Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2)

by Jessica Gadziala

“Good plan,” I mumbled when he just kept staring at me like he expected a response. I shifted my feet and he stood back up, moving around his kitchen.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yeah. One sugar.”

  He walked out a few minutes later, holding a coffee cup in one hand and gripping a bottle in his other. He handed me the coffee and I took it, sipping even though it was way too hot, just to have something to do. “What's that?” I asked as his hand uncurled to reveal a prescription bottle.

  “Pain meds,” he said, untwisting the cap of what looked to be a half-full bottle. “A few of us thought it would be fun to take our bikes off road. Drunk, obviously,” he said, dropping two pills into his hand before twisting the bottle closed and slipping it into his jean pocket. “Sixteen stitches,” he said with a smirk as he lifted up the side of his shirt to show a scar that ran up the side of his body. But I wasn't looking at the scar. What woman in her right mind would be looking at the scar when there were several deliciously perfect sculpted abs to ogle? “Hey Lo,” he said, his voice teasing and my eyes guiltily flew upward. “See something you like, babe?”

  Oh hell. God damn it all.

  “A couple more hours in the gym could turn that six pack into an eight,” I said, trying to sound casual, trying to not let on that while I had just been viciously beaten a few hours before and hadn't slept in well over twenty-four hours, that I was absolutely turned on.

  “Sweetheart, do I look like a man who wastes his time in a gym?” he asked, dropping his shirt and holding out the pills toward me.

  “Thanks, but no,” I said, shaking my head. “I need to have my wits about me. I need...”

  “Honey, you need to take these pills, go lie down in bed, and get some fuckin' rest. That is all you need to do right now.”

  “Cash, I really appreciate it, but I have to talk to Reign and get...”

  I didn't get the rest out because, suddenly, he wasn't a safe four feet away from me anymore. He was all up in my personal space and his hand was lifted, his forefinger stroking over my lips gently. I swear that touch went straight to between my legs in a way that had a rush of wetness pooling there. My gaze flew up to his, finding his deep green eyes a little heavy-lidded, a little heated. In response, I felt my lips parting.

  I realized my mistake a second later when I felt the pills slip inside as Cash smiled softly. “Swallow baby.”

  Jesus Christ. That sounded sexual in all the right ways. I pressed my thighs closer together as I felt my eyes get heavier. Cash chuckled, a low, deep, rumbling sound that snapped me out of my daze and had me immediately sipping from my coffee and internally berating myself for being so freaking obvious about everything around him.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging a little at the hem of my tee before moving toward the staircase that led upstairs that had a knot tightening inside. Stairs. That was so going to hurt. But I wasn't going to be a baby about it and beg to stay on the couch instead. Cash was waiting two steps up when I finally got there. His head tilted to the side as he watched me. “How pissed would you be if I tried to help you right now?” he asked, sounding like he already knew the answer. I gave him a glare as I gripped the railing hard enough to make my fingers go white. “Thought so,” he said, nodding and running up the stairs, leaving me to eke my way up alone.

  I made the top landing what felt like an hour later, slumping slightly forward and deep breathing through the pain. Reassuring myself that the pain meds would kick in before I knew it, I pushed down the hall past the open door to the bathroom and to the only other door upstairs. I squished the knowledge that that meant I was going to be sleeping in the master bedroom, in Cash's bed, and forced myself to step into the doorway.

  Well then.

  That was how you did a bedroom.

  The walls were a deep brown, all the trim and ceiling painted a soft beige. The mammoth California king bed was on top of a high dark (almost black) wood platform with matching headboard. There were extra pillows for overnight guests (of which, I was sure he had many) and the comforter was a crisp white seersucker material that made me want to bury underneath it and never come out.

  “Kick outta those shoes,” Cash said, back turned to me as he looked inside his closet. Dumbly, without any other option, I kicked out of my shoes. Cash turned, moving toward me, an oversize oatmeal-colored thermal bunched up in his hands. Without even explaining, he stopped in front of me and pushed it over my head, reaching for my hands and guiding them into the sleeves. I was too stunned to even think about brushing him away to do it myself. That was, until his hands pulled the material down my torso and his fingers moved to my button and zip.

  “What are you doing?” I half gasped, half yelped, trying to brush his hands away.

  But they stayed put and his gaze lifted to mine. “Baby, just let me fucking help you, okay?”

  Knowing leaning down to push my pants down would be nothing short of excruciating and having someone willing to help me would save me a lot of pain and frustration, well, it didn't leave me room to argue.

  Seeing my decision made, he ducked his head again and his hands slipped slightly into my waistband as he pushed the button through. The brush of his fingers against my belly had a slight tremble moving through my body and I prayed he didn't feel it. But then his gaze lifted to mine, questioning, searching, and I knew he did. He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it, and ducked his head again. He pushed down the zip and his hands moved to my hips, grabbing my jeans and pulling them down carefully, watching as if not sure if there were any injuries anywhere else.

  When he had my jeans down to my knees, his fingers brushed over my thighs that were somehow bruise-free. “Thank fuck,” he murmured to himself.

  “What?” I asked, watching the top of his head.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, and pulling my feet out of the legs. “Come on, sweetheart, let's get you in bed,” he said, touching my hip and gently pushing me forward.

  By the time I got myself under the blankets and into a position that didn't hurt, the drugs were making the throbbing and stabbing sensations completely dull and making my eyes get heavy. The blankets got pulled up under my chin and tucked gently under my shoulders. The bed depressed and my eyes fluttered open to see Cash sitting off the edge, looking down at me. His hand moved toward my face, hesitated, then stroked through my hair instead. Even half-numb from whatever heaven-sent drugs Cash had given me, I felt a tingle spread across my scalp.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asked, his voice quiet. I made some kind of murmuring sound that he took for agreement and pressed on, “The fucker didn't rape you, did he?”

  The word sent a jolt through my body and Cash's hand froze its stroking of my hair. “No,” I said, the word firm, a little horrified.

  “Didn't think so,” he said to himself, brushing through my hair and I had to fight to keep my eyes open. “Sleep, baby.”

  “'Kay,” I heard myself say and my eyes drifted closed easily.

  Just before sleep claimed me, I heard a low chuckle. “I think I like you better all drugged-out complacent,” he mumbled, but I was too tired to yell at him, so I didn't.

  –

  I woke up slowly, my body feeling sluggish, my brain feeling like it was wading through mud to get a thought to form properly. My eyes opened, squinting at the near-darkness of the only vaguely familiar room and I moved to bolt upward, disoriented. The stab through my ribs had me yelping loudly, as I lie back down and brushed a stray tear off my cheek.

  “Fuck fuck fuck,” I whimpered, the pain returning fast and furious, taking me by surprise and completely overwhelming me.

  A light flicked on and I turned my head to see Cash leaning against the doorjamb. “Waking up is the worst,” he said quietly, pausing before he moved into the room. “Drugs wear off?”

  “Everything hurts,” I admitted, surprising myself more than him. That wasn't something I did, sharing how I was f
eeling, not even when I was hurt. I didn't do that. It was admitting weakness.

  At my words, his face fell slightly and I wished I could suck them back in and see the jovial, carefree Cash again. “I ordered food,” he admitted, surprising me. “You want to take a shower first?”

  God, how did he guess so right so easily?

  “Yeah,” I admitted, clenching my teeth and getting up out of bed.

  “Easy,” he said, reaching for me when I swayed on my feet. “You ain't gonna impress me by being all badass so take your time.”

  I flashed my eyes at him though inside, I was grateful. I followed him into the hall and through to the bath and watched as he rummaged around in his linen closet and pulled out: two towels (yes, two, as if he knew I would need one to wrap my hair up in), a toothbrush in its packaging, a brush, a small basket full of first aid supplies, and a spare t-shirt that would work as a dress despite how tall I was.

  “Clean up, get your face cared for, then call me up here and I'll wrap your ribs.”

  “It's fine. I can...”

  “Sure you can,” he agreed, but his lips were twitching, like he found my inability to accept help amusing. “But I can do it without hurting you and I can do it tighter so you don't wince every time you take a step. So call me or I'll just let myself in in ten minutes.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, avoiding my reflection in the mirror above his sink.

  “Get your scrub on. I'll go wait for the food.”

  With that, he was gone and I went through the process of stripping off my clothes and unwrapping my bandages. I slipped out of my panties, turned the tap on hot, and poured hand soap on them. I wasn't a particularly high maintenance woman, but I absolutely refused to wear panties two days in a row without a wash. I went into the linen closet and found a blow dryer buried in the back and placed it on the counter. It would work for a makeshift clothes dryer.

  I kept my face out of the water as I showered, slathering on soap and shampoo that smelled just like Cash and liking it a little too much. I dried, I dabbed antibiotic on my face, brushed my hair, blasted my panties with the blow dryer then slipped into them and got the tee over my head.

  “Alright,” I yelled as I scrubbed my teeth real quick.

  Cash came in a minute later, going into the linen cabinet and getting fresh elastic bandages, leaving me to wonder how often he needed them. Normal people didn't keep a big supply of elastic bandages in their supply cabinets. I knew this because I had never even seen an elastic bandage until I needed one. But every bathroom closet at Hailstorm was stacked to the gills with them.

  “Tee up,” he said casually, pulling the paper wrapping off the bandages.

  I took a shaky breath, trying to stifle the surge of insecurity I felt at that demand. It wasn't that I was insecure. Far from. I kept my body fit because my lifestyle and job demanded it, but that being said, I knew that keeping it fit kept it aesthetically appealing. I had toned legs with just enough of a womanly plump to them, same could be said for my ass. My stomach was flat, the slightest outline of abs could be seen on some days. My boobs had remained high and perky despite getting closer to forty than thirty and them being large to begin with. I had a good body.

  But Cash seeing it... hell, that was enough to make a woman who never blushed, blush.

  I grabbed the hem of my shirt and slowly pulled it up, unable to help myself from watching Cash for some kind of reaction. He kept his head lowered as he pulled off the little metal doohickey and started to unravel the bandage. His eyes rose slowly, landing on my hips and moving upward over my belly and stopping where my hands were holding the tee just under my breasts. His air rushed out of his chest, but he made no comment. He didn't ogle, he just slowly went to work.

  “Okay,” he said a while later, his hands moving to cover mine as he pulled the material of his tee down my body, covering me. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, finally looking me in the eye.

  “No,” my lips mumbled, my brain in no way part of the equation because suddenly, all I could think about was him lifting me up onto the counter, ripping off my panties, and burying inside me. Maybe it was because he had been so gentle with me, so careful. Or maybe it was because he had the respect for me to not make sexual comments when I was mostly naked in front of him as he wrapped me. Whatever it was, all I could think from the second he pressed the first inch of bandage to my skin, was how good his touch felt, how much better it would feel touching me places right above and right below where he was actually touching me.

  “Good. Then lets feed you.”

  So then... he fed me.

  Nine

  Cash

  Two of those pills knocked me on my ass for eight hours straight back when I took them. I figured that gave me just enough time to get to the clubhouse, grab Repo, see the Mallicks, then get back home and order food before she woke up. So I jotted down a note just in case she woke up and put it on the nightstand next to a spare gun, just in case trouble managed to find her, though there had been no tail the whole way to my place.

  “What the fuck?” Repo asked when I pulled up to the compound, raising a brow at Lo's car. “Dude, I know you're like my superior and all that shit... but I ain't fucking going anywhere in that car.”

  I laughed, slamming the door and locking it. “We can take one of your projects then but I'm driving.”

  Repo gave me a grin then ran off toward the back of the property where he kept his half a dozen cars in various stages of repair and rebuild. That was how Repo blew off steam. That was how he channeled his dark moods when they came over him. The kicker was, he never wanted them when they were done. The second they were restored and running, he wanted them gone. He ended up making bank selling his finished projects.

  I waited at the gates as he rumbled up in what looked like a '82 Firebird in a faded, god-awful yellow color. It was making a clanging sound that I knew was probably not a good sign, but Repo seemed completely unconcerned by. He pulled out the gates, leaving the engine running, and hopped out to run to the passenger side.

  “Is this thing going to make it?” I asked as I sat down in the driver's side.

  “It should,” he said, shrugging like it didn't matter to him either way if it did or not.

  “Right,” I said, laughing and reaching for the stereo.

  “Oh god, man... not more of that shit,” he groaned, head on the rest, looking at the torn material on the ceiling.

  “Shit?” I asked, one-handed connecting my ipod to his cassette tape adapter.

  “That nineties and early two-thousands grunge, rock, alt shit,” Repo, a very loyal metal fan winced.

  I felt myself grin as I clicked on Nirvana and cranked it up. “Kids these days,” I said, shaking my head at him despite there only being maybe a six or seven year difference in our ages.

  We pulled up to Chaz's, the Mallick's bar, a few minutes later. Bikes were parked out front, Chaz's being for some reason a watering hole for the local weekend warriors. Apparently, a little bombing didn't shut down business.

  “Are they as badass as their reputation?” Repo asked, looking at the bar, rocking back on his heels.

  “I only know Shane and Reign knows him better than me, but... yeah,” I said, reaching for the door and letting myself in.

  The inside was sleek, almost upscale with slate gray walls and floors stained so dark they were almost black which matched the bar to the right and all the tables and chairs inside. As I had expected, there was a table to the back with six black-haired (one with some whisps of gray) men with six sets of freakishly light blue eyes that belonged to the Mallick brothers : Ryan, Eli, Mark, Hunter, and Shane, as well as their father, Charles.

  Beside me, I felt Repo stiffen when all their heads turned to us almost in unison.

  “Henchmen?” I heard Hunter ask, brows drawing together. I knew him. He was the only Mallick son that wasn't in the business, wasn't a loanshark. He had gotten out a few years before, got himself
hitched to some hellion named Fiona, had himself a couple of little girls, and worked with a tattoo gun. The rest though, still ruthless, calculating kneecap breakers.

  “'Sup Cash?” Shane, the youngest and bulkiest of them asked, nodding his head at us and moving to stand.

  “Just figured we would stop by and compare notes.”

  “Reign ain't stopping by for that?” Shane asked, brows drawing together and I knew they had a bit of a friendship going on since right before Reign met Summer. Well, since he told us one of his clients was one of our men and that man turned out to be a snitch.

  “Reign is over at Lyon's,” I said, shrugging. They knew the deal.

  “We keep our noses out of other organizations around here, you know that,” Ryan, the oldest, the more professional of all of them reminded me.

  “Know that. Know we all also have enemies. Just wanted to see if we had any in common.”

  “You really think you, us, Hailstorm, Lyon, and Lex have a common enemy?” Chaz, their father asked and it took everything I had to keep the lazy grin on my face. He reminded me a lot of my father- fierce, commanding.

  “Covering our bases. Talked to Hailstorm already. Came up with nothing.”

  “Guys want a round?” Shane asked, already waving a hand at the bartender.

  “Whiskey,” I answered.

  “You?” Shane asked.

  “Repo,” Repo supplied. “And sure... vodka is fine.”

  “That your '82?” Mark asked, looking at me.

  “His,” I said, jerking my chin. “He gets bored with them when they're pretty again so if you're looking for a car...”

  “Keep that in mind,” Mark agreed, shutting up with a look from their father.

  “You see Lex's?” Shane asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Not yet.”

  “Fire completely gutted the place.”

  I felt my brows drawing together, my smirk falling. I knew that his place got the worst of it, but I didn't think it was that bad. “Did the evil fuck make it out?”