Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

Then I could leave this shoebox vagina behind and flip off selfish, abusive, dickhead Ethan Criss in the process of making my dreams come true finally.

I was still young.

I had plenty of time.

"Alright, let me see what I can do about that face," Benny declared, recovering faster than me since the backlash of Ethan being a bastard didn't impact his life quite as much as it did mine. "You have a client in an hour. I think we have some of that pricey makeup leftover from that bridal party," he said, going into the back to look for the supplies as I sat there seething at the damn wall the entire time.

One day, I was going to show that jackass that he didn't break me, that I didn't need to grovel to him, that, in fact, I didn't need him for anything.

"Yep, this should do it. It's that kind of full-coverage crap we had to use on that God-awful lower back tattoo she had. You know, with the open-back dress. Let's get you back to your usual stunning self."

The makeup mostly covered, though there was definitely a shadow, and my appointment maybe gave me sad eyes like I was some battered woman, but thankfully, kept her mouth closed about it. I was just not in the mood to hash it out again. Because every hammer or saw or scraping noise in the space next door had me absolutely bone-deep livid.

By the time we were closing up and Pagan showed up, though we had no actual plans for that, I was grumpy and tired and my face decided it had about enough fake smiles and the bruise was doing a dull, but insistent throbbing.

"Oh, hey," was my rather underwhelming greeting as I looked up from my daily count, a task I usually found reassuring, but I was fed up with as well.

"She's in a pissy mood," Benny offered, giving me a huge grin when I shot him a 'not helping' look. "What? You are. I figured I would warn him. She needs some food, some wine that doesn't cost five dollars, some aspirin, and about three solid orgasms."

"Well," Pagan said, giving me a wicked grin as he rocked back on his heels, "I'm pretty sure I can manage all that. Come on, pet, let me get you out of that makeup and clothes and into my bed."

But he didn't take me back to his house, insisting it just made more sense on weekdays to stay at the compound since it was just down the street. And since I really did want to get out of the makeup and clothes, have my orgasms, medicine, food, and wine, I agreed.

"Alright, settle in," he told me as we got into his room, him having told everyone to, literally, 'fuck off' when they tried to engage me as we walked past. "I am going to find your booze, food, and medicine. Then once you get all that in you, I will give you your three orgasms. And one more for good measure."

Then, damn if he didn't do just that.

The next day, we did our morning routine; he walked me to work; he gave me a 'proper fucking goodbye;' then I was left to listen to the racket again. Cue bad mood. Cue Pagan's ministrations.

Even a full five days into it, he didn't complain, he didn't seem to fumble, to get short of patience with having to cheer me up every day. If anything, he seemed oddly more upbeat than I thought he usually was. There were new scars on his hands, his forearms, even the side of his face, proving he was still the same old Pagan, still getting himself into scraps, but with me, he was almost unnervingly good and sweet.

Unless I wanted bad and dirty, then he was all too happy to give that to me too.

And it was oddly... comfortable.

You would think that acclimating to practically living inside an outlaw biker compound would be weird, maybe a bit scary, uncomfortable.

But it was none of those things.

Maybe that had something to do with the fact that all those big, bad, scary, outlaw, arms-dealing bikers, yeah, they were just regular dudes. They maybe partied a little harder when they partied, cursed a little more, brought home more women, told dirtier jokes, and had a bit more roughness since they were almost constantly surrounded by other guys.

But they bullshitted, told stories, played pool, watched TV, all normal stuff. And not a single one of them made me feel like an odd man out when Pagan and I were drained from sex and decided to go and hang with them a while. They didn't even make fun of me when Pagan pulled me onto his lap to sit or played with my hair, or pulled me to him by the back of my neck and gave me a kiss that was in no way quick or chaste.