Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "The mother fucker who owns the building she has her salon in," I answered, then took the glass and took it back in one pull.

  "Did you show up while..." Roan started, a strangeness in his freaky eyes, something I didn't know and, quite frankly, was almost glad I didn't.

  "No. She had scared him off before he could do any permanent damage," I said, and there was a noticeable exhale in the room, everyone losing a small amount of their rage.

  "He's still gotta pay," Edison said, the normal growl of his voice even deeper, almost making it completely impossible to make out the words.

  "He's gonna pay," I agreed, going back to the bar to get another glass.

  He was going to pay, but not until I calmed Kennedy down, got her comfortable. So there was plenty of time for the alcohol to get out of my system.

  "How are you going to make him pay without fucking up her financial situation?" Reeve asked, always being a calm, rational, voice of reason to all us other hot heads in the club. I couldn't say I had exactly bonded with the man; it was hard to get close to a porcupine, but I got the distinct impression that he was guarded for good reason. Given that Cyrus, fucking loudmouth he was, wouldn't even talk about what he had been through to make him how he was, we all assumed it was some heavy, dark shit.

  See, this is where Maze was right when she lectured me every month.

  This was where not revealing my past was a true conflict of interest.

  That being said, this wasn't the time and place. Because not telling Reign, Cash, and Wolf first would be a serious fuck up code-wise. They needed to know first. Since they weren't around, I couldn't tell the others either.

  "I got a plan for that, don't worry. Her business means the fucking world to her. She won't be losing that because of this bastard."

  "Alright," Cyrus announced walking back in, jovial grin gone, leaving his face grim. It was almost startling to see Cyrus unhappy. Quite fucking frankly, I didn't know he was capable of being so. "I have her in a tub with a bunch of those bath bomb things the ladies leave around all the time. She's gonna want an icepack for her face, but I think she needed a couple minutes alone to relax. Tell me this bastard's cock is going to be ripped off and shoved up his own fucking ass."

  Well then.

  Cy had a dark side.

  That was good to know.

  See, Cy loved women. It was probably the biggest part of him. He loved fucking them, sweet-talking them, hanging out with them. It didn't always have to be sexual. He got along with all the girls club effortlessly, being very much like a big brother among them. Or little brother, depending on which girls club member we were talking about. It probably had a lot to do with having a sister he had had a hand in raising since his old man was killed. He simply got shit about them that maybe most of us didn't, was able to relate where we couldn't. And they picked up on that about him and were instinctively drawn to him because of that.

  It made sense that his love of the fairer sex meant he would be pissed if something bad happened to them. Literally any of them. Because he loved them all.

  "Not yet," I said, gesturing with my drink. "Can't leave her yet," I added, shrugging.

  "True," he agreed. "But she's drained. If you can calm her down enough, she will sleep, and you can slip out and handle this before she even wakes up in the morning."

  "Sounds like a plan," I agreed, dropping my drink on the bar. "Appreciate you calming her down," I added as I moved over to where he was standing in the doorway to the hall.

  "Don't fuck it up," he said, uncharacteristically serious. "'Cause, you know, I'm not above taking her from you and showing her how a woman like her should be treated," he added with a smirk.

  It was an empty threat.

  If there was one thing we all accepted, it was our women, when we had them, were ours. That was a line that never got crossed. Not even if we fucked shit up. That didn't make her open game.

  I moved off down the hall toward my room, closing the door quietly, figuring maybe kid gloves were called for that night. I kicked out of my boots and moved toward the bathroom door which was mostly closed with just a crack open.

  I knocked lightly with my knuckles and pushed the door open to find Kennedy buried up to her clavicles in water that was a swirl of pink, yellow, and purple. There were even a few flower petals floating around. What purpose they served was beyond me. Maybe just looking pretty. Women liked pretty shit.

  "Hey," I said, keeping my voice low so she didn't shock.

  But she had heard my knock and her head lifted slowly, making my stomach clench at the bruise which had only gotten darker already.

  "Hey," she said back, turning her lips up, but it wasn't really a smile since it didn't reach her eyes, since she didn't mean it.

  I reached for my shirt, pulling it up and off. She watched, brows drawn together, as my hands went to my waistband and yanked off my jeans too. "What are you doing?" she asked. I left my boxer briefs on, making a statement. This wasn't sexual. This was me doing something that I didn't even think was in my wheelhouse. This was me comforting her.

  "Getting my soak on," I offered, moving to the side, and sinking a foot in.

  "Wait, the water is going to..." she started to insist as I lowered myself in.

  It was too late, the water rose up and sloshed over the sides, spilling across the tile floor. "Yeah, that's gonna be fun for Roderick to clean up later."

  "Why would Roderick clean it up? Isn't this your bathroom?"

  Her arms folded across her breasts even though the colored water was keeping me from seeing anything anyway and the fact that, while a large part of me wanted nothing more than to fuck the sadness out of her anyway she needed me to, I knew that wasn't what was needed right then.

  "Yep. But he's a probate. It's his job to clean up anything I want him to."

  Her lips turned up slightly at that, and this time she wasn't faking it. "Where can I get a probate?"

  "You want one, I'll loan one to you anytime you want."

  I was pretty sure that wasn't how it normally worked, but I also didn't give a fuck. If she wanted someone at the salon to sweep up the mother fucking hair, well then, I guess Virgin or Sugar would be adding that to their resume.

  Her lips twitched again. "That's a mental image. One of those hulking biker guys with a nail polish wand in their giant hands."

  I gave her a small smile, leaning back against the other end of the tub from her. "You want to come over here?" I offered, holding my arms out. Normally, I would just reach for her, but given the situation, I figured maybe she had enough of being manhandled.

  Honestly, I was almost surprised when she ducked her head slightly, a blush creeping over her cheeks, slid across the water, and turned her back to settle against my chest. I gave her a second, letting her get comfortable, the edges of her wet hair sliding over my bare chest before she leaned fully back, angling her head so it was just to the side of my jaw.

  "You alright?" I asked after one of my arms went around her stomach, leaving the other one free to slide over safe areas, her arm, her shoulders, making sure nothing was crossing any lines right then.

  Her air exhaled in a sigh. "That's a loaded question."

  "We got time," I offered. When she didn't go on, I felt a strange crushing feeling inside, making me open my mouth again. "Look, I get that I don't seem like the kind of guy you can unload on, but I'm here. I'm listening. Talk."

  She turned slightly, her side pressing into my chest, letting her snuggle her face into my neck better, her arm going up to rest on my shoulder.

  Both arms went around her then, lightly, vaguely remembering her saying her ribs hurt, and I had no idea which side. Better safe than sorry.

  "What am I supposed to do?" she asked, but I knew she wasn't looking for an answer, so I stayed quiet. "I want to go to the police. I want to report this. He shouldn't get away with this. If I don't report it, I feel like I would be responsible for any other woman this happens to after me, you know? I had th
e power to stop him and I chose not to and someone else could suffer for that. But... if I lock him up, what happens to my store? I mean, I know the next owner has to do that thing where they honor the lease until it's done, but after that? If they want me out? I have no way to get another lease. Ethan was just honoring it even though he shouldn't have because, I don't know, I guess because he wanted to take advantage of my weaker position in our relationship."

  She paused there and, figuring she was looking for a response, I gave a rumbling noise. Because I didn't want to lie to her. I knew that in all of six or so hours, she wouldn't have to fucking worry about dickhead Ethan anymore, but I didn't want her to know that. I didn't want to freak her out.

  And, maybe even more so, I guess I maybe didn't want her to think of me differently because of what I knew I had to do.

  She would find out eventually, but that would be after all was done. I would just have to steel myself for her response. Whatever it was.

  "You can sleep on it," I suggested when she still didn't go on. "Those tapes aren't going anywhere. You'll still be bruised in the morning. I know a few of the cops on the force who are good guys and will listen."

  "It is late," she agreed, snuggling in further and I knew I was going to get what I needed. She was going to let me get her to sleep and then I could exact vengeance and deal with the consequences after.

  We stayed there silently until the water ran cold, both drying off. When she went to slip into Cy's shirt, I yanked it away. Maybe a part of it was something I had never experienced before- jealousy. I didn't want her in another man's shirt. The other part, though, liked the idea of having nothing between us in the bed. I didn't plan on anything happening, but if I was being honest, I had apparently been wrong about the spooning thing.

  It ended up being pretty fucking nice.

  I ran my fingers over her ribs, a smattering of purple there, not the red that would indicate she had done any real damage. They would hurt a bit for a couple of days, maybe less depending on how easily she bruised.

  "Come on," I said, pulling her into the bedroom and letting her slip into the sheets. I got in too, watching as she moved to do the sheet up to her neck thing like she had done at my house. "I don't think so," I said, pushing her gently until she turned onto her side, automatically curling her legs up. I slid in behind her, cocking my legs up under hers, sliding my one arm under her pillow. The other went across her center. And, feeling like maybe the mood needed to lighten just slightly, I slid my hand upward. "Just one more thing," I said right before my hand cupped her tit.

  And I got what I needed, what she needed too, a real, genuine laugh that rolled through her and into me, making my lips curl up.

  "You're ridiculous," she accused, but there was a smile in her voice.

  "Yep," I agreed, brushing her hair out of the way with the side of my face, not caring if I scratched more beard burn there, and kissing the side of her temple. "Get some sleep, pet. We'll talk in the morning."

  It didn't take long, surprisingly.

  I guess maybe the stress got to her.

  All of half an hour later, she was out cold.

  I held her a while longer for reasons I was choosing not to analyze, then I slowly slid out and redressed before heading out into the common room where most of the men were still situated.

  "Time to fuck that bastard up," I said, heading toward the door, knowing at least one or two of them would follow me. Edison at least.

  Not that I needed backup.

  I was primed enough to handle this shit all on my fucking own.

  That bastard was going to pay for putting his hands on what was mine.

  I was so in the rage zone that I didn't even stop to think how fucking crazy it was to think of Kennedy as mine in the first place.

  TWELVE

  Kennedy

  His hand wasn't on my boob.

  That was literally the first thought I had upon waking up.

  Before my eyes were even open, I felt the lack of contact that had, as odd as it was, been a strange kind of comfort as I slowly drifted off the night before. Maybe a large part of that was the fact that the breast he had held gently, possessively, but sweetly held in his hand in what was absolutely not a sexual contact, was the same one Ethan had abused earlier, the nipple sore even then. It felt like he had somehow eased the sting, had wiped a bit of the bad memory away by being so sweet.

  Really, everything about Pagan from when he stepped into my salon had been... surprising. I guess that was the best way to phrase it. Other words that might have applied are: uncharacteristic, patient, understanding, sweet, gentle. None of those words were ones that would come to mind when you thought of the badass cage-fighting, arms-dealing biker covered in scars, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, smelling of leather and whiskey, and sometimes, the slightest hint of blood.

  But he had been all of those things.

  He had held me as I cried, not trying to feed me hollow words, but just being a support system. He asked the hard questions because he had to. Then he got me out of there. He got into the tub with me. He cuddled me there and surprised me by offering himself up as a sounding board.

  Then, on top of that all, he climbed into bed and willingly spooned me again, reaching for my boob because, well, he was still Pagan. And, quite frankly, I needed that laugh.

  Perfect.

  He had been surprisingly, almost alarmingly perfect from start to finish.

  So perfect, in fact, that I found all the anger and resentment I had been building over the previous three days completely melting away. Sure, that was a dick move to disappear. But that being said, when I needed him, even though we didn't mean anything to each other, he had been there.

  That was a good man.

  And yet I woke up alone.

  I rolled onto my back, the sheets cold behind me, making my skin goosebump a bit, making me reach toward the blanket at my hips to pull it up. The bruises on my knees were ugly, but I could cover them with maxi skirts until they went away. The small smattering across my ribs wasn't as bad as I had expected, thankfully. I had a feeling, though, that I would be nowhere near as lucky about my face.

  But, I assured myself as I forced myself to fold upward, that was what makeup was for, right?

  I got up, snagging a tee out of Pagan's dresser, and moving into the bathroom to brush my teeth and assess the damage. It wasn't pretty. Purple, blue, and a hint of both red and yellow around the edges took up a good chunk of my cheek below my eye and into my hairline.

  But it was just a bruise.

  Bruises faded.

  I slipped into Pagan's tee, realizing I was yet again in a situation where all I had with me was a dress. And, quite frankly, that dress was never getting anywhere near my body ever again. I wanted it burned.

  There was a soft knock at the door as I finger combed my hair.

  "It's me, angel," a voice called through. It was Cyrus. Of course it was. Granted, I hadn't met a whole lot of The Henchmen, certainly not for long enough to get to know any of them, but Cyrus seemed like maybe he was the more laid-back and sweet of them. "Open up; I have something for you."

  I walked to the door, pulling it open, and finding him standing there with a pair of women's pajama pants. "Do I want to know where you got those?"

  "Okay, so I stole them from Summer's room. She won't mind, I promise," he said, handing me the pink cotton pants with little white flowers, making me wonder who Summer was and if she would truly feel that way. "She just had a baby not that long ago," he added, moving in casually. "She won't be fitting in them for another couple of months at least."

  I nodded, carefully pulling them on, making sure I didn't flash anything at Cyrus as he sat at the foot of the bed, casual as could be.

  "Where's Pagan? I asked, figuring he would know.

  "He had to run out for a bit, but he'll be back. Meanwhile, there is fresh coffee and bagels in the kitchen. I'd cook for you, sweets, but I don't have the skills. That's for Repo, Laz, an
d Edison."

  "Yeah, 'cause I bet you just flash that smile and have all the girls tripping over themselves to make you something to eat." His lips worked up to a smirk, his eyes going wicked. "Not what I meant," I said with a smile.

  "But that is a good meal to start a day with, wouldn't you say?" he asked, standing. "But it's not on the menu today, so let's go get our bagel on."

  Feeling weird about being in the compound, especially with Pagan gone, I followed closely behind Cyrus as we walked into the common room where the guys from the night before were hanging around, but so was a new group.

  One was tall and lean, dark-haired, green-eyed, everything about him seeming to hum with authority. "Kennedy, this is Reign," Cyrus said, happily making introductions.

  Reign's eyes went to my cheek, jaw going a little hard, but he nodded at me. "Babe." That was all I got.

  "And this is Wolf," Cy went on, motioning to the man beside Reign. He was a giant. Truly, I think he was descendant from them. He was tall and wide with dark hair, a full dark beard, and haunting honey-colored eyes.

  Like Reign, he stiffened at seeing me. "Woman," he ground out, jerking his chin, then, oddly, disappearing out the back door with a slam.

  "Don't mind him," yet another male voice said, drawing my attention to a tall, lean, tattooed man with half of his head shaved to peach fuzz and the other half with long blond hair. You didn't see it at first because of the hair color, but if you looked closer, it was in the bone structure and the eyes. This guy was Reign's brother. "He doesn't like seeing women with bruises. I mean, none of us do, but Wolf takes it personally. I'm Cash."

  "Kennedy," I said, giving him a small smile, glad that he was a little less intimidating than the rest.

  "We're getting our breakfast on," Cyrus announced, holding an arm out to a door that led into the small kitchen. "They're a lot to take in all at once, but everyone here is harmless." At my brow raise, he smiled. "Okay, they're all lethal weapons actually. But they would never put a hand on you. First, because they are good men and don't do that kind of thing. Second, if they even thought of it, let's just say that what Pagan would do to them is enough a deterrent. Syrup shit?" he asked, holding out two bottles of syrup- one caramel, one mocha.