Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

That was Reign.

Hardass outlaw MC leader, killer of more men than I would ever know about, but also a big ole softie when it came to women.

"Shaken up. She's not like Lo, Janie, Maze, and Mina. She's..."

"Softer," Reign finished for me, nodding, knowing the type because he was married to it. "New?"

"Ah... tonight it became more than friends."

"Yeah, and she's not running screaming after getting almost gunned down?" he asked, brow quirked up. "Might not be an awful idea to take off with her for a long weekend," he offered. "You know, so she doesn't drop your ass over this shit."

With that, he was gone.

And me, well, I had all the permission I needed.

I had some planning to do.

Because my ass was going to show Reese a little bit more of the world.

She wasn't getting away from me.ELEVENReese"Um, what?" I asked, slow-blinking at Cyrus who was standing at my door at six in the morning, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-bearded.

I repeat.

Six in the morning.

Before I got any coffee in me.

Before I got to shower.

Before I was even supposed to be awake.

I had thought I had heard the buzzer for the main door, but had just tossed and turned through it. But, I realized, as the pounding started outside my door, jostling me awake with a speeding heart, whoever it was had found another way in.

At six in the morning, I couldn't imagine it being anyone other than maybe my mother. She was always a morning person. The freak.

So I ran a hand through my hair, which likely just mussed it up all the more, and stumbled through my apartment toward the door, wiping sleep out of my eyes as I unlocked in a zombie-like state.

But it wasn't my mom.

Nope.

I wasn't that lucky.

It was one thing for your mom or sister to see you at six AM, sans makeup, eyelashes all stuck together, wearing a tee with no bra, and a pair of pajama pants with pigs all over them, crazy hair, and morning breath.

It was a complete other for the guy you had just started dating to see that. Literally eight hours after you started dating.

He had done a once-over, coming back smiling, eyes all crinkly and perfect in his stupid flawless face, amused at my morning-ugly.

But I forgot all of that when he opened his mouth.

"Pack a bag, angel."

Hence the um, what?

Because... um, what?

He reached into his pocket, pulling out two small rectangular pieces of paper with all kinds of small print on them, a bar code and... no way.

My eyes shot up to find him watching me, smile huge.

"Bookjam?" I whisper-hissed.

He had two tickets to Bookjam?

It was impossible to get tickets to Bookjam, unless you sat at your computer when the tickets went up for sale. It was the equivalent for bookworms as Comic Con. It was huge. All the best authors were there, indie and traditional. And the swag. Oh, my God, the swag.

I mean, not that I knew from experience. I had tried the past two years to get tickets, but had never been able to. But I had trolled the social media posts about it. And, yeah, I could go broke at the merch stands.

"You mentioned it, I don't know, fifty-six thousand times," he said, waving the tickets at me. "And I found these bad boys on eBay. Don't worry," he said as I snatched them away. "They're legit. I called to make sure."

I knew what they went for on eBay.

And he had already spent way, way too much on trying to please me.

"You can't say no," he said, seeming to pick up on my train of thought. "I already called Pinch-Face Barb and told her. She was excited for you to bring back new books." At my brow raise, he laughed. "Okay, so she said it was ridiculously short notice, and a huge inconvenience. But fuck her. It's her inconvenience. You're going to Bookjam. So pack a bag."

"Wait... this is tomorrow," I said, my brain not seeming able to compute things as quickly as it usually did.

"Yes, it is. In the city. And there is a train out of here in two hours which will put us in the city just in time for check-in."

"Check-in?" I asked, brows drawing together.

To that, Cy chuckled, touching me under my chin. "Sounds like someone needs some coffee," he declared, moving to step forward.

And because of my aforementioned morning-ugly and morning-breath, I backed up twice as far as I needed to. "I, ah, yeah, it's early."

"You go do your morning thing. I'll make coffee and feed the fish."

And, well, yeah, I needed to do my morning thing. Like bathe. And brush my teeth. And get somewhat pretty.

I rushed through the process, almost painfully aware someone was waiting on me, and hated keeping people waiting. My hair was still wet as I came out of my room in black leggings, a Bronte tee, and an oversized, long sweater.