Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

"Wh..." Niro started to ask when the door chimed again, making all of us turn.

And of course it was him.

Because that was just perfect.

Again, there was a swelling discomfort about my outfit choice. Not because I particularly wanted Ethan to ogle me the way I wanted Niro to, but because I liked to look put-together around Ethan. Nothing about jeans and a tee said 'put together.' In fact, generally, it said 'fuck it.' And 'fuck it' wasn't the image you wanted to project on someone who still was capable of changing your future.

Ethan's eyes looked over at Pagan, distaste quickly overtaking his features. But he shook it off, nodding his head at Benny. "Hey Benjamin," he said, tone annoyingly formal, and I could see Benny fighting the urge to correct him seeing as his name was not Benjamin. "Kennedy, honey, can I speak to you for a minute?" he asked, eyes sizing me up, and if I wasn't mistaken, finding my outfit just as lacking as I did seeing as he was in a three-piece suit even though it was a thousand degrees out. He wasn't even sweating. The freak.

"Sure," I said, giving him a smile that hurt it was so fake, as I waved out a hand in a 'follow me' gesture. "What's up, Ethan?" I asked when we reached the back of the store, you know, all of ten feet away. But it was as private as we could get without going into the bathroom. Storage was off since we had the broken window and Ethan would have been pissed that we didn't fix it already.

"What is a Henchmen doing here, Kennedy?"

There was an ache in my muscles at forcing my brow to not raise at the disapproval in his tone, in the underlined, unspoken way he thought he knew better than me.

"We don't turn away business because of their profession," I hedged. It was true. We didn't turn away business. And while Niro wasn't around to get his hair cut or dyed, he didn't know that.

"Those are dangerous men," he went on, eyes bigger than normal, like what he was telling me was vitally important, like I was some idiot child who couldn't figure that out for herself.

I took in a slow, deep, deliberate breath to remind myself that Ethan Criss was someone I, as much as I hated it, needed in my life. "I'm sure that's true. But business is business. We aren't in the position to turn away paying customers."

To that, he knew he had no valid argument given my situation.

"Alright, honey, I just want you to be careful," he said, reaching out toward me. The sleeve of his suit slipped up, revealing a stunning gold and black watch that I knew cost more than the entirety of my wardrobe, shoe, makeup, and jewelry collection combined. His fingers, cool even though it was hot as could be outside, pressed down on my wrist, giving me what I was sure he thought was a reassuring squeeze.

His hand didn't drop after what might have been considered an appropriate length of time. It just stayed there, a cold, constant contact.

"What can I do for you today, Ethan?" I asked, wanting to move the conversation on.

"Kenny, baby, I didn't like how we left things in the coffeeshop last week. Maybe I was too abrupt with you. How about we go out again sometime this week and open up a dialog about your plans?"

It was stupid.

It was a dead-end.

I knew that.

But I also knew that even if there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that he might agree to let me expand, that I owed it to myself and my future to be open to that.

So as much as it made my skin crawl to do so, I forced a smile. "I would appreciate that."

"How about Famiglia on Friday?"

"Sounds good, Ethan."

"Would you like me to pick you..."

"I'll meet you there," I rushed to say, having never told him about my living situation, and believing that was none of his business. "What time?"

"Eight?"

"It's a plan," I said, giving him a nod, trying to put an end to the uncomfortable conversation, fully aware that both Benny and Niro were watching intently just ten feet away.

"I'm looking forward to it, Kenny," he said, giving me a slick smile and pulling his hand away. Thankfully, he turned and moved back toward the front of the store. "Baby, wear that black dress with the slit," he said, making me stiffen as I moved to stand next to the desk. Who the hell did he think he was to demand an outfit? "It's a nice place," he added, somehow saving himself but simultaneously making me feel really, really small. Like I was so low brow, so poor that I didn't know to wear something nice to a classy restaurant.