drawing my attention. "But are you fucking serious?"

  "He's..." I started, ready to defend myself, wanting somehow to clear the air and make it apparent that he was not the kind of man I would ever date.

  "The kind of man who will pull your strings and then convince you that you are dancing," he cut me off, making my mouth clamp shut.

  Because he was right.

  Ethan was exactly that kind of man.

  "I was going to call him a condescending prick," Benny butted in with a smile, trying to lighten what was an oddly heavy moment.

  "He is that," I agreed with a nod.

  "Yet you're fucking involved with him?" Niro asked, looking almost a little disgusted by me.

  "Professionally, yes," I said, lifting my chin a little, refusing to be brought any lower by a man that day.

  And judging by the way Niro's lips twitched at that, he liked the spunk. "He your shampoo supplier?"

  "He owns the building," I corrected.

  "And Kenny is trying to get him to rent her the other half of it to expand."

  "Hate to break it to you, pet, but he's not renting you the other half of this building."

  "That's..."

  His head ducked slightly, giving me a hard look. "He's showing up here in fucking Armani with a goddamn Bulgari Diagono on his wrist, inviting you out somewhere that you'd have to black dress it up. He doesn't want to talk about spreadsheets. He wants you fucking spread out on his sheets while you take, what I can only assume, is a disappointing five inches."

  Benny laughed at that, the sound rich and rolling, something I usually found catching until we were both swiping tears away. But right then, despite definitely thinking it was amusing to assume Ethan was only packing five inches, all I felt was a crushing sort of disappointment.

  It wasn't that I didn't know Ethan's intentions weren't purely professional. Of course I knew that. I wasn't stupid. But it was one thing to think it. It was a complete other to hear someone else say it. It reinforced what I only knew as a suspicion. It made it real.