Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

"And, pray tell, what did you find out about Cyrus while you were there?"

"That he's a good guy," Enzo admitted with a shrug. "He's had a past, but he owns up to it. He has done some great things for you. He seems like he's in this for the long haul."

My belly maybe flip-flopped on the words 'long haul' because we were still in the beginning stages, and there would always be a slight worry that it wouldn't go as far as I wanted to - you know, happily ever after - so it was nice to hear a third party tell me that Cyrus was serious.

"Exactly," I said, lifting my chin a little. "And that would be what I told you had you done the right thing and come to me about it first, not go into a biker clubhouse with a puffed-up chest."

"You spent the night there last night."

"Yeah, and he'll be spending the night at my place tonight," I admitted, trying to keep my cheeks from turning red at that admission. Or, at least, hoping Enzo would attribute that to the cold.

"That's not my business," he surprised me by admitting. "I just don't like the idea of you in that clubhouse right now, Ree. This isn't about dictating who you date. It's about all the drive-bys and the changing criminal climate around here. I'd just prefer you hang at your place until this shit is settled. That's all."

And, honestly, that was reasonable.

I had been so lost in my own little dreamy world that I had somehow forgotten about that little drive-by incident right before we left for the city. There had simply been enough good to overshadow that bit of bad. But there was no mistaking that that kind of bad wasn't just bad. It was possibly deadly.

That was something that I did realize needed to be thought about. In length. Seriously.

But I figured that, chances were, it wouldn't change my decision. Life was dangerous. Every single day, you took your life into your own - and other people's - hands. You had a one-hundred percent chance of getting in a car accident in your lifetime. There was a one in six-thousand chance of falling to your death by no other cause than clumsiness. One in sixty-five thousand died from bee, wasp, or hornet stings. One in forty-two thousand got crushed to death.

Life was full of things that meant you harm.

I could wake up after too-little sleep, trip over my feet, and ram my head into the side of my kitchen counter, bleeding to death on my kitchen floor. I could get mowed over crossing the street. I could choke on a freaking vitamin.

If, as a whole, my chances of death for just existing were, you know, one-hundred freaking percent, and there was no telling when that peaceful - or bloody - end might befall me, then why would I rule out dating Cyrus because of the small possibility of being dragged into biker business?

For all the time leading up to any danger that might come my way, I would at least be orgasm-contented, and soul-deep happy.

How many people could say that?

And who, when they had that kind of joy in their lives, would push it away for some vague 'possibility' or something bad happening?

Exactly.

No one.

So I was going to think about it, sure, but I knew what conclusion I would come to.

Cyrus was worth it.

Case closed.

"The compound is, ah, crowded," I told Enzo, trying not to think about the sex all the people inside had absolutely overheard. "And I like being home. So I think, for the most part, we will be there and not the compound. Though, I am not making any promises."

"I couldn't expect you to," he agreed, rocking back on his heels as he watched me. "Ree, you seem happy," he said, sounding almost somehow sad about that.

"I am happy," I agreed, not understanding his tone.

"I don't think I ever realized how rarely I saw you happy, Ree, until now, seeing it."

"I wasn't unhappy," I added quickly, getting it finally. "I was... content." And I was. There was no lying about that. I was perfectly content to spend the rest of my life in new worlds, talking to my fish, visiting my family, eating my ice cream. I would have been just fine if that was my destiny. It was just that fate had other plans for me, and they were just a teensy bit more fulfilling.

"I like this look on you, kid," he said, touching my cheek.

"I like it on you too, E," I said, smiling up at him.

Enzo, unlike Paine, had been tortured by his decision to be a gang leader, knowing how hard his mom had tried to keep him off the streets when she was alive. It made him darker, colder, obsessive-compulsive, and deeply disappointed in himself. It wasn't until he moved to the city to become a private investigator, and until he fell in love with Espen, that the darkness faded, his coldness warmed, his sense of self-worth improved. He was truly happy for the first time as well. It was one of the best sights I had ever seen.