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TWELVEKennedyHis hand wasn't on my boob.
That was literally the first thought I had upon waking up.
Before my eyes were even open, I felt the lack of contact that had, as odd as it was, been a strange kind of comfort as I slowly drifted off the night before. Maybe a large part of that was the fact that the breast he had held gently, possessively, but sweetly held in his hand in what was absolutely not a sexual contact, was the same one Ethan had abused earlier, the nipple sore even then. It felt like he had somehow eased the sting, had wiped a bit of the bad memory away by being so sweet.
Really, everything about Pagan from when he stepped into my salon had been... surprising. I guess that was the best way to phrase it. Other words that might have applied are: uncharacteristic, patient, understanding, sweet, gentle. None of those words were ones that would come to mind when you thought of the badass cage-fighting, arms-dealing biker covered in scars, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, smelling of leather and whiskey, and sometimes, the slightest hint of blood.
But he had been all of those things.
He had held me as I cried, not trying to feed me hollow words, but just being a support system. He asked the hard questions because he had to. Then he got me out of there. He got into the tub with me. He cuddled me there and surprised me by offering himself up as a sounding board.
Then, on top of that all, he climbed into bed and willingly spooned me again, reaching for my boob because, well, he was still Pagan. And, quite frankly, I needed that laugh.
Perfect.
He had been surprisingly, almost alarmingly perfect from start to finish.
So perfect, in fact, that I found all the anger and resentment I had been building over the previous three days completely melting away. Sure, that was a dick move to disappear. But that being said, when I needed him, even though we didn't mean anything to each other, he had been there.
That was a good man.
And yet I woke up alone.
I rolled onto my back, the sheets cold behind me, making my skin goosebump a bit, making me reach toward the blanket at my hips to pull it up. The bruises on my knees were ugly, but I could cover them with maxi skirts until they went away. The small smattering across my ribs wasn't as bad as I had expected, thankfully. I had a feeling, though, that I would be nowhere near as lucky about my face.
But, I assured myself as I forced myself to fold upward, that was what makeup was for, right?
I got up, snagging a tee out of Pagan's dresser, and moving into the bathroom to brush my teeth and assess the damage. It wasn't pretty. Purple, blue, and a hint of both red and yellow around the edges took up a good chunk of my cheek below my eye and into my hairline.
But it was just a bruise.
Bruises faded.
I slipped into Pagan's tee, realizing I was yet again in a situation where all I had with me was a dress. And, quite frankly, that dress was never getting anywhere near my body ever again. I wanted it burned.
There was a soft knock at the door as I finger combed my hair.
"It's me, angel," a voice called through. It was Cyrus. Of course it was. Granted, I hadn't met a whole lot of The Henchmen, certainly not for long enough to get to know any of them, but Cyrus seemed like maybe he was the more laid-back and sweet of them. "Open up; I have something for you."
I walked to the door, pulling it open, and finding him standing there with a pair of women's pajama pants. "Do I want to know where you got those?"
"Okay, so I stole them from Summer's room. She won't mind, I promise," he said, handing me the pink cotton pants with little white flowers, making me wonder who Summer was and if she would truly feel that way. "She just had a baby not that long ago," he added, moving in casually. "She won't be fitting in them for another couple of months at least."
I nodded, carefully pulling them on, making sure I didn't flash anything at Cyrus as he sat at the foot of the bed, casual as could be.
"Where's Pagan? I asked, figuring he would know.
"He had to run out for a bit, but he'll be back. Meanwhile, there is fresh coffee and bagels in the kitchen. I'd cook for you, sweets, but I don't have the skills. That's for Repo, Laz, and Edison."
"Yeah, 'cause I bet you just flash that smile and have all the girls tripping over themselves to make you something to eat." His lips worked up to a smirk, his eyes going wicked. "Not what I meant," I said with a smile.
