Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

The room itself was all of ten by ten. We had two chairs for cutting, a nail station, and a pedicure chair. That left a small aisle down the center that Benny and I were constantly brushing shoulders through all day. Back when I first opened, I had had just enough money to make it how I wanted it, so the floor was a deep gray as was the back wall you faced when you came in, the chairs, both nail stations, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the very small reception area beside the door. The remaining walls were a vivid pink, giving the whole place an incredibly girly and welcoming feel.

It felt like coming home when I walked inside.

And, usually, it was comforting enough to take some of my usual stress away for the eight to twelve hours I was there every day of the week.

Benny joined my team about three months after I opened when I realized my somewhat small, but loyal, customer base was growing, and I needed help.

He was maybe the only friend I had in the world, and I felt no small amount of guilt that I could no longer offer him the raise I had promised when I first hired him. It was something he waved off (and truly meant) because he made crazy tips given that he was the most personable and charismatic person anyone had ever met. But I still felt bad about it.

"Sorry, one of those days," I said, shaking my head, catching the motion in one of the scalloped mirrors on the wall. I wasn't looking great. I couldn't blame the waking up late, either. I just wasn't sleeping properly, wasn't eating properly, and was pretty much living on caffeine and the ever-present buzz to the system that was stress. I was losing weight, and my under-eye bruises were getting so dark that my makeup wasn't really covering it anymore.

"Yeah, sweets, you've been having a lot of those lately." Benny wasn't one for sugarcoating things. Not even to customers. I once caught him spinning a girl in her chair, cocking a hip, and flat-out telling her that her boyfriend was a shithead and she should dump him.

He was tall and lean, always dressed in impeccably fitting clothes be they jeans and a button-up or a full-on outfit. His hair was slightly long on top, black, and styled. His eyes were the warmest shade of green I had ever seen, and he was quick with a smile.

"I know, Benny. I'm sor..."

"Oh, enough with the apologizing," he said, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't criticizing you. I'm just saying, you need to find a way to loosen up a bit, get rid of some of that stress. You're going to implode at this rate."

Benny knew the whole story, the ugly details. This was because Benny had been directly impacted by it all. He was, therefore, always trying to cheer me up, help me out in his slick little ways.

He brought me coffee in the morning. He packed lunches for both of us because he said he had 'leftovers,' even though it was painfully clear he had bought the damn food for us. He offered to do my highlights for me. He painted my nails.

But that was about as far as I would let it go, no matter how much he offered to help in other ways.

"Another year," I said, putting the scissors back in the solution, and dropping down in the chair. "I just need one more year of this and things should be better."

"Honey, you won't last another month at this rate."

He wasn't wrong.

It had been a long, impossible road for longer than I cared to admit. And lately, for some reason, it was really weighing me down. I felt heavy. My footsteps felt weighted.

"I just..." I started, only to be cut off by the sound of the bell on the door, surprising me since we didn't have any clients for another hour.

"I just need to make a damn appointment."

"Do it on your fucking phone like a normal person."

"No," I gasped, drawing Benny's attention, brows drawing together, as I felt my heart skip into overdrive.

Because... no.

No freaking way.

"We were walking past for chrissakes," the female voice said, and I could almost hear the eye-roll she was giving him. "It takes a lot of effort to keep up this color," she added.

"Hi!" Benny said after big-eyeing me in a very 'what the fuck is wrong with you' kind of way, beaming at the couple behind me.

Couple.

Because why else would they be walking by together, right?

Niro was a part of a couple.

And he had finger fucked me in an alley at a biker compound.

Good lord.

Apparently, the floor underneath the trap door I fell in was weak, and I dropped through and into a shit-filled cesspool.