"Don't bother checking your schedule, girl. I didn't make an appointment. I don't want an interview. I want an audition."
"An audition for what?"
"The opening you have. Here, I even brought my own hair model," he supplied, leaning back outside and calling in a woman with somewhat dry-looking processed blonde hair. "I am going to take this big ol' mess," he said, indicating her head, "and make it into something wonderful."
Then he did.
The girl who left that chair with a pale blonde hair with baby pink undertones, damage cut off, hair styled to suit her features better, looked absolutely as wonderful as he said she would.
"And that was how Benny started working for me," I supplied, realizing I was smiling at the memory. It felt like forever ago, but it had only been less than a year.
"So what happened?" Pagan asked, seeming not to have lost his interest even though I had prattled on for long enough that my food was cold and his was somehow all gone suddenly. "Had everything going for you- good apartment, good business, good friend. You should be flying high, but instead, you are weighed down as fuck."
He wasn't wrong, and I was maybe a bit surprised that it was something he had noticed about me.
"So one day, I was buying drinks at the convenience store for work... and my card got declined. It was a debit so I couldn't have gone over my limit since it was just attached to my checking account. And that had never happened to me before. It was humiliating. I went from there to my bank, figuring maybe something was just wrong with the card. And they called me over to the official area; you know where all the desks are and whatnot. Then they showed me my account."
"Sense where this is going," he said, face hard, but eyes sympathetic.
"I was overdrawn by over ten grand. And there had been fifteen in there to start with. Rent money, Benny's paycheck... it was all gone."
I had never been one for big, girly, pathetic, emotional displays in public before. But the second I realized that my card had been compromised, that someone had stolen from me, I just... lost it. The banker had to get up and go get me a box of tissues I had been blubbering so hard.
Then, when I had finally pulled it together, she had calmly, sympathetically, but matter-of-factly, informed me that the incident would need to be investigated before the bank could refund my money.
The amount of time that could possibly take?
Six months.
And then things just kept coming up. My rent got hiked just as my lease was going up. I had someone back into my bumper, the problem superficial, but would lead to rust if I didn't fix it. Then when I paid that off, there went my brakes. The pedicure chair broke and I had bought it from a manufacturer that didn't give refunds.
One thing after another.
I was in a downward spiral.
By the time I had to sell my car to make ends meet, and rent a room from an old man who was about as friendly as a feral cat, I had fallen so far that I didn't even know where up was anymore.
But still, still I managed to put some money away. I did that by cutting coupons, only eating ramen noodles, canned fruit, and frozen veggies- the stuff that was frequently on sale and cost less than a dollar a portion. Because I knew that the only way to come back from such a setback was to expand.
After ten months, when I finally got money back from the bank after a bunch of bullshit excuses for the delay, and I had also saved up a bit on my own, enough for me to pay two-thirds the rent on the space next door for the three months during construction, since it was an utter mess over there, I asked Ethan to She's Bean Around to discuss the slighted scale idea I had been sitting on. I had been sure, so sure, that it would be enticing. After all, wasn't some income better than none?
"Kennedy," Pagan said, shaking his head. "You were absolutely right. And any other man who didn't want you at his mercy, didn't want to use your desperation against you, would have jumped at it. A building sitting empty for over a fucking year, any good businessman would have jumped at it in a heartbeat."
And now I would never expand.
"They could never figure out who skimmed your card?"
I shook my head. "They said it was too random. It could have been the card reader at a store, or a reader and camera on the ATM when I went to it, or even a waitress with a skimmer at a restaurant. The cops told me that you could buy the scanner online for dirt cheap and be living large on someone else's hard-earned money forevermore. I don't even carry a card anymore. I do everything with cash. I figure this is a 'screw me once, shame on you' kind of situation."
"Fucking sucks, pet," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. "But you're doing everything right to get back on track. You gotta be proud of yourself for that." Then, because the moment was maybe to heavy for him, for both of us, he gestured toward his plate. "Besides, if the beauty thing doesn't pan out, I think you could have a second career as a cook."
I smiled, internally agreeing that it had actually been a pretty kickass meal. It had been so long since I had cooked that a part of me was worried I had lost whatever culinary skills I had had to begin with. It was nice to know I hadn't.
"So what do you think about a quick fuck, then maybe checking out the beach? I haven't been back here much since summer started."
I smiled at that. "Sounds good."
And it was.
Actually, perfect.
He had my story, he had my body which he treated absolutely perfectly, and he had absolutely no awkwardness about the fact that he, quite literally, took me for a long walk on the beach like some cheesy romantic movie.
Then we got back, took a dip in his pool to get off the sand, which led to some stripping, making me wonder if his neighbors were of the peeping variety for a moment before he dragged me inside and fucked me hard and rough and dirty on his living room couch.
We slept.
I woke up with his hand holding my breast and his body behind me.
We had sex, showered, had breakfast.
Everything was so, so normal.
Then he drove me to work, assuring me the whole time that Ethan would not, in any way shape or form, be a problem for me that day.
"The fuck is this shit?" he asked, jumping out of the car when I had gotten onto the sidewalk. Surprised, I jerked back, watching him close in on me.
"What?"
"You get out of the car and I don't get a proper fucking goodbye?"
Then, almost before he finished speaking, he showed me what a 'proper fucking goodbye' was. By the time his mouth left mine, I was already ready to go another round, and a little unsteady on my feet as I made my way into the salon.
"Girl, where you... what the fuck?"
So I guess I had forgotten about my face.
And now I had to have a talk with Benny.
FIFTEEN
Kennedy
"Sorry, damn, shit, he's going to kill me," Benny said, wincing when I shocked back from his explosion a second before.
Kill him?
"Wait... what? Who is going to kill you?"
"Your man," he said, rolling his eyes like I was dense or something.
"My... man?"
Granted, I had started to see him as that and maybe he had called me his woman and such, but I wasn't sure if we were in a place where we could say that to other people, if maybe it was just our dirty little secret.
"Your sexy, scary biker man, yes. Your man."
"Why would he kill you?"
"Because he told me your face was fucked up and you likely weren't feeling so hot about it and I should keep my trap shut. But, well, you know me. Word vomit every-goddamn-where. I just didn't think it would look as bad as it does. Does it hurt?"
"Only if I smile too big or touch it really. I bruise like a peach."
"Yeah, well with that milk and honey complexion." He waved a hand toward one of the empty chairs, taking the other, and spinning it toward me. "Alright, let's hear it."
"He didn't tell you?" I aske
d, surprised.
"He told me Ethan got you alone and roughed you up and that your face is a mess. That was about it."
Normally, that would be a wildly inappropriate request given the delicate situation, but this was Benny. Benny was my best friend in the world. Nothing was inappropriate with him. He once asked me where I got waxed because he needed to find a new place. And when I told him I waxed myself to save money, he actually suggested I do him... and his boyfriend. And while I was perfectly willing to do their chests, their man business was, well, none of my business.
We shared intimate details about everything.
Maybe if things had gone further than they had, I would have felt less inclined to share, especially so soon. But as it was, I wasn't overly traumatized about the whole situation.
"Fucking asshole deserves his cock chemically burned off."
That was Benny for you- a bit of an over-reactor, though, to be honest, I didn't exactly disagree.
"Thank God for your man being all overprotective and getting us that system. I owe him a free chest wax or twenty."
"Jesus, what was that?" he asked, jerking back in his chair at the same time I did.
On the other side of the wall, hard enough to make our mirrors jump, was a slam against the it from next door.
My stomach dropped and my saliva tasted bitter even on my own tongue as I stared at that wall.
That mother fucker.
I should have known, hell, maybe I did know but had been too sex-sated the night before and that morning to really let it sink in.
Of course he was going to take his beating from Pagan out on me.
He had rented out the place next door.
And, knowing him, it was for like half what I offered him, just to screw me over, just to make a point.
"God, he really is the scum of the earth, isn't he?" Benny echoed my thoughts, aloud, as he was more inclined to do.
I let out a long, slow breath, trying to pretend that everything inside didn't feel like it was sinking. But that was exactly what it felt like, like when you're walking down the stairs in the dark and you think there is one more step, but your foot hits empty air and it was already too late to do anything but fall. That was how my stomach felt.
But it was okay.
Well, it wasn't okay.
But it would be okay.
I had a fair amount of money saved.
If I kept cutting corners, if I kept cutting coupons, if I stayed in the house I hated, if I kept bumming rides or taking cabs when I had to, if I kept my salary as low as humanaly possible.
Then maybe in a year, I could look for new real estate. I could just... work overnights on getting it renovated as soon as possible so I didn't have to pay two rents.
Then I could leave this shoebox vagina behind and flip off selfish, abusive, dickhead Ethan Criss in the process of making my dreams come true finally.
I was still young.
I had plenty of time.
"Alright, let me see what I can do about that face," Benny declared, recovering faster than me since the backlash of Ethan being a bastard didn't impact his life quite as much as it did mine. "You have a client in an hour. I think we have some of that pricey makeup leftover from that bridal party," he said, going into the back to look for the supplies as I sat there seething at the damn wall the entire time.
One day, I was going to show that jackass that he didn't break me, that I didn't need to grovel to him, that, in fact, I didn't need him for anything.
"Yep, this should do it. It's that kind of full-coverage crap we had to use on that God-awful lower back tattoo she had. You know, with the open-back dress. Let's get you back to your usual stunning self."
The makeup mostly covered, though there was definitely a shadow, and my appointment maybe gave me sad eyes like I was some battered woman, but thankfully, kept her mouth closed about it. I was just not in the mood to hash it out again. Because every hammer or saw or scraping noise in the space next door had me absolutely bone-deep livid.
By the time we were closing up and Pagan showed up, though we had no actual plans for that, I was grumpy and tired and my face decided it had about enough fake smiles and the bruise was doing a dull, but insistent throbbing.
"Oh, hey," was my rather underwhelming greeting as I looked up from my daily count, a task I usually found reassuring, but I was fed up with as well.
"She's in a pissy mood," Benny offered, giving me a huge grin when I shot him a 'not helping' look. "What? You are. I figured I would warn him. She needs some food, some wine that doesn't cost five dollars, some aspirin, and about three solid orgasms."
"Well," Pagan said, giving me a wicked grin as he rocked back on his heels, "I'm pretty sure I can manage all that. Come on, pet, let me get you out of that makeup and clothes and into my bed."
But he didn't take me back to his house, insisting it just made more sense on weekdays to stay at the compound since it was just down the street. And since I really did want to get out of the makeup and clothes, have my orgasms, medicine, food, and wine, I agreed.
"Alright, settle in," he told me as we got into his room, him having told everyone to, literally, 'fuck off' when they tried to engage me as we walked past. "I am going to find your booze, food, and medicine. Then once you get all that in you, I will give you your three orgasms. And one more for good measure."
Then, damn if he didn't do just that.
The next day, we did our morning routine; he walked me to work; he gave me a 'proper fucking goodbye;' then I was left to listen to the racket again. Cue bad mood. Cue Pagan's ministrations.
Even a full five days into it, he didn't complain, he didn't seem to fumble, to get short of patience with having to cheer me up every day. If anything, he seemed oddly more upbeat than I thought he usually was. There were new scars on his hands, his forearms, even the side of his face, proving he was still the same old Pagan, still getting himself into scraps, but with me, he was almost unnervingly good and sweet.
Unless I wanted bad and dirty, then he was all too happy to give that to me too.
And it was oddly... comfortable.
You would think that acclimating to practically living inside an outlaw biker compound would be weird, maybe a bit scary, uncomfortable.
But it was none of those things.
Maybe that had something to do with the fact that all those big, bad, scary, outlaw, arms-dealing bikers, yeah, they were just regular dudes. They maybe partied a little harder when they partied, cursed a little more, brought home more women, told dirtier jokes, and had a bit more roughness since they were almost constantly surrounded by other guys.
But they bullshitted, told stories, played pool, watched TV, all normal stuff. And not a single one of them made me feel like an odd man out when Pagan and I were drained from sex and decided to go and hang with them a while. They didn't even make fun of me when Pagan pulled me onto his lap to sit or played with my hair, or pulled me to him by the back of my neck and gave me a kiss that was in no way quick or chaste.
We didn't talk about our 'relationship' if it even was that. Him, likely because he was a guy and they didn't usually do that kind of thing unless prompted. Me because, well, I was really enjoying his company and if bringing up the 'talk' was going to possibly take that away from me, yeah, it wasn't worth the risk.
So I kept my mouth shut.
And I enjoyed him.
We were a solid twelve days into construction in the shop next door when there was a crash that sent my mirror flying to the floor where it shattered in a million little pieces, making my client with a head full of foils screech and almost fall off the side of the chair.
And, well, there was only so much I could take.
I slammed my timer down on the counter on what could only be described as a growl.
"Okay," I declared to Benny who looked over at me with a raised brow. "Enough of this."
"I got her," he said, motioning to my client, giving her a smile, "and this," he added, wa
ving to the mess on the floor. "Go drag them."
Because after about the seventh day, Benny had lost his patience as well. Since the sounds were literally so loud that his clients couldn't even hear him prattle on, charming their socks off like usual. Which meant a steep drop in tips. Which made him, rightfully, fit to be tied.
We had tried to keep each other reasonable. After all, most of our anger was directed at Ethan who had, smartly, not shown back up since 'the incident.' We were irrationally angry over the noise mostly due to him. It wasn't the construction workers' fault, not really. Though it was, perhaps, the fault of whoever their boss was. And I had been beyond patient given the absolutely unacceptable level of noise we had had to endure.
I reached for the door, yanking it open before I could lose my nerve, and storming inside.
"Alright, I think I have been incredibly patient while you traipse an entire herd of freaking buff... Reeve?" I stopped short, seeing the blond, solid, serious biker with his hand inside a wall with a fist full of wires. "Roderick?" I asked as he walked out in full construction-worker-garb, sweat making his shirt stick to his body, revealing somehow the abs beneath.
"Hey mami," he said, smile warm, dimple peeking out. "You look stressed. Pagan not giving you the royal treatment? I would be happy to..."
"Watch your fucking step," Reeve offered.
Roderick smiled wider, "She knows I'm fucking around."
"Think Pagan would see it the same way?" Reeve offered.
"Okay," I said shaking my head, feeling like I suddenly walked into some alternative reality. Why were two of Pagan's brothers in the store next to mine? Doing work? "I am just... I need to know what you guys are doing here?"
"You know, I'm afraid that isn't our place," Reeve said. "Sorry, sweetheart, but we can't help you." Was he dismissing me? "This is a construction zone," he added, giving me a pointed look. He was totally dismissing me. "Pagan would skin me if something hit or electrocuted you."
And then he was walking me to the door.
I almost wanted to sputter.
I had never been walked out of a building like some drunk starting a scene before. True, I had totally planned on starting an epic scene, but still. I was pretty sure these guys were allowed to mess with me like Roderick did, tease me like Cyrus occasionally did, give me those pointed brow raises like Edison gave me. But I thought they were supposed to, you know, treat me with respect. Getting escorted out of a building where I was asking for some simple answers didn't seem respectful to me.
Pagan (The Henchmen MC Book 8) Page 17