Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  You get it. I fuck a lot.

  And I literally couldn't remember the last time I went over a week without when it was all around, freely offered.

  My cock apparently had a one-track mind.

  "Just need to fuck her out of my system," I said, shrugging, wondering the truth in that.

  "This one of those 'if I say it enough, maybe it will be true' type of things?" he shot back, smirking, brow raised.

  I snorted, shaking my head. "Take your old-man wisdom and bestow it on the other probies, brother."

  "Women who fuck with your head like this," he said, ducking his head, making those freaky eyes of his all the more piercing, "they don't come around often. Trust me. Just something to keep in mind."

  And with that, he was gone out the back door.

  "Jstorm and Alex checked into him," Laz said, answering my unasked question as I watched the door slam. "The fuck really was a goddamn spy. He got burned and had to try to rebuild his life. Apparently, when they do that shit, they freeze your accounts and trash your credit. Act like you have had no work history for however long you work for them. Crazy fucking shit that leaves someone with that very unique set of illegal skills with nothing else to do but go into crime."

  "Hence... Roan," Maze said, waving a hand toward him. "I think it's cool. Very mysterious. I'd watch a show based on him."

  "You have a man," Cyrus reminded her with a smirk.

  "What? I said I'd want to watch a show based on him, not fuck him. Geez."

  Feeling slightly better at being on safe topics like the future of the club, something that had you told me a year before I'd be interested in, I'd have fucking scoffed. I wasn't, by nature, a 'joiner.' I didn't do sports teams. I didn't have clubs. I liked answering to no one, except maybe Ward. And that was only when I was in the ring anyway.

  But, oddly enough, finding The Henchmen had been a tipping point in my life. It made me part of something bigger for maybe the first time ever. It made me responsible for something other than myself and whatever whim I wanted to pursue. It was, in a way, somewhat grounding.

  And, whether any of us would have the balls to admit it or not, it was nice to belong, to have brothers to fall back on, sisters to dote on you or make fun of you. For chrissakes, one time after a fight, Penny had been so upset about cleaning up the cuts on my hands that she cleaned them out with her own goddamn tears.

  That shit was nice.

  I was man enough to admit that.

  "What about the other guys?" I asked, hoping to keep the conversation off Kennedy and me for as long as possible. "The MC ones."

  "Virgin and Sugar," Penny mused, lips twitching.

  "Was I the only one," Maze said, smiling too, "when they met Sugar and he said his name like he does- Suga - had to fight from bursting out 'how you get so fly?' Because it was physically painful to keep that in."

  "Me too!" Penny agreed, laughing. "I didn't want to say anything with him being all scarred and scary-looking, but I totally Baby Bash'd inside my head."

  Cyrus shot me a look, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. It was a look I was familiar with with him whenever the girls were around and bullshitting. An amused big brother type of look. I figured maybe it had something to do with his sister who was never around for him to spend time with.

  "Anyway, yeah, it all rang true when they looked into them," Maze went on. "Their MC had a raid when they were on a job in PA, and the cops found like a kilo of cocaine there. Given that half the people there were on parole for one thing or another, they all got hauled in. Down went the Twisted Roadsters."

  "Well, with a lame ass name like that, they needed to disappear," I agreed with a chuckle. "And Roderick?"

  "Mm," Maze said, sending Penny a look that said they both thought he was hot shit.

  "Hey," Cyrus said, small-eyeing them. "I'm the pretty one here, damnit. Don't be going googly eyes because he has those Spanish genes."

  "Yes, very pretty," Maze agreed, stroking his arm.

  "So pretty," Penny added, patting his other hand.

  "Anyway, they can't find him, believe it or not."

  "No shit?"

  "I know, right? It's driving them up a friggen wall. You know how obsessive they get. Wolf said Janie hasn't slept in three nights. I heard him barking 'woman' at her at like three this morning."

  Then, like we had summoned them, the front door burst open, bringing the guys in from the gym, clothes still slick with sweat, gym bags over their shoulders or in their hands.

  "Keep it in your pants, ladies," Cy said under his breath, making Penny blush and look over at Duke, and Maze give him the finger.

  "Hey," Roderick said, stopping a few feet from me, jerking his chin. "We heard you're the one to fuck shit up with."

  Well, my reputation certainly proceeded me.

  "That'd be me."

  "Heard a rumor about you having a whole shitton of ATVs and a disposition that makes you like to get drunk and crash them."

  Again, true.

  "Yep."

  "The fuck we still doing here then?" Roderick asked, waving a hand out.

  "You know what? Fuck yeah," I agreed.

  I needed a distraction.

  Because this fucking Kennedy-every-other-thought shit was whacked.

  So then we got shitfaced and crashed ATVs.

  Laz came, being a good DD, picked us up, brought us back to the compound, and we continued the party until we all were so fucking drunk, we passed out all around the common room.

  A hungover fight.

  Those were usually my best ones.

  Even as that thought formed, so did one about wondering what Kennedy would wear cage-side.

  Fucking Christ.

  SEVEN

  Kennedy

  Okay, so I was excited.

  I was Christmas Eve when you still believe in Santa excited.

  Which was a testament to how boring my life had been for almost a full year now. My idea of a night out was pretty much hitting up the grocery store. The highlight of my week was when something that I loved that was usually too expensive for my budget was on sale suddenly.

  Benny and I left work after our last client, him walking me toward my place before taking off to go get himself showered and changed.

  I walked around the side of the house to my "private entrance" that was boasted in the ad I found on Craigslist. It really wasn't actually a private entrance at all. It was a door that led onto the back deck, but whatever, it meant I could come and go without grumpy old Carl getting his panties in a wad. I also had a "private bath" which was actually the room which used to be my closet completely jammed with a shower stall barely big enough to turn in, a toilet, and a sink. But, again, it was mine. And it was cheap. And I had no other options.

  The fact that I had to seal the door to the rest of the house with duct tape from the inside because Carl was an indoor chainsmoker was just another thing I had to learn to live with. It meant I had no access to the kitchen or any of the kitchen features, namely the stove and fridge. So I had a teensy apartment fridge with a microwave on top and a hot plate on top of that.

  Living large, I was.

  I came from truly humble beginnings, but the life I was living now made my childhood seem almost rich by comparison.

  "One more year," I reminded myself as I shrugged out of my work clothes and walked over to the window AC unit to switch it on. I didn't use it often since I was charged more for rent when I did. Never mind that Carl left four other ones running throughout the house day and night. But when I was getting ready for work or, in this case, to go out, I put it on so I didn't sweat through my bra, hairstyle, and makeup before I even left the house.

  I moved over to the rack I had bought at a discount store. It was where I hung my clothes because of the aforementioned bathroom closet situation, and looked around for something that seemed appropriate for an underground fighting ring.

  I owned a lot of dresses, but they were of the pretty, floral, sun variety which
seemed too light and sweet for such a dark and dirty type of event. I considered the black dress that Ethan suggested, one I had always loved because it fit just right, but suddenly it made my lip curl at the idea of ever wearing it again.

  And then I saw it.

  I bought it two years ago because I got it on a song, and it had actually been designer. But it had always been just a tad too fancy to wear any of the places I generally went to.

  It was a rich, cobalt blue color that would set off my eyes, hair, and pale skin, cut in skater fashion- tight and square-cut around the bust, them flowing outward at the hip and thigh. But the flare didn't make it little girlish, because it was pretty damn short. A lot of leg was going to be on display tonight.

  I fished out some nice underthings, a pair of nude heels, and laid it out on my bed for after my shower and primping.

  "Daaaaamn," Benny said as I walked up to his waiting car. "Look who sex-kittened it up toooo-night!"

  My lips curved as I slid in, thankful for the AC so I didn't ruin my blowout. "Thanks." I needed that more than I realized. Not just to feel good, which I did for a change, but to know I looked good. Maybe that was a little superficial of me, but anyone who said they required exactly no validation was a bold-faced liar.

  We pulled up to the school parking lot a short couple minutes later, parking between two luxury cars. And not some Mercedes sedan or other reasonably priced luxury car. I meant these ones cost the downpayment on a house. Or more. Honestly, they were so expensive they made my head hurt to consider what they cost. Me with my clearance shoes and cast-off designer dress.

  "It's okay, Betsy," Benny said, patting his car's dashboard. "Don't you dare start feeling insecure. You might not be shiny and new, but you're the only one for me. You know," he added with a smirk, "since you're all I can afford. Alright, you ready?" he asked, practically bouncing with excitement, reinforcing my own feelings about the night.

  So then we climbed out and followed the small crowd as the went around the back, in through the old playground doors, then down. And down. Until we were standing in front of doors that must have been to the basement. We waited in line to talk to the men with clipboards. Plenty people pushed past us, obviously important, because they were waved in without speaking.

  "Hi," I said, feeling strange, never having had my name on a list before. "Ah... Kennedy and Benny," I offered as one of the men, a tall and lean, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in all black looked at me, lips twitching.

  "Pagan's... special guest," he said without consulting his list.

  "Guests," I rushed to say, stomach dropping at the idea that he maybe forgot to put Benny down too. Because there was no way I was going in without Benny.

  "Sure, sweetheart. He said you plus whoever the fuck you wanted. His exact words," the man said, giving me a warm smile as he moved out of the way for us to pass. "Have a good time. And maybe don't watch Pagan's fight," he advised as we moved inside.

  I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but dirt floors covered in old blood, bare walls, and a crowd of sweaty and scary people had come to mind several times since the invitation.

  I needed to stop getting my ideas about things from movies.

  This was nothing like Fight Club.

  In fact, it was more like some posh nightclub with its sleek, streamlined, dark, expensive decor. Really, you would totally think it was just a nice watering hole were it not for the giant hexagonal cage in the center of the room, raised from the floor by a few feet so spectators had to look up slightly to watch the fight.

  "Hex," Benny said, making me turn to look at him.

  "What?"

  "The sign said Hex. As in hexagon. I want to live here," he said dramatically, turning in a circle.

  "Sure, except the giant cage," I laughed.

  "Miss Princess Buttercup would love that."

  Miss Princess Buttercup, yes that was her full name, and you had to address her as such, was all of three pounds of fluff, some designer dog with those silly names: poo this, morki that. She actually wasn't even technically Benny's dog, having come with his latest boyfriend. But I was pretty sure that if Benny and he ever split up that there would be a bitter battle for custody of that pampered fluff ball.

  "Come on, let's get a drink," Benny said, reaching for my hand and leading me to the side where a long, sleek bar was situated. "Cosmo and a whiskey neat." I might be gay, but I like my liquor straight was what he told me when we went out for drinks the first time. Really, it was because mixers gave him headaches. He loved a cocktail as much as the next person with tastebuds.

  The bartender turned to make our drinks as we watched the people milling around. When she came back and put the drinks down and moved to push a pretty silver plate with a bill toward us, a suited figure came out of nowhere behind Benny. He was tall, dark everything, and so intimidating just standing there that I almost felt uncomfortable.

  He reached for the bill tray thing, pushing it back toward the bartender while shaking his head. "Whatever they have is on Pagan's tab tonight." He spared me a very cool, very detached glance. "Or any night," he added.

  "Right, Mr. Ward," the bartender said, giving him a drink, also neat, and he turned and walked away without another word.

  "Girl, your boyfriend hooked us up."

  "He's not my boyfriend," I insisted, but inside felt a weird swelling feeling that felt akin to hope. But that, seeing as I didn't even know the man, and what I did know meant he was absolutely not in any way boyfriend material, was insane.

  "Just saying, him hooking us up maybe means a hookup would be appropriate."

  "Way to make me sound like a whore," I said, but I was smiling.

  "You need to live a little. Hoe it up. You won't die regretting that fling you had with the sexy biker fighter who hooked you up with a nice night out."

  The crazy thing was, I was starting to maybe believe that myself.

  After all was said and done and I spent a few weeks obsessing over how it was a waste of time (even though the time would have passed anyway and much more orgasm-free), I would eventually move on and chalk it up to a moment of insanity and let it be. I wouldn't be crying over having sex with Pagan a year from now, ten years from now, on my deathbed. In fact, a larger part of me was pretty sure a little, shriveled, wrinkly, dying version of me would be mentally kicking her own ass if I didn't decide to have a tryst with Pagan.

  My father once told me that your life is a series of stories that you can pass on.

  At this particular point, what the hell kind of stories did I have? It was all work, and obsessing over making work better, and wallowing in my misfortune.

  No one wanted to sit on a porch and hear that kinda thing.

  I needed at least that one crazy, ridiculous, out of character story.

  And as I stood there and watched people mill around, most dressed in fancy clothes I knew I would never be able to afford, I realized this was that one for me.

  Somehow, I even thought maybe that was something Pagan was totally fine with- being a girl's wild and crazy tale. Hell, I was sure he was that for many of women before me.

  "Look who it is," a voice said, seeming to come up by my side. "The woman who broke my heart!"

  Confused, I turned, finding the blond and bearded biker from the gates of The Henchmen compound, dressed the same way he was that night in jeans, a tee, and his cut, despite everyone else mostly in suits. Actually, he was flanked by three other men in almost identical outfits, including the growler with the dark, exotic look to him.

  "Oh, mama," Benny said under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear, and internally, I was agreeing.

  Because all four of them were stupidly good looking.

  The two I didn't know were both tall, giant walls of manly muscle, one white and one black, both with an unmistakably dangerous vibe.

  "Probies, this is Pagan's, ah, friend... Kennedy. And her friend..."

  "Benny," I supplied.

  "A pleasure," Benny sai
d, giving them a smile.

  "You've met me and Edison, but these two are Sugar and Virgin. This is your first time at Hex, right?"

  "Had no idea it even existed," I admitted.

  "Pretty snazzy place considering it will be half-covered in blood once Pagan gets in the cage. He has been benched for a while, so he's due."

  I chose not to say that he had just been in a fight a little over a week ago. I figured maybe that wasn't the same thing or something. Who knew. Bikers seemed like a different breed of people.

  "Oh, that means the first fight is starting," Cyrus declared when the lights dimmed. "Have fun, Kennedy, angel. I hope to see more of you." There was a strange inflection in his voice that I didn't quite understand, like he was amused, but trying to hide it? I dunno. Something like that.

  "I'm assuming you don't want to get a closer look," Benny said, trying not to sound disappointed. And failing epically.

  "I don't," I agreed with a smile, but nudged his shoulder. "But you go ahead. I'll be right over... there," I said, gesturing toward a private little couch in a corner as far away from the ring as possible. Really, the people would just be moving blurs from that far away. Just how I wanted it.

  "If you insist," he said, practically bouncing off toward the ring.

  I grabbed my drink as the fighters were announced, and moved toward the couch that was obviously of high quality because I literally sank down into it.

  There was a bell, and I could, even from a distance, even with music pumping out of the speakers, still hear the sound of bones hitting flesh, of pain being inflicted, making me cringe and drain the rest of my drink, pointedly keeping my gaze downcast.

  "Nice fucking dress," a deep voice said as the seat beside me depressed.

  I didn't have to look up. I might have only spoken to him a handful of times, but I would know that voice anywhere. It was the same one that whispered and growled dirty, sexy, raunchy as all hell things at me in the incredibly vivid sex dreams he had been starring in as of late.