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 asked, 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, waving 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.
"Sorry, Kennedy," Reeve said, ducking his head so he could catch my eyes, looking sincere. "You're just going to have to ask Pagan your questions."
With that, he turned and left, and if I wasn't mistaken, I could hear the click of the lock.
"Did you give them hell?" Benny asked, standing at the washing sink, pulling the foils out of my client's hair. The glass was all swept up and my client was beaming up at Benny. So everything was okay.
Sort of.
Except the whole situation next door.
I gave Benny a look that said we had to talk about it later, making him nod, and get back to work.
Twenty minutes later, we were in an empty shop.
"Alright, spill. What has that look on your face? Did they get nasty? I mean, I might not be scary, but I will call my man and have him over there in a heartbeat. You've had enough of shitty men this... what?" he trailed off.
"The weirdest thing just happened..." I started, cut off by the chime of the door, making me turn. "Perfect timing," I said, seeing Pagan walking in, hair wet like he had freshly showered, but otherwise just him- jeans, boots, wifebeater, leather cut, scruff. "I need to talk to you about..."
"Do you have five bucks, pet?"
Thrown off, my brows drew together and I reached under my desk for my purse. "I, ah, I think so. Hold on, let me check."
Frazzled, I rummaged through my bag to find my wallet, pulling out five singles, my last five singles, and handing it to Pagan. All the while, wondering why the hell he would need five dollars from me when he had a million dollar house and a car that cost a fortune. But that being said, he had covered all the food and whatnot we had had over the past couple weeks, so if he was a couple bucks short for something, I totally needed to step up.
"Congratulations, pet," he said oddly as he pocketed the cash, pulling out a curled up stack of paperwork and putting it down on the desk.
"Congratulations for what? I love a good party," Benny said, coming up to stand on the other side of the desk with Pagan.
"What is this?" I asked as he pushed the papers to me, drawing my attention down.
"Is this a... deed?" When he didn't answer, my eyes moved over to the bold print. "Why is my name here?"
"Because you are now the owner of the whole building," Pagan said, patting the pocket where my five dollars were situated.
"Okay, this makes no sense," I said, swallowing hard, but with my suddenly very dry mouth, it was difficult.
"Funny thing," Pagan said, shrugging, so freaking casual about something so crazy. "It happens that Ethan Criss only sort of owns this business. He and his partner, Conor, actually own it. And since Ethan hasn't been to work in a while," he paused there, giving me a look that I couldn't quite interpret and I thought I had gotten pretty good at reading him, "Conor was all-too-happy to look over the paperwork on this property. Was pissed too that Ethan never took you up on your offer earlier since that dump next door has been doing nothing but falling apart while empty. I made him an offer he couldn't, in good conscience, refuse. It was supposed to be a surprise," he added with a smirk as I just stood there catching flies in my mouth. "But you had to get all hyped up on your righteous anger and storm over there and ruin it."
He... bought a building for me?
No.
That was just... insane.
I never even planned to own the building. That wasn't even in the realm of possibilities for me.
And he didn't have that kind of money.
Right?
But then again, nothing else made sense seeing as the store next door was full of Henchmen.
"Pagan, I don't..." I shook my head, watching as Benny silently backed away, making his way to the door, obviously picking up on the fact that Pagan and I needed a minute to sort things out. And, very likely, going next door to ogle and be a cheerleader to all the sexy bikers doing manual labor. "This makes no sense," I went with, deciding it was the most honest, coherent thought inside my swirling brain right then.
"What doesn't make sense?" he asked, head ducked to the side. "I bought the building. And thanks to your nice little investment," he said, meaning the five dollars he had conned out of me, "now you own the building."
"That must have cost..." I trailed off, the sum of money that would take being completely foreign to me.
"Seven-hundred," he offered easily, no muss, no fuss, no hedging, no making me beg for the exact number.
Seven-hundred thousand dollars.
I was pretty sure that would be more than I would see in my entire lifetime. How did he even have that kind of money? True, he had the two less than legal jobs, but could they really be enough to allow him to have his expensive beach home and just... take my building as a wash.
My.
My building.
"You just need to sign the paper, pet," he said, stabbing a finger toward where there was a blank spot for my name.
"I just..." I trailed off, forcing myself to take a steadying breath, preparing myself for what I knew I had to do. "This is extremely generous, Pagan. In fact, they need a whole new word for what this gesture was. But... it's too much. I can't let you spend that on me."
His chest expanded with a deep breath before he moved from his side of the desk to mine, backing me up against the wall. "There's a difference between a man who spends on you and one who invests in you. I'm not buying you a thousand dollar dress, or five-hundred dollar shoes, or some jewelry that cost a downpayment on a house. I'm investing in your future. And I know you're going to take the opportunity to make this a success because that's the kind of woman you are. I've dropped tens of thousands of dollars on bikes and ATVs and four-wheelers and cars and shit that I buy for the sole purpose of crashing. This is probably the first sound investment I have ever made with my money."
He wanted to invest in me.
That, that word, perhaps meant more than any "I love yous" or "I'll be with you forevers" ever could. Because it meant he believed in me and what I was capable of, what I was bound to accomplish in my life. It meant that, beyond the 'him and me,' he still valued me as an individual.
I looked down for a minute, sure the whole weight of what I just realized was in my eyes, and not wholly comfortable being quite that vulnerable yet. "I will probably never be able to pay you back."
"I wasn't asking you to."
And that, that casualness about such a huge sum of money, was what managed to make my head raise. "You're out seven-hundred thousand dollars."
"Yes and no," he said, shrugging.
"How no?"
"Technically it was my money, but it has been sitting in an account untouched for, fuck, I don't even know... ten years?"
Maybe even more confused, my brows drew together. "Okay, can I maybe have this from the beginning?"
I never asked him for details, never wanting to be that needy chick who pried information out of you. I always believed someone's actions meant a hell of a lot more than their pasts, so when he didn't automatically offer me his when I offered him mine, I just let it go.
In light of this though, yeah, I was asking.
"You want my story." It wasn't a question, just an acknowledgment of my request.
"I think it's maybe time for that, don't you?"
He took a long, deep breath, seeming more stressed than I had ever seen him before. In fact, I had never seen him stressed before. It wasn't an emotion that I thought was even in his wheelhouse.
"Alright," he said, giving me a nod. "I'll give it to you."
And right then, I was pretty sure, downright certain, that I was maybe the only person he had truly given it to before.
That, well, it meant something too.