FOUR
Pagan
She ran off.
That shouldn't have surprised me. I didn't fight clean. It was always crazy, bloody, brutal, animalistic. It definitely wasn't meant for anyone faint of heart or weak of stomach.
That was why I was paid the big bucks over at Hex.
Maybe a part of me was so used to that, and the people around me being so used to it, that I forgot that not everyone could handle that kind of violence.
Especially the soft and sweet girls like Kennedy.
I shouldn't have even been stressing about it.
That was the dream, wasn't it? To have the chick leave so there didn't need to be that uncomfortable conversation about how it was casual, how she needed to take her ass home, find a decent guy, and set to sinking her hooks into him.
So when I turned back, wiping the sweat off my forehead and likely swiping blood all over my face like some goddamn barbarian, standing over the body of the fucking moron kid who thought it was in any way appropriate to step to a member of the MC like that, I expected to see her standing there.
The disappointment in not seeing her was more than was normal. And it wasn't as simple as the fact that after a fight, I needed a fuck. That was just how I was wired. I had the rough and nasty, and I needed a soft woman there to burn through the rest of that energy. So it was normal in that sense to feel like I was missing out when she was gone, that I wasn't going to get the fuck I wanted.
That being said, it was a goddamn open house. There was snatch everywhere just waiting to be plowed into. Getting my soft was not the problem. It never was.
But somehow, she was the soft that I wanted.
And that, well, was simply not like me at all.
Any woman was just as good as the next since all I wanted was a good time.
As I walked back into the compound to get another drink, I had the absolutely insane, uncharacteristic, ridiculous thought that maybe it was because I wanted more than a good time with her.
And then I grabbed a bottle of something amber and tipped it back until that fucking moronic thought no longer existed.
"You're bleeding fuckin' everywhere," Reign said at my side, brow raised.
"Not my blood."
"Fine, then you're drippin' fuckin' everywhere."
"Some dipshit kid wanted to step to me."
"I'm hopin' he's still breathing."
Hoping.
You had to respect Reign for a mindset like that.
Shit happened and lives were taken at times.
I guess, seeing as he had taken his fair share, he got that.
Me, I had mangled bodies behind me, but almost all of them were still breathing. Taking lives wasn't an idea I took lightly, though I did believe some fuckers deserved to die.
"Yeah, he's painting the grass down the alley red for a bit, but he'll get up again. Not to tell you your business, but I'm hoping he ends up nursing his wounds somewhere other than the compound."
"I dunno," Reign mused, reaching behind me for a beer. "I think a man willing to step to someone with your fucking reputation might be worth looking into."
"It was booze bravado. He wants to step to me sober after that ass-kicking, then I'd say you had a point."
"Fair point." He nodded, leaning against the bar, looking out at the sea of people, most of whom were new to us.
"Any finalists?"
"I'm liking the duo from the MC."
"Sugar and Virgin," I supplied, feeling like that event happened ages before.
"Yeah, them. Janie is already on looking into them. Alex is going to check out Roan," he said, using the neck of his beer to point to the man in question. Size-wise, he was solid, wide, strong, even in jeans and a tee there was no way to disguise that. Unlike most of the other newer prospects, he seemed older. Maybe mid-to-late thirties. There was something primal about him too. Maybe it was as simple as the shoulder-length dark hair and the full beard. But it was in the eyes too, light light green and keen.
"What's his story?"
Reign shrugged. "From what he says, ex-CIA."
"A spy?" I asked, turning to look at the man again.
"Again, so he says. We're having Alex check into that story. It's possible. I've been eavesdropping tonight and have heard him speak three languages already." At my brow raise, he shook his head. "English, obviously. Then Spanish with that Roderick guy," he said, gesturing toward a tall, good-looking Puerto Rican guy who was almost as big as Wolf. "Then he walked right up to Edison and spoke fucking Romanian without even asking about Edison's background."
I could see the advantage there. A spy. Ex-spy, whatever. Espionage was a part of every damn criminal enterprise. And spies, since they only worked indirectly with government agencies, tended to be extremely comfortable doing things completely against the law. Plus, Spanish would absolutely come in handy. Maybe less so the Romanian, but Edison was sure to like it. And if he spoke those two, who knew if he maybe had some Russian, Italian, or Polish going on that would prove useful for our contacts.
"Is he tolerable?" I asked, watching him reach out and shake Sugar's hand.
To that, Reign's smile was wry. "Kind of hard to tell, don't you think? If he was a spy, then his entire life was built on lying and creating new identities. If his background check pans out, that is what the probate period is for. See if he gets on with everyone, what his strengths and weaknesses are." He turned half to me again, jerking his chin toward the small circle of Roan, Sugar, Roderick, and Virgin. "Did you fucking hear how Sugar got his name?"
"No." I shook my head.
To that, the prez's smile was fucking brilliant.
"You won't believe this shit..."
--
"I'm just saying," Maze said as we left her office, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"What are you saying?"
"That you really need to go and tell them about this," she said with a brow raise. Them meaning The Henchmen.
See, there was a lot I was willing to give them about me. This was not one of them. And I was just starting to see how much of a fucking problem my current conflict of interest was.
I had hired Maze to handle my books years before. She had a reputation for being the best in the area, especially when you had dirty money coming in like I always did from Hex. I had no idea she was even hooked up with The Henchmen at the time. Not that it would have mattered even if I did know. Back then, that didn't matter since I wasn't involved with them myself.
Now, well, it was becoming problematic.
I got an earful every goddamn month when I went to see Maze again.
She didn't like being in the position of keeping information from her loved ones, but she couldn't turn on me either.
"It's not the time, Maze," I said, shaking my head as we moved to walk down the street. "I'll let them in on it when I need to."
"That's just it though, Pagan. You should feel like you need to now. This is a brotherhood. You need to trust them."
Whether she would admit it or not, she still had a small amount of anger or disappointment about not having been allowed in the MC when she had made it through the grueling probate process that there used to be before all the members had been killed. Things were relatively easy on me, Laz, Cyrus, Reeve, and Edison seeing as we didn't have a whole shitload of patched members to kowtow to. We had to carry out the chores and the shit shifts, sure, but that was about it.
I couldn't say the new probates would have it so easy.
All of us were itching to test their resolve.
The poor fucks.
"It's just the... oh, wait, I need to pop in here real quick," she said suddenly, grabbing the door to a small salon.
I went in without looking at the sign.
It didn't matter that she was completely faced away from me and there were thousands of blonde women of her size in town.
I knew it was her the second my eyes fell on her.
And that was some mother fucking fate shit right there.
I might have gotten mildly inappropriate, but I wasn't the kind of jackass to make a scene at her work in front of her employee. So I left when everything, most especially my cock, was screaming to grab her, pull her into some storage or bath room and fuck her senseless like I had been thinking about every night since when I rubbed one out. Or two. Or three. What can I say? I had a lot of ideas of making that woman scream my name.
But I forced myself to leave with Maze and let her keep up her professional appearances.
It was just perfect that when I passed by again, telling myself I was on my way to Chaz's when I was on the wrong mother fucking side of the street for that, and found her alone, well, I decided just to wait it out.
She wasn't in another sundress that day, much to my slight disappointment, having had decided back at the compound that sundresses were my new fucking favorite item of clothing.
Two words: easy access.
But she had on a pair of blue and white patterned lightweight shorts that were short enough to show off a huge amount of leg which I was all fucking for, and a white tank top that was all loose and flowing around her, blue flats, and a huge array of bracelets on her wrists.
Her head jerked in my direction when I spoke.
And I don't know what fucked me up more, the way her brilliant eyes went huge, or the way her lips formed a perfect O.
Either way, fucked, that's what I was.
She shook her head slightly, slinging her bag further up on her shoulder, making her spine stiffen. "Are you following me?"
I chuckled at that, shrugging. "Possibly."
"You get how creepy that is, right?"
"Creepy? Walking a single woman to her car? What a fuckhead, huh?"
Her brows drew together at that, likely torn because I had fed her two different realities in the course of two minutes. I wanted to keep her guessing, keep her on her toes. Because I had a feeling she was the type of woman who, when she thought too much, fucked up good things way too easily.
Me fucking her until her throat was raw from screaming was definitely a good goddamn thing.
"I'm walking," she said after a long second.
"All the more reason for an escort then," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets, knowing full-well I was an intimidating guy, and figuring she would feel safer around me if I looked less threatening.
"It's really not that fa..."
"Damn, honey," a third voice joined the conversation, making her hand instinctively tighten, a movement I was observant enough to catch, noticing that her fingers were slipped into some self-defense keychain. Somehow, I was all the more intrigued knowing that she wasn't some braindead broad thinking she was bulletproof, and was aware that we lived in a town where genuine bad guys could be around any corner. And was ready to gouge their mother fucking eyes out.
Yeah, I liked me a woman who was willing to blind a man for looking at her sideways.
"Fuck off," I barked at the group of idiot twenty-something frat boys who were likely on their way to Chaz's after obviously doing a lot of pre-gaming.
"Who the fuck is talking to you, biker dude?" The one who spoke to Kennedy first, obviously the most loud-mouthed of the group, asked. "I'm just saying... that ass, though. I got eyes; she got a body."
"Move the fuck along before..."
"Before what? You make me?"
"Before I take those eyes from your useless fucking skull and use them for olives in her fucking drink, asshole."
It was the tone more than the threat; I knew that. Threats were a dime a dozen. Men tended to be hot-headed. But the fact that I sounded like I meant it, because I fucking did, had him stiffening and moving back a step.
"Come on," he said after swallowing hard, whacking his buddy in the chest, "let's get to the bar. She's hot, but she ain't that hot."
They shuffled off and Kennedy's body noticeably relaxed, likely realizing that, had I not been there, she'd have had to deal with them on her own. And, given how drunk they all were, and that they were jackasses, that would likely not have gone well for her.
"Fine, you can walk me home," she allowed, not looking at me, but watching the guys retreat. Then she turned away from me and started walking, leaving me to follow like some goddamn puppy.
Which, for some reason, I did.
"Anyone ever tell you the inside of your salon looks like a pussy?" What can I say, I wasn't great at the small talk thing.
And those words didn't have the response I had maybe been expecting- shock or outrage. She did freeze mid-stride, half-turn back, then look at me for a long second before throwing her head back and laughing. Hard. Until her belly hurt. I knew that because she pressed her hand there sometime in the middle.
Fuck if I didn't feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips too.
"Benny tells me that almost daily."
"Benny the gay guy working for you?"
"That'd be him."
"He had fake eyelashes and liner on, and he doesn't like pink?"
"Benny is his own person that way. Alright, this is me," she announced, waving her hand to the side.
I turned, finding a small ranch that couldn't have been more than two beds and one bath, slightly overgrown lawn, and looked like the entire thing hadn't seen an upgrade since the seventies.
"This is where you live? Looks like some old geezer lives here."
"He does," she surprised me by saying, releasing her fingers from the holes in her kitten keychain.
"Sugar daddy, huh? Keeps you fully stocked with Bengay and five-cent coupons."
She snorted at that. "I'm not dating him, you perv. I'm just living here."
"You own your own business, but you're renting a room."
"Any other personal details you would like to know? My credit score? Cup size?" she asked, lifting a brow, making it clear I pressed a sore spot. What that sore spot was was beyond me, but it definitely took the woman from somewhat soft, a little awkward, and sweet, to annoyed, snarky, and haughty in all of a second.
Interesting.
I took a step closer, making the tips of my boots touch the front of her shoes. And because she was in a stand-her-ground type of mood, she didn't go back a step like she probably wanted, knowing me being close was problematic for her. That problem? It was because being within a foot of her had her panties wet. I didn't even have to check to know. I'd bet my left nut that she was soaked earlier at her shop from just having me behind her. And I'd bet my right one that she was getting wet with me right in front of her old-man house.
My hands settled at her hips and slid slowly upward, my cock twitching to life at the way a small shudder moved its way through her body at the chaste touch. Maybe her system was anticipating that my motives were anything but innocent. Her eyes found mine, hers wide, rounded with surprise. Her lips were parted in what had to be anticipation. But I wasn't going to take her lips.
See, I decided sometime between the shop and her driveway that shit was different. I was going to play my hand a way I never had before.
So even though all I had been thinking about was getting inside her all week, it wasn't going to happen this night. Even though I knew I could have her if I wanted to.
My hands pressed in a little firmer as they passed her ribs, feeling the band of her bra, then letting my palms close around her breasts and squeezing until an almost silent moan escaped her lips. Her nipples hardened almost instantly, pressing invitingly against my hands. And, well, I was only a man. I couldn't help but let my hands shift so that my thumbs could work over the tightened points. Until she almost swayed into me she was so far gone already.
Then I let my hands fall away.
"Dunno. I'd say that's about a thirty-six C. Have a good night, Kennedy. I'll be seeing you around."
It wasn't an empty conversation-ender.
It was a fucking promise.
I was going to see her.
I was going to see her spread across my bed stark fucking naked, pussy wet, nipples hard, begging, fucking begging for my cock.
I was going to see her on her knees with my cock buried in her throat.
I was going to see her on all fours with my hand fisted in her hair, claiming her ass as mine.
Oh, yeah.
I planned to see a fuckuva lot of Kennedy.
But not before I got her to beg for it.
Yeah, that was the hand I was going to play.