Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

The Eddy person was another man who seemed to slink out of nowhere. He was nothing like his biker brother. He was tall, solid, dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-everything'd. There was something very intimidating about him.

"I think she's lost," he said. Well, no. He didn't really say that; it was more like he growled it. The man growled. And I wasn't so hung up on a possible tryst with Niro to not be appreciative of that sound.

"Don't mind Edison," Mr. Harris said, shaking his head at his friend. "He doesn't play well with others. I'm Cyrus," he said, offering me his hand and, well, what choice did I have but to take it? Then he went ahead and shook it, then enclosed it with his other hand. "I'm not giving up," he added. "Mrs. Harris. Mrs. insert-your-name-here Harris."

I laughed at that, shaking my head. Deciding that while Niro and Edison certainly seemed like big, scary biker dudes, this Cyrus guy was a sweetheart. "Kennedy."

"Mrs. Kennedy Harris," he mused, nodding. "I need to go and carve that into a tree." His smile slipped a little as he released my hand finally, making me snatch it back a little self-consciously, realizing I should have pulled it away myself much sooner. "Are you lost, angel?"

My mouth opened and closed once before I shook my head.

"No, ah, I'm looking for..." - My common sense? My sanity? - "A guy I met a little while ago," I finished with, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly, figuring they both knew that if I was looking for him, then there was likely only one reason. I was a horny girl looking for a roll and tumble with one of their biker buddies.

"No, say it ain't so," he said, giving me puppy-dog eyes despite the fact that from where I was standing at the gates, I could see about a dozen scantily clad women standing around, ready for the taking. "Who is he? I will fight him for you."

I was in the middle of smiling at that when a voice came out of nowhere, making me seriously wonder if all bikers went through ninja training or something.

"That'd be me, Cy," Niro said, coming up behind him, whacking him between his shoulder blades.

Cyrus was solid enough that he didn't move a step forward at the impact, but apparently, Niro was strong enough to make his body jerk slightly. "Oh," Cyrus said, looking at Niro, then me, then Niro, and finally me again. "Yeah, then you're all his, angel face. No way I'm fighting that crazy fucker." He offered me a smile then started walking backward. "Enjoy the party, Kennedy."

Then he turned and was gone.

"Kennedy, huh?" Niro asked, head cocked slightly to the side, giving me the kind of smirk that was meant to melt panties and, well, let's not talk about the state of mine right then. "Come on, let's get you a drink."

With that, the man I knew as Niro since he had still neglected to give me an actual one, threw a heavy arm across my shoulders, making my body go down an inch or so at the unexpected weight, curled his arm slightly so I was more against his side, an unapologetically alpha possessive action that I maybe liked a little too much, and started leading me in toward the clubhouse.

And while, logically, I knew I could leave at any time, the choice was still in my hands, as I was pulled into the building, the decision felt made.

There was no going back.

The inside of the clubhouse wasn't quite what I was expecting. What that expectation was, well, was along the lines of a frat house. Meaning no actual decor, lots of cheap beer, and a general odor of must, sweat, socks, balls, liquor, and a hint of pot.

But their clubhouse was slightly more upscale than that. The decor, while definitely man-cave-ish and understated, was done well. The backbar was quality. The couches were expensive. Hell, even the pool table looked like it cost more than everything I owned combined.

And while there was absolutely a hint of sweat and liquor, the place was surprisingly clean even with the crush of bodies inside.

There was a sea of leather cuts and revealing dresses. Metal was blasting through some hidden speaker system, the vibration seeming to come through the floor and up my legs, an oddly sensual sensation. As if I needed any more sexual frustration right then.

"What are you drinkin'?" I heard from behind the bar as Niro led me up to it, arm still around me like I was some prized possession. Which sort of made a warm feeling spread in my belly even though the more logical part of my brain knew it was likely just a claim-staking thing so any of the other guys didn't get any ideas. In a way, that was still flattering.