ELEVEN
Pagan
I wasn't being a dick.
About not calling Kennedy or showing back up.
Alright, maybe for the first day, it was a conscious choice to put some space there, to let it rest. I wanted to say it was just for her, just because I didn't want her catching feelings and fucking up a good thing. But if I was being completely honest, it definitely was for myself as well. Not because I'd catch feelings. Fuck no. Not me. Just because this fuck buddy thing was out of my wheelhouse and after the disastrous after-fuck situation, I figured maybe it was good to give myself a day to clear my head.
It was that simple.
Until the next morning when I got woken up by Reign pounding on my door, dragging my ass out of bed at around ten, about an hour earlier than usual. What can I say, I stay up late. Mornings are for nine-to-fivers.
"Get dressed," he barked. "Boots and cut too. The mother fucking Lebanese pushed up their ship date, and we need to hit the road now to make it. Normally, I'd tell 'em to go fuck themselves, that we had a deal, but this is a big shipment, these guys are a new contact. And we don't have any other buyers for these kinds of weapons. So you, me, Laz, Renny, Duke, and Wolf are hitting the road. Repo and Cash are hanging back to keep things under control here with all the new probies."
"Just out of pure fucking curiosity," I said as I moved toward my dresser to grab jeans, "why the fuck me?"
I mean, technically, Reeve was probably the better choice of probates to bring, next to Laz. Even Edison might have been a better choice, but with his mysterious past, I figured maybe there was a reason Reign didn't pick him. Cy, well, he was better at the compound, keeping the morale up.
Reign shrugged. "Mood would be tense if I didn't throw you or Cy in the mix," he said, and that was true enough. Reign, Wolf, Duke, and Laz were all serious types. Renny was equal parts laid-back and freaky dark and ruthless. It just depended on the situation. Me, I guess I was the mood-elevator. "You'd both be good if shit came down to hand-to-hand, with Cy having his martial arts background, but you're more equipped to handle guns."
"From what I hear," I said, pulling a shirt on, then sitting down to tie my boots, "your woman is doing her damnedest to teach Cy all about guns."
To that, Reign exhaled hard enough to call it a sigh, raking a hand down his face. "That fucking woman," he said, shaking his head, but there was a smile pulling at his lips, a depth of meaning in his eyes. "Has she put any holes in anything?"
I felt my lips twitch as I stuffed my shit into my pockets and grabbed my cut. "Just the side of one of Repo's cars."
"At least it wasn't the side of the building this time," he said with a laugh, like it was some private joke I hadn't been around long enough to be privy to.
After that, we hit the road.
And I didn't have time to call or stop by.
And I was gone for two days.
I had literally just gotten in, had a shower and a square meal, and my next fucking move was to drive down to Kennedy's salon to see if I could catch her working late.
The fact that my chest did this weird as shit thrill thing when I saw the light on inside as I parked, yeah, I had no fucking clue what that shit was about, but I was trying like hell to convince myself it was because I needed my cock buried inside her as soon as possible again.
I walked in to see her standing there in a little black dress and I decided I couldn't wait to get her back to my place or the compound. I was going to fuck her right there in her goddamn shop.
But then she turned.
The bruise caught my eye first, foreign, completely out of place. It was a darkening blue and purple color spreading over the top of her cheekbone and out toward her hairline.
My guts twisted, somehow knowing that it wasn't just something like she had been clumsy and whacked her face off something. And then my eyes drifted. And I saw the mother fucking rip of her dress.
Rage, for me, was familiar.
I lived for it in an odd way.
I thrived on it.
It built up into a heady cocktail that I used to fuel my fights every week.
But because I only fought once a week, it was something that I could outwardly control, could keep up appearances of being collected even when my blood felt like gasoline that caught a spark.
This rage though, the rage in seeing a woman I gave a shit about with a ripped dress, with haunted eyes and bruises? Yeah, it made every other kind I had ever known seem like mild annoyance.
It was a mother fucking wildfire through my system.
It burned through every single inch of me.
But I couldn't flip.
I couldn't rage out.
I needed to keep the fuck calm.
Whatever she had been through, she was barely holding it together, and I needed answers.
When I spoke, my voice was almost foreign to my own ears, firm, but soft at the same time, not wanting to give her any indication of how worked up I was. "Kennedy, what the fuck happened?"
She swallowed hard, looking like the action required genuine work.
Then she got one word out.
"Ethan."
Her eyes instantly filled and overflowed down her cheeks as her voice caught, letting out a loud, pained-animal sound as she half-folded forward, holding her belly like she had been gutted.
I wasn't what any woman would call an 'emotional support' kind of man.
But there was no way I was going to stand five feet away from her while she sobbed her goddamn heart out.
I walked toward her, arms folding around her, and pulling her to my chest.
She didn't recoil like I had maybe been thinking she would.
In fact, she melted into me. She turned her face into my neck. And she just... let it all out.
Me, well, I felt completely mother fucking inept. I had no idea what I was supposed to say, so I didn't say anything. I held her. I rubbed my hands up and down her back, careful not to push too hard in case she was hurt anywhere else. I knew she needed to drain it out before I could ask those kinds of questions, get the answers I needed. There was no use even trying to ask when she was literally fucking falling apart in my arms.
I wasn't sure how long I stood there holding her, but by the time the sobs became sniffles, the whole right side of my shirt covering my chest was wet through with her tears.
"Sorry..." she mumbled as she pulled back slightly so she could wipe at her cheeks, eyes downcast.
"Sorry?" I asked, jaw so tight there was a grinding pain in my back teeth. "You have fucking nothing to be sorry for."
She shook her head, keeping her head down. "It's just... you're not..."
She didn't finish that, but I got the gist. I wasn't her man. For some reason, that chafed. What? Because I hadn't given her flowers and candy, she thought I would have a problem holding her while she cried after being fucking attacked by some dickwad?
"Hey," I said, taking a deep breath, trying to keep my tone calm. My hand reached out, snagging her chin gently, but pulling harder when she resisted raising her head. "Might not be your boyfriend, but I give a shit about you. And we're going to get back to that later, but right now, pet, I need you to tell me what happened tonight."
Her eyes closed, like she couldn't look at me while she told it, like there was... I don't know... shame there? And that shit was so misplaced that more kindling was added to the fire inside me.
"We had that meeting at Famiglia tonight," she told me, making me recall the day he came into her salon and pulled her into the back to talk to her. Had a bad vibe about him then. Maybe I should have taken it more seriously. "Then he drove me back here because I, ah, didn't want him to know where I was living. I turned away and he..." she swallowed hard, taking a second, but powering through. "He pushed me up against the desk. I think my ribs are... I don't know. They hurt," she said, shaking her head sadly and that teeth grinding thing got even more intense. "I tried to get away, but my heel twisted and I went down. Then he, um, he pushed me down." Her hand lifted, indicating her cheek. "He... he got behind me and I just..."
Fuck.
I knew she needed to get it out, she needed to purge it, but even just the thought inside my head was making it hard to breathe. I wasn't sure I would be able to hold it together when she gave me the details.
"I knew I was just... screwed. But I threw myself onto my back so I could at least... try to fight back. But he's so much stronger..."
I took a slow, deep breath, deep enough that it made my chest burn with it. Nothing, there was fucking nothing worse in the world than a man who used his power against someone weaker.
"And I knew that no just... meant nothing to him. It was like he thought it was me pretending. So I just... I threatened him."
I felt myself jerk back slightly, yanking her chin back up. And, this time, her eyes fluttered open. "You threatened him?"
"I had sort of resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't... that he was going to..." she trailed off, not even able to say the word. I couldn't blame her. It was a fucking ugly word. "So I just wanted to make it clear that I wasn't going to let him get away with it. I told him I was going to call the cops and do a rape kit and give them the footage on my cameras. He was going to go down for it."
Fucking spirit.
I didn't think she had so much of it.
I should have known with her kitty cat self-defense keychain that she wasn't the kind of woman who would go down without using whatever weapon was in her arsenal.
"And that... got through, I guess. And he got off me and I got away and... I screamed at him until he left..."
Jesus Christ.
I think for maybe the first time in my life, I understood what true relief felt like. Sure, she had been roughed up, she had been scared out of her mind, she had been sure the worst was going to happen. And there were scars about that. There was going to be some emotional damage.
But he hadn't raped her.
He hadn't left her with those marks that might never heal.
It didn't change anything in my mind.
Because he would have done it.
The only thing stopping him was repercussions.
I guess he was counting on Kennedy rolling over and taking it.
I guess he also didn't count on me.
"Come on," I said, sliding my hand down her arm until my hand had hers, fingers slipping between. I was pretty sure it was the first time in my entire fucking life that I held a woman's hand. And somehow, it didn't feel weird or awkward like I thought it might.
"Come where?" she asked, shaking her head, looking around. "I... I need to call..." then she trailed off, like she wasn't sure.
Like maybe she was worrying about pressing charges.
Because this bastard held her future in his hands.
Oh yeah, that bullshit would not fucking stand.
"You can call whoever you need to call once I get you back to the compound," I told her, pulling her with me, grabbing her purse off her desk as I brought her to the door, flicking off the lights, and locking up.
"Pagan, I..." she started to object as I pulled her over to my car parked on the street. I had been on a bike for days straight. When I got back, the thought of getting on it again made my lip curl. So I brought the car to pick her up, something I was glad for at that moment.
Because the hand in mine and the arm it was attached to and the body on from there, all of it was still trembling slightly. I wasn't sure I would trust her to be able to hold on tight enough to stay on the bike.
"Sh, we'll talk when we get there, okay?"
Because, quite frankly, I needed a minute.
I needed to get my thoughts together.
I needed to try to calm myself down a bit.
Because that's what, whether or not she realized, she needed for me.
She nodded as I pushed her into the passenger seat and stayed silent the very short drive down the street, as we parked, as I went around to take her hand again and lead her inside.
The clubhouse was probie heaven that night.
The men who had women, Laz and Renny included, were off with them, getting reunited.
That left Cyrus, Reeve, Edison, Sugar, Virgin, Roan, and Roderick in the common room. As such, the TV was loud, liquor was around, and voices were somewhat raised and, until we stepped in, there were the upbeat sounds of laughter as they likely shared old war stories.
But then I pulled the door open and we walked in, drawing all of their attention.
And everything fell silent. Faces fell.
Because there was only one explanation for a woman standing there with a busted face, a ripped dress, running makeup, and swollen, red-stained eyes.
And the collective hardened reaction was exactly fucking why I loved my brotherhood, why I knew it was home when I came into the compound that night many months before. Because, quite frankly, it didn't matter that literally each and every one of them were criminals, that they all had taken lives, that they hurt people who deserved it. Under all that, they were good fucking men. They had moral compasses. There was a distinct line between wrong and right. They had a code.
Hurting women, yeah, that shit was not fucking acceptable.
There was a rumble, low, barely audible. I didn't even think Kennedy heard it, but I did and I recognized it. Maybe because I knew where it came from and why.
It came from Edison.
And while his past was mostly secret, one thing was clear, the man had a serious problem with men abusing women. He apparently had a reputation for beating the shit out of pimps who roughed up their whores. A couple months ago, when Bethany's past caught up with her, leaving her beat up, he had been fucking cold as ice, his anger running toward frigid.
He slowly stood, unfolding like a cat, and I felt myself stiffen, knowing that Edison was intimidating on a normal day, but when he was pissed, he was going to scare the shit out of Kennedy.
My hand squeezed hers tighter, but then saving the situation, Cyrus stood up, shoving a hand into Edison's chest, catching him off-guard enough to make him fall back into the couch.
"I see why you're here," Cy said, giving her a sly smile. "You are finally reconsidering my marriage proposal. Well, Mrs. Harris, we can't get married with you in a torn dress now can we? Come on," he said as he moved close and I could literally feel some of the tension leaving Kennedy's body as he neared, "let's go get you something more comfortable to wear. I do believe I have a white t-shirt that could work as a gown. You would be stunning in a burlap sack," he added, taking her other hand in his, chattering away animatedly as only Cy could seem to do, and managing to lead her away.
It was the first real breath I took as I stood there with my brothers, understanding a heady thing in the air.
"Who?" Edison barked, standing again. In fact, everyone was standing suddenly. And every last one of them had matching masks of anger. They didn't even know her, they barely even knew me, but they wanted blood.
See?
Good fucking men.
Sugar was the first to move, going behind the bar, getting a bottle of whiskey, and pouring me almost a full glass.
"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 the 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.