Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Ah... I guess I can try the caramel," I said with a smile, almost feeling a little spoiled since I never indulged in things like flavored coffee.

  "Alright, don't worry, I got it," a voice said, coming in. I had seen him before. He had been there the first night of the party and also the night before when I came in, but I hadn't spoken to him yet. He was tall and a sturdy strong with very attractive Puerto Rican coloring, a chiseled jaw, sweet brown eyes, and a smile that revealed a hint of a dimple to one side.

  I looked at Cy who looked as equally confused as the man brought out what I recognized as a leather cut since literally everyone around the compound wore one.

  "I don't understand," I admitted, watching him.

  "See, this is an MC, mami," he explained, the smile in no way lessening. "And there are all these ridiculous rules about things like this. Really, it's completely antiquated, but you need to wear this."

  "I need to wear a cut?" I asked, face scrunching up all the more.

  "Not a Henchmen cut per se," he said, taking it and turning it. And, sure enough, instead of The Henchmen name in patches there, there were patches that spelled out something else entirely.

  And that something else, oddly, made my cheeks heat a little.

  "Property of Pagan?" I repeated out loud as he held it out for me to take, which I did.

  The man rolled back on his heels, nodding a little resignedly, exhaling on a sigh. "I'm afraid so. Old ladies have to wear them."

  Old ladies.

  That, I was pretty sure, meant a biker's girlfriend or wife.

  But I was neither of those.

  I looked over at Cyrus, finding his eyes light, his lips twitching. "Really?" I asked him.

  "Roderick wouldn't steer you wrong," he said, shrugging, making me feel oddly out of the loop, like they got something that I didn't.

  But I did understand that in an MC, in any kind of criminal enterprise really, traditions were really important. Rules needed to be obeyed. With who I was pretty sure was the MC president in the other room, I really had no place to object.

  I took the material and slipped it on, maybe finding a small bit of comfort in it because the leather smell was one I was familiar with. It clung to Pagan's skin.

  "Anything else I need? Ear tag? Cattle brand on my ass?"

  To that, both Cyrus and Roderick let out a laugh. "You're gonna fit in just fine here, kid," Roderick said, despite maybe only being a year older than me tops.

  So then, well, we all kind of just... hung out.

  Absurd, I know.

  I was just... hanging out with a bunch of outlaw bikers.

  Cyrus, Roderick, and I got food and went back into the common room where I officially met Sugar, Virgin, Roan, and Reeve. Reeve who was Cy's brother, which seemed odd given how polar opposite they were.

  And, it was strange, but I swear they were all like... smiling and laughing behind my back for some reason. But I could never actually catch one doing it to call them on it, and I couldn't figure out why they would do it in the first place, so I kind of just chalked it up to me being a bit uncomfortable in their presence and let it go.

  "Oh!" I said suddenly, making all their eyes go to me, guarded, like I was about to break into hysterics.

  "What's up, baby cakes?" Cy asked, brows drawn together.

  "I, ah, I forgot to... call Benny. He's my employee. It's over an hour after opening. He's probably wondering..." - Why the place was a mess? Why my shoes were still on the floor?

  "It's cool," Cy said, shrugging. "Pagan called him and talked to him."

  "Talked to him and told him what?" I asked, tone guarded, not overly comfortable with the idea of Pagan giving him the whole truth. Why? I wasn't sure. It just made my belly feel weird. Maybe a part of it was because Benny was always telling me to be careful around Ethan.

  But that was absurd.

  It wasn't my fault he tried to maul me like an animal.

  "Don't know what he told him, just know he said you wouldn't be in today. And that if he wanted to see you, that you're here."

  Well, that made me feel mildly better.

  He probably thought I was having a sexathon, something I knew he had been thinking I needed over the past few days with my foul mood. That being said, I was going to need to tell him. You know, once I figured out what I was going to do about it.

  I needed to go to the police, right?

  There didn't seem to really be a choice there, even though the idea of that made my belly feel all liquid and weird. I had to press charges. I had to make the police aware of what he was capable of. I didn't think he would necessarily get locked up for it, but maybe he would get some kind of punishment. Maybe it would leave a paper trail in case some other poor girl got hurt by him. It would show a pattern.

  I took a deep breath, the decision made. I was going to go and file a report, give them the footage from the cameras. Then they could go from there and decide what to do.

  Once Pagan got back, I was going to ask him to take me home so I could get a decent outfit on, then bring me.

  Maybe he would stay with me during it.

  I shook my head at myself, taking a deep breath. I needed to not think things like that. True, he had been good to me the night before. And maybe I had his name across my back, but that didn't mean anything. Right? We were just... nothing to each other really. Just... bodies.

  There was a distinct sinking feeling inside at that thought, reminding me again how in trouble I was on this front. Because on the one hand, I knew it was smart to just stay away from him. On the other, though, I knew how unlikely that was. I was into him. If he crooked a finger, I was pretty sure I would follow him. Likely, knowing him, into his bedsheets. I also knew that, to do that, would likely lead to real, genuine, impossible to ignore feelings toward him.

  But, maybe that was just something I would think about when it came to pass. Why couldn't I just enjoy things as they progressed?

  Maybe it would eventually lead to hurt feelings or even heartbreak, but was that really enough reason- possible future pain- not to enjoy something I wanted in the present?

  I had always been someone to plot, to plan, to write pro and con lists, to know exactly what I was getting into. That was how I got out of the bad area of town. That was how I opened a business when everyone I knew and the very economy was telling me it would be a failed endeavor. That was how, despite seemingly insurmountable opposition, I just barely managed to hold onto it, even though it meant the kind of belt tightening that almost cut off circulation.

  That being said, had that ever gotten me anywhere in relationships? I was pretty sure my present (and long standing) singledom had proven maybe I needed to ease up and go with the flow a little.

  It wasn't that I was thinking that I could change Pagan per se. It wasn't even to say that I thought he was someone that I should want to settle down with. Really, he was a terrible choice if you really looked at him. But so what? So what if we kept... doing what we were doing and I maybe started having feelings? So what if they were one-sided? So what if I needed to drown that in a container of store brand ice cream and five-dollar wine? Chances were, even if I didn't take the chance on him, I would find other, lesser things to ice cream and wine binge over anyway. Might as well make it count, right?

  Feeling oddly antsy just sitting there, maybe getting a little freaked that Pagan still hadn't returned, I offered to gather the plates and cups and clean up the breakfast mess. And, given that they were a bunch of dudes who likely really didn't want to be stuck with the task in the first place, not a single one put up a fight, giving me a few blissful moments alone in the kitchen as I handled that and then, just for good measure, gave the whole area a good scrub, figuring with a compound full of guys, that it had likely been a while.

  It was almost eleven in the morning when I finally heard a car outside, making me stiffen, internally reminding myself that it was an MC, and to not get my hopes up. It could be anyone.

  But I had a
feeling it was him.

  I washed my hands, self-consciously flattened my hair, all the time knowing that no amount of hair fuss was going to change the fact that I looked like shit thanks to my messed up face, but still wanting to look decent for him regardless, then I made my way out into the common room.

  "The fuck do you have on?" Yeah, that was my greeting from Pagan, perfectly characteristic if you ask me.

  I felt a surge of insecurity, worrying that maybe I should have made it clear to Roderick earlier that Pagan and I were just... screwing around, that I wasn't his old lady or whatever. Pagan probably didn't want his name on my back if we were just casual. Right?

  And it was right about then that all the men in the common room, aside from Pagan who was looking at me with drawn-in brows, were laughing their asses off.

  "What's so funny?" I asked, looking at Cyrus as he composed himself.

  He shook his head, eyes bright.

  It was Roderick who stood, towering over me, making me have to angle my head up to look at him. His charming dimple was on display as he walked up and chucked me under the chin. "I was just fucking with you, mami," he told me, eyes dancing.

  "Fucking with me?" I repeated, still not catching on.

  "Henchmen old ladies don't wear their man's name on their back," Roderick explained.

  "I think they would chop off the balls of any man who told them to actually," Cyrus added.

  I felt my lips curve up, shaking my head. "You guys suck," I declared. "Especially you," I added, lowering my eyes at Roderick in mock anger.

  "Just having a little fun, mami," he said, winking, then moving off.

  "I had no idea," I said, looking at Pagan, willing him not to think I was being some creepy, clingy chick like that, as I reached to pull off the cut.

  "Leave it," he said instead, yanking it back up on my shoulders once he was close enough.

  And with his hands raised, it was the first time I got a good look.

  One thing was infinitely clear- Pagan had just gotten into a fight. Again.

  And don't ask me why, but somehow, I knew who was the recipient of that beating.

  "What did you do?" I asked, my voice a strange, hollow whisper.

  THIRTEEN

  Pagan

  "Fucking finally," Edison growled when I emerged from my room, fully dressed, feeling the oddest fucking surge of guilt at leaving Kennedy when she was passed out. "This mother fucker been breathing easy thinking he got away with it for hours," he added, making me aware that while I had managed to calm down slightly, thanks to having Kennedy get all melty with me, he was still as fucking wired as he had been the moment he had laid his eyes on her.

  That was Edison though.

  He had triggers, most of which we didn't learn about until something pulled it.

  But women with busted faces, busted anything, that was his most hair one.

  "Couldn't leave her when she was freaked the fuck out," I said, shrugging. "I might not be the most sensitive of guys," I said, making Edison snort. I don't think anyone could have ever accused me of sensitivity. "But I'm not a complete dick either. She needed someone there. And since I'm the one who is fucking her, that needed to be me."

  He grunted at that, accepting the truth of it, as we moved into the yard, getting into my car instead of a bike.

  Quiet was going to work in our favor in this particular instance.

  "Where we heading?" he asked as I backed out.

  "Gotta make a stop," I answered vaguely, uncomfortable having him with me, knowing there were likely going to be questions, but pretty sure there wasn't a force on earth strong enough to get Edison out of my car right about then. And there was no getting around making the stop seeing as I needed to look into the fuck, find out where he was located, find out shit on his background. "Here," I said, tossing him a phone. "Go into my contacts and find the one marked Luce. Call it."

  Edison gave me a look that said he was going to have some questions, but went ahead and hit the call button.

  It wasn't a phone like he was likely thinking.

  It was a fucking page.

  Yes, as in a pager.

  Luce was a bit old school and paranoid.

  Given his, er, profession, that made sense.

  Luce killed people for a living. There was no way to sugarcoat that. Sure, you could call him what he truly was- a vigilante. He only killed bad guys. He always did it for the greater good. But he was a killer, plain and simple.

  So when you had that much literal fucking blood on your hands, you had to cover your tracks. Everything was done in code. Everything was careful to the point of paranoia.

  Which was how he always, fucking always got away with it.

  He wasn't even a blip on the cops' radar.

  When Edison gave me a look, I shrugged. "Send a 122 then a couple zeroes, then put 62 and hit pound, and hang up."

  "You've said his name before," Edison said, looking out the window as I drove. "And I've heard Jstorm and Alex talk."

  Yeah, well, Janie and Alex were mildly obsessed with Luce. I guess them doing their own form of vigilante justice in the cyber realm made them feel like Luce was a kindred spirit. They had met him a couple times a while back while working on a case with Barrett and had looked into him. Once they found him, it was all history. They were fucking fangirls, plain and simple. And since Laz let it slip to them that I actually knew the bastard, they had been up my ass to tell them more.

  Which, well, I fucking couldn't.

  That was the reason Luce let me be on his list, let me have access to him. He trusted me. As much as I liked the girls, I wasn't losing that.

  He was right too; I had made the mistake of talking about Luce in front of him and Laz back when Bethany had her shit going down. When we had to walk away from those pill mill fucks and I said Luce wouldn't let them get away with what they were doing.

  Then about six weeks later, we found the good doctors were officially 'missing.'

  Missing.

  They would never be found.

  Because they didn't exist anymore, not a single trace of them.

  That was how good Luce was at what he did.

  And while Laz and Edison had given me a look, I had shrugged it off.

  From then on, I was careful not to use the name, not to flaunt that connection.

  But, as they say, desperate times...

  "Alright," I said as we pulled up out front of Barrett's office. "When he comes in, we're heading into the bathroom. You're going to have to hang with Barrett."

  The inside of Barrett's office was a mess of paperwork in fucking Polish and code. Coffee cups were every goddamn where. The man himself was behind his desk, writing something furiously on a piece of paper.

  His head raised, seeing Edison first, his brows going together, then landing on me. "Oh." That was all he said, knowing the drill.

  Edison walked over toward the wall, looking at the paperwork plastered there, doing so with interest which made me think the fuck might have spoken Polish on top of Romanian. Though how he saw through the code was beyond me.

  It was maybe five minutes later when he came in, black hoodie on with white hood pulls. I swear he owned fucking stock in whatever company made those damn things because it was all he wore and I knew he burned everything after each, ah, job. The hood was pulled up, his head lost within, always choosing to remain as anonymous as possible when he was going in and out of Barrett's, not wanting anyone to know who he actually was.

  The hooded head jerked and kept walking toward the bathroom in the back.

  "Be right out," I told Edison, and followed him in.

  He reached up and pulled the hood off. "A 62?" he asked, brows drawn together. "You need information? Usually, you're the one coming to me with info."

  "My, ah," - my fuck buddy? Somehow that didn't feel right to say all of a sudden. "My woman got roughed up and almost raped by the bastard who owns the building she rents a space in for her salon. I need to know who he is
, where he lives, and where I can find him right about fucking now."

  Luce nodded, reaching into his back pocket for a cell, one I knew had not a damn thing on it but a search history that likely only went back that day. He tossed burners more often than drug dealers.

  I rattled off the address, watching as he typed, looking around for a short minute. "Ethan Criss. Family money. Invested it in property which was a good move. Ah, has a house down on Ticon. Ha," he said, shaking his head. "Doesn't even have a security system. Stupid fuck. Number five. I think that's where you'd find him at this time. Need anything else?"

  "The lease agreement he has with Kennedy."

  He looked up at me, brow raised. "You sure you know what you're doing? I can see how hot you are. Not that you shouldn't be, but I'm making sure it isn't clouding your judgment."

  Luce didn't get worked up.

  Maybe it was a consequence of seeing nothing but the ugliness, filth, and cruelty humans were capable of, but it didn't matter what case he was working on, how the bastard he was after had brutalized other human beings, he was always chill about it.

  I wondered, for maybe the first time in the ten-plus years I had known the guy, if he had ever seen any goddamn good in his life.

  To be perfectly honest, I didn't think he had.

  It never occurred to me how fucked that was before.

  I knew he was right, I knew it was foolish to go in hot; I also knew that this was not something that could wait. I might not have known Kennedy that well, but I knew her well enough to know that when she woke up with a clear head, she was going to want to go to the cops. I needed to have everything handled before then.

  "You worried about me?" I asked, smirk pulling at my lips. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself. You've seen me in the ring."

  "The problem there being, this guy isn't in a ring. He's going to freak out and scream. He lives in a nice neighborhood. They hear screams, they're calling the cops. I know he's got to pay, but maybe getting yourself locked up for Ag isn't what you need."