Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

When I reached to pull out a container of mixed greens, Pagan was shaking his head. "Do I look like a salad kind of guy?"

"You said you weren't picky," I said, rolling my eyes. "Besides, why is it here if you don't eat it?"

"Guessing the house sitter bought it," he said casually, making me turn back around.

"The house sitter?" I repeated, the concept almost completely lost on me, seeing as I didn't even have my own place, let alone one that I wasn't at enough to require someone to watch it for me.

"Yeah, fucking kid tries too hard. Probably brings skirts back here, cooks them some bullshit candlelight dinner in the hopes of getting them up in the Egyptian sheets."

"Ah..." I said, suddenly stiffening.

"Don't worry," he said with a smile, reading my thoughts. "He is under strict orders to change the sheets."

"Why would you let your house sitter have sex in your bed?"

He shrugged as I reached for a three pack of pork chops in the fridge, putting them on the counter, and going in search of spices. "Someone should." When I turned back, brows drawn together, he almost looked a little... uncomfortable. It was such strange on a man as self-assured as himself that I couldn't look away. Sensing the unasked question, he shook his head. "I fuck women at their places or the compound."

Was I the first woman he had had in his bed?

That thought did the swelling thing to me again.

"Why?" I asked, pretending I was unaffected as I heated a pan with oil and set to prepping the meat.

"The women I fuck know it's just that- a good time. There's not even a thought of anything else. I'm not exactly the kind of man a woman wants to settle down with- some cage fighter and biker. But if they saw this place, they might start getting ideas that I don't want them getting."

Yet he brought me.

Maybe that meant something.

"Well, that makes sense," I agreed breezily, putting the chops in the pan, and going into the fridge to get the green beans to throw on too. "Do you know if you have anything... I don't know... starchy?"

"Pantry?" he suggested, obviously having no idea, but waving me to a door at the side of the room.

I grabbed potatoes, deciding I didn't have enough time to really make them interesting with some kind of double baked recipe, so threw them in a pot to boil.

For the next half an hour as I cooked, he was silent. He got up once to grab a beer, offering me one which I refused since beer had about all the appeal as toilet water to me. And though my back was to him, I could literally feel his eyes on me until I finally turned with all the plated food, setting it on the island, then grabbing all the cutlery and butter and whatnot.

When I sat, his head was turned, a strange look on his face. "What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious.

"Never had a woman cook for me before," he admitted. "Could get used to this too," he added as he dug into his meal.

I pressed my lips together to keep the smile from spreading.

If he wanted my sweet and my cooking, well, he could have it. I was hoping he would eventually learn to see that for himself.

But I was not bringing that up to him.

"Alright," he said suddenly, making me jump, losing the potato on my fork after getting used to the long silence. "Give it to me."

My brows drew together. "Give what to you?"

He waved his hand out with the beer in it. "Whatever it is that had you kowtowing to that mother fucker, that has you renting out a room from some old bastard, that you don't have a car, all of it."

He wanted my story?

I had a feeling that that meant something too.

It was also not a story I told anyone in my personal life except people who had to know- like Benny and Ethan, people it directly affected.

"Where do I start?" I asked, shaking my head.

"That guy of yours... he said you came from the wrong side of the tracks. How about there?"

So he wanted my whole story.

"Um, yeah. I grew up over by Bayburg. I had a mom and a dad, but no siblings. They always struggled money-wise. We were constantly having to move when we were getting kicked out for not making rent. But we weren't hungry, so there was that. Then when I was ten, my dad just... never came home. Then it went from bad to worse money-wise. I was hungry a lot back then. I think that's what had me choosing to do the vocational cosmetology class and try to get a head start so I could take care of myself before I finished high school."