Pagan (The Henchmen MC 8)

Then, with that, we followed his plan.

That plan had me dropping him, and the goddamn body, at some place he kept a car stashed, moving the body into that trunk with the strict orders to vacuum and shampoo my own just in case, then him driving off to take care of what was left of Ethan Criss.

Me, I went home. I burned the clothes he stole from Ethan's. I showered again. I changed. I cleaned out my trunk, then washed the whole outside for good measure.

By the time I was done, it was late the next morning, and I was finally on my way back to the compound and my woman Kennedy.

I needed to fucking stop thinking of her as my woman.

The fuck was wrong with me?

And yet... when I saw my name across her back, along with the words 'property of,' I had to admit, it felt right.

I wanted her to be mine.

That shit, well, there were no words for that shit.

Aside from maybe- completely un-fucking-like me.

So I yanked the cut back on her when she tried to shrug it off, embarrassed by the joke Roderick played on her, and her eyes cut to my hands which, admittedly, looked worse than any fight I ever had at Hex. I was pretty sure there were bite marks on them if you looked close enough.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice a mix of scared and disbelieving.

Because she already knew.

I didn't need to tell her.

But I gave her the truth anyway.

"What needed to be done."FOURTEENKennedyWhat needed to be done.

What needed to be done, from a legal standpoint, was a trip to the Navesink Bank Police Department and a report filed.

That being said, Pagan was a member of an outlaw biker gang who sold arms. He was a fighter in a morally questionable and definitely illicit underground club.

Nothing about Pagan was legal.

I should have known.

When I woke up alone, when he wasn't just somewhere in the compound lazing about. I should have known.

Maybe a part of me did, but didn't want to admit it to the rest of me. Because what would it say about me as a person that I was maybe okay with him beating the hell out of Ethan? True, what had happened the night before was beyond messed up, it was horrifying what could have gone down, it was criminal itself.

Did that make it okay, though, to want the metaphorical eye-for-an-eye?

Hell, maybe it did.

Either way, Pagan got his vengeance on the man who, through his actions, actually had my belly feeling wobbly at the idea of going back into the one place that had been my safe haven.

And more than a small part of me felt a little wishy-washy over the idea that he had done that for me.

"Come on," he said, touching my hip.

"Come where?"

"Figured we could swing by your place, you could pack a bag, then I'll take you back to my place for the night."

Well then.

Was there even a chance of turning him down?

Seeing as the only comfort I found the night before was him being close, and I maybe wanted that again, and I also wanted some answers, I guess I was going to his place for the night.

And as the decision got made, there was a jumpy, happy sensation inside as he led me out to the car, shinier than the last time I had seen it, and we drove off.

"Ah," I said when he went to cut the engine. "Do you mind maybe..."

"Not a mind reader, pet," he said with a smirk when I trailed off, feeling more than mildly embarrassed.

"Can you just wait in the car? I'll be five minutes tops," I rushed to add, inwardly cringing at the desperation in my tone. "It's, ah, a mess in there and it would be faster if we skip the whole tour thing and..."

"What you're saying is," he cut off what was sure to be an epic (and embarrassing) ramble, "you want to get this over with so we can get back to my place and you can get me naked. That's what you're saying."

My lips curved up, completely ignoring the ache in my cheek. "That must be what I meant," I agreed.

"The fuck you still doing here then?"

I laughed, shaking my head, and making my way out.

For a man you maybe didn't think of as layered or intuitive or... whatever, he really did have a knack for saying the right things at the right moments, for being able to see my discomfort and brush it off.

That was pretty impressive.

I rushed inside, stuffing random bits of clothing, undies, bras, and various bath essentials into a bag, then grabbed a pair of shoes, really over being barefoot, and rushed back to the car.

"Don't know why the fuck you bothered with clothes," he said as he reversed out of his spot. "I plan to keep you stark fucking naked from the second we walk in the door."