Reign (The Henchmen MC 1)

Held. Me.

Then, of course, there was that other little matter.

Reign wanted to have sex with me.

And I was pretty sure I wanted to have sex with him too.

Fuck.TenReign“You're fucking joking,” Cash said, the beer he had been bringing to his lips dropping down by his side.

We were at the compound. Something I wasn't too happy about. But also something I couldn't get out of. Cash had been right, the guys would freak if I wasn't in church on a Friday night.

So I was at the compound.

The building itself was a low, windowless structure that had been a mechanic shop before the recession took it down. It was surrounded by tall, barbed wire fences all around. I bought it dirt cheap and used it to our best advantage, building off the back and creating rooms for as many of the men as possible off the back. The front had a garage door that lifted to reveal my baby. A hummer with military-grade weapons on the top. Someone wanted to fuck with us, they met my baby. So far, we'd only had to use her once. And we didn't even get a chance to use her. Once they saw her, they went scrambling with their tails between their legs.

The compound had a flat roof which was manned at all times. I didn't fuck around about security. We weren't exactly involved in legal activities and there was always some shit group trying to fuck with us, take what's ours. Steal our guns and try to run them themselves. Suffice it to say, I am not a fan of being stolen from. So I was always on the offense, but with a strong as fuck defense if I needed it.

The waiting room and office that used to exist was ripped out and replaced with a bar, seating, and room for a pool table. A massive sound system and flatscreen was across from the seating area and metal was blasting loud as fuck from the speakers.

The meeting was long over and the probates were called in. Things were in full swing. All the men were around, a sea of jeans, tees, and black leather cuts.

The Henchmen cuts.

My cuts.

Before me, my father's cuts.

“You're taking this over,” he told me when I was sixteen. “All this will be yours. The men will count on you. And you will reign. And Cash will be right there with you.”

The old man had a lot of ideas.

Not least of which was naming his sons.

Reign and Cash.

Power and money.

The only things in life that were important.

If our mother had squeezed another of us out before she died, he probably would have been named some shit like Loyalty or Comrad.

Power. Money. Brotherhood.

“You fuck her?” Cash asked, bringing me out of my memories.

“No.”

But Cash had a good eye. And he was the only person who really knew me. “Bull fucking shit.”

“Kissed her. That's it.”

That's it wasn't exactly the right way to put that.

Because kissing her had felt like being in the sun. Like feeling the warm rays on your skin after being underground for your entire life.

Lame, but that's what it was fucking like.

Bitch was under my skin and I knew it. And Cash knew it. And it was a problem.

“Then why the fuck you all gung-ho to start a fucking war, man?” he asked, grabbing my arm, dragging me down the hall of bedrooms, past two bitches sucking face, and into my room.

My room was where I brought my bitches. Big California king bed, black sheets, dark gray walls. A dresser with some changes of clothes. Flatscreen. A bathroom off the side. Nothing special. Streamlined. Sterile almost. Because it wasn't home. It was a fuckpad. It was where I crashed when I tied on one too many to drive back to my place.

Cash slammed the door, leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I ain't going to war. This is just on me.” I paused, shaking my head at his anger. “She told me some of her story, man,” I told him, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Just a small fucking part of it. She was cryin' tellin' me. They fucking tortured her. Beat her until she couldn't stand. Starved her. Threatened to rape her.”

“This is V. This shit is nothing new,” Cash said, shrugging. Sometimes, not often, but every once in a while, Cash could be the coldest fuck you've ever met. This was one of those times. Gone was the brother everyone knew- charming, funny, laid- back, womanizing. This was Cash, the criminal. And he was ice.

“Her father is an importer,” I said, dropping the bomb.

All I got was a raised brow. “He's trying to scare her father into giving him access to the containers,” he guessed.

“Yeah.”

“To ship in girls.”

“Yeah.”

Cash bit down on the inside of his cheek, a habit he did when he was thinking, a tell he had when he played poker. His eyes cut back to mine, his voice low and hollow when he said, “You sure you want to do this? Think long and think hard. V has been trading skin since Pops was in charge here. You know that. I know that. Dad certainly knew that. This is not new fucking information. Going against him with the entire club behind you would be risky. Going after him alone is a fucking suicide mission.”

I knew what I was asking him to accept. And I knew why he needed to remind me. That's why he was VP. Not because of blood obligation. But because he was the only one strong enough to stand up to me when he thought I needed it. And then back the fuck down and do his job when I gave him the go, regardless of his personal feelings.

That being said, he was still my brother. And he thought I was being reckless. And he wasn't going to give in easily.

The burden of power didn't rest easy on my shoulders. I wasn't dumb or careless enough to always believe I was right. I fucked up. I made bad decisions. But, ultimately, those decisions were mine to make. I had to do that. And I had to deal with the consequences. No one else knew how heavy that hung.