Okay.
Maybe I leaned back.
But just a little.
Barely enough for him even to feel it, I was sure.
And, yeah, fine, I even took a deep breath, wanting to breathe in that spicy cologne of his.
His strong chest danced across my back as he turned the cup this and that way, rinsing it out, setting it into the drainboard, then reaching to turn off the tap.
"Eva," he said, voice a low rumble. I could feel the vibration of my name through his chest, something that made my belly feel tight.
There was a question, a gentle command in the sound, urging me to turn.
Taking a steadying breath, I did. Colson didn't move back to make the motion easy, my shoulder gliding across his chest, my hip sliding across the lowest part of his waist as I faced him, my body trapped back against the sink as my head lifted, gaze finding his.
A thrill moved up my belly and across my chest at the heavy-lidded look I found there.
It seemed like forever that we stood there before his hand lifted, wet fingers snagging my chin, angling it up as his head lowered down, his lips claiming mine.
I expected soft and coaxing, a tentative first kiss between two practical strangers.
But at the second of contact, something seemed to snap in Colson.
His wet hand slid across my jaw, around the back of my neck, fingers sinking in hard, tight, yanking my body flush with his as his lips crushed mine, bruising in their intensity before his tongue traced the seam, waited for my mouth opened on a little sigh, then moved inside to claim mine.
The flicker of need inside stoked to a wildfire, burning me up from the inside out, making me feel flushed, overheated, making me want to rip off my clothes to get some relief.
But then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over, his lips ripping from mine as he wrenched away, took several steps away from me, his hand rubbing over his head.
As for me, my legs actually felt wobbly, making me lean back against the sink for support as I tried to suck in a steadying breath.
"Colson." His name was a question on my lips, a demand for an explanation.
"I'm no good for you, Eva," he told me, looking down at the floor, shaking his head.
"Yeah, well, neither are those Cosmic Brownies I keep eating. But does that stop me from buying them? No, no it does not."
"Cosmic Brownies?" Colson repeated, looking up, a ghost of a smile toying with his lips.
"Yeah, you know. Like they used to sell at the school cafeteria. With the rainbow sprinkles. Taste absolutely nothing like an actual brownie, but you can't stop eating them anyway. Me and Cosmic Brownies, we are in an abusive relationship. They keep being cheap and addictive, and I keep letting them go to my hips and ass."
At that, his lips did curve up, teasing at the corners of his eyes, making them crinkle in a way that was boyish and playful as his gaze dipped to the parts of me in question before reaching my face again.
"Remind me to buy you a lifetime supply," he said, grin wicked.
"Gee, Mr. Supposedly-No-Good-For-Me-Colson, it sounds an awful lot like you're flirting with me."
"If I was?" he asked as we heard footsteps on the stairs.
If he was, I needed to stay far, far away from him. Because I couldn't trust myself around him.
Yet what came out of my mouth sounded a hell of a lot like an invitation.
Because that was what it was.
"Then don't be a stranger," I suggested, making my way out of the kitchen, saying a quick goodbye to his sister and daughter, and heading back into my own home, closing and locking the door before leaning back against it, pressing a hand to my somersaulting belly.
This whole thing was stupid.
It was reckless.
It was so incredibly unlike me.
And, I guess, maybe that was the appeal.
I had spent so much time being careful and smart, and putting others' needs ahead of my own, always doing the right thing, always being rational, always putting myself dead last.
Yet there I was.
Inviting an arms-dealing, hot-as-sin, biker into my life.
To hell with the consequences.
It was maybe the most freeing thing I'd ever felt in my entire life.
Of course, things could never be that easy.
But in that one private, blissful, exciting moment, I had no idea what was ahead.
SIX
Colson
"That should be them," West said, breaking through my swirling thoughts. That, it seemed, constantly circled back to Eva. To that kitchen. To the first real sparks of connection. To the electricity that shot through my system when my lips met hers.
There was always a sort of a sizzle, of course, with a woman. Otherwise, what the hell was the point? But, for me, there had always been a sort of disconnect. Maybe because I always knew that the way I connected with women was superficial at best. Just bodies. Just needs being met. There was never any potential for anything else, so there was a sort of wall up, inside, toward the whole thing.
But with Eva, I guess I had let her beyond the wall even before I had put a hand on her.
By the time I moved behind her in my kitchen, I already knew about her kid, about her mom, about her job and her struggles. It was more than I ever got to know about the few women I had been with since Jelena was born.
Add in the attraction factor, and it should have been no secret that when I kissed her, it felt like something, something more than a desire being fulfilled, at least.
That, in and of itself, was new.
I had no business pursuing it, of course.
Reign was missing.
The club was in chaos.
Tensions were high.
And every spare moment—and brain cell—should have been focused on finding our president, getting him home, taking revenge on those who had taken him. Because, at this point, we were almost certain that was what had happened.
Otherwise, there would have been a sign of him by now.
The problem was, the Henchmen were famous in our circle. We had old contacts. We had an endless supply chain. If someone wanted to move in—and move in on a big scale right away—targeting us would be a great way to do that.
So that was what my mind should have been on.
And it was.
But Eva slipped in between those thoughts, sometimes connected with them.
Things such as "How can I explain all of this to her?" mingled with thoughts of the hell we would need to raise on Reign's behalf.
At West's words, I could hear the rumble of the bikes making their way down the street, pausing, then coming into the grounds after the gates were opened.
The cavalry had arrived.
Our brothers from Florida had finally made it.
It was an eighteen-hour-drive with no stops, but, of course, they needed to stop. And they had to obey speed limits if they were showing up armed. And there was no way that they weren't.
"Gus is going to have my balls for not telling her about this," West added, looking guilty as the engines cut as the men—including Gus's brother, Huck—made their way to the door.
"She'll forgive you under the circumstances," I told him, though I was talking out of my ass since I didn't know shit about women anymore.
"You haven't met Gus, have you?" West asked, smiling, shaking his head. "Heya, Huc—" he started when the door opened and the towering form of Huck moved in, cutting off when he got a look at his old friend's face. "What the fuck happened to you?" West asked, taking in the nearly swollen-shut eye, the purple smattering of bruises across his eye socket and cheekbone, the red cut deep into his hairline.
"Oh this," Huck said, waving it off. "Turns out starting a new criminal enterprise in a town full of established enterprises is stickier than we expected," he said, moving in fully so his other men could step inside as well.
I didn't know any of them personally. I hadn't been able to make any of the trips down to Florida l
ike some of the other guys had, to meet the new crew, to make sure everything was going well.
But from the stories I had been told, I could recognize the players as they came into view.
Huck, the new president of the Florida chapter—tall, widely built, dark blond-haired, square-jawed.
Then there was McCoy—dark-skinned, loc'd hair, wide, strong body.
Following him, Che with his model good looks, dark hair, olive skin, and carefully cultivated beard.
Finally, there was Remy with his blonde hair with darker roots coming in, his impressive tattoos, his charming smile, even though I knew there was a crazy bastard underneath the charm he wore on his sleeve.
All these men, though, seemed worse for the wear.
Huck with his busted eye and cut that would leave a nice scar, McCoy with a nasty wound on his throat, Che with a slowly-healing split lip, and a slightly hunched-over posture that suggested he might have been favoring his ribs which would have made the ride up a real bitch, and, finally, Remy with his busted knuckles, each one of them split open and raw.
They'd been through it.
But they'd still hopped on their bikes, drove a grueling two and a half days, and come here to help us.
Maybe when all of this was over, I could leave Jelena with her Uncle Thad, and take a trip down to Florida to really get to know these guys.
"Where's Teddy?" West asked. "And that kid? Seeley?"
"Teddy doesn't do the bikes," Huck explained, and I figured that made sense. Teddy, being a little person, would have needed to have one built custom for himself. And, from the sound of things, he was rich enough to do so, but he seemed to enjoy his association with the club more than actually being a member of it. "And we needed to leave someone to deal with the club, so since Seeley isn't patched-in, we left him. Do we have any updates?" Huck asked, all business, not even taking five minutes to recover from being on the road, wanting to jump in and help out in any way possible.
The thing was, we really didn't know how they could help. We'd hoped, at this point, to at least have narrowed down the list of threats. But no matter how many different directions we sent men in, no matter what methods they used to extract answers—and judging by the bloody mess Pagan came into the club each night, those methods were often physical—we were getting nowhere.
The road that led out to Reign and Summer's somewhat remote home had no cameras that Hailstorm and its various hackers could hack into to get footage, to figure out who might have picked up Reign, and where they may have headed.
The closest we could get was an intersection right outside of Navesink Bank's main town area where Reign had stopped for gas. But no one had been following him that anyone could see.
Each hour that passed felt more and more hopeless.
We were getting nowhere. Our local allies hadn't heard anything. No one was bragging about taking down a biker president on the dark web.
The men were almost done with the list that Cash, Cam, and Liv had drawn up.
Things weren't looking good.
"Huck," Cash's voice greeted, joining us. "Heard you coming in," he explained, moving over to take Huck's hand. "Thanks for coming. McCoy, Remy, Che."
"What can we do?" Huck asked immediately.
"We have a couple names left on our list to check out. Are you guys sure you're up to it?" Cash asked, taking in the various injuries, taking an extra second on Remy's knuckles and Che's hunched-posture.
"We're fine. Point us in a direction. Tell us how far you want us to take it. We will figure it out from there."
Cash rattled off a name and location, then shrugged. "Take it as far as you need to take it. We're getting desperate for someone to say something. Anything."
"Got it. Che," Huck said, nodding toward his man. "You hang here."
"I can go," Che insisted, pride not wanting him to admit he was hurting, likely more than he had been when he left Florida thanks to the bumpy ride.
"I know that," Huck said, nodding. "But they don't have the kind of manpower here that Reign would want, especially in times like these. Those fucking prospects out there don't count. They need more patched men to hold shit down in case it hits the fan. Cash needs more guards. You're a good shot. If he needs to get out of here, you're a better getaway man than anyone here is. It's not a demotion. It's just a better place for you right now."
With that, and no more coddling, he gave Cash a nod, and led his men out front, their bikes rumbling to life a moment later.
"We appreciate having you here, Che," Cash told him. "There's elastic bandages in the bathroom for your ribs. And whiskey in the bar for them too," he added, trying to smile, but it faltered and fell before it could even be considered a smirk.
The days were weighing hard on him.
Worrying about his brother, what might be happening to him, what would happen if he didn't return.
And on top of that uncertainty, that anxiety, that fear, he had the weight of the club, of the men's expectations on his shoulders.
Cash had what he needed to run the club, but he didn't have the desire to do so. He never did. He was always happy to leave that to his older, more serious brother.
The weight of leadership was weighing on him.
He hadn't been sleeping, judging from the bags under his eyes. And I wasn't sure the last time he had come down from the room to have a full meal when someone stopped bashing heads long enough to cook, or, more often, when I threw something quick together, needing to feel useful in some way.
Sure, I acted as a guard on my shifts. But, so far, there had been no signs that anyone had been around, that anyone was looking to invade. Which left me feeling useless.
But the men had to come back to eat.
So I made sure there was something for them to fuel up on before heading back out.
I made sure the prospects kept the place clean, did the laundry, stocked us up on groceries and first aid supplies.
I did what I could.
And then I did the fucking thinking thing. And as the hours passed, the more those thoughts seemed to drift toward Eva.
And that kiss.
And her open invitation to let me into her life.
It was the worst time.
And I had no business being interested in a woman outside of this world, or possibly dragging her into it, but I also couldn't seem to make myself ignore her text when it rolled in later that night. I couldn't stop myself, when my shift was over, when the food was eaten, when I was alone in my bed, from answering her back.
I was just about to pass out when I got another ding.
But when I looked at the screen, it wasn't Eva's name there. It was Jelena's.
- I like her.
-- You shouldn't be up this late. Go to bed.
- One of the babies is crying. I can't sleep. But I like her. Eva.
-- Baby girl, we are not having this discussion.
- Right now? Or ever?
-- I haven't decided yet.
- Aunt Freddie said she liked her too.
-- Aunt Freddie shouldn't be talking to you about this kind of thing.
- I'm not a little girl anymore.
It never stopped feeling like a kick to the chest when she said that. And when I had to agree that she was right.
No, she wasn't a little girl anymore.
And I had to keep that in mind.
-- I know, Jelly. I just don't think this is the time.
- To date? Or to talk about it?
-- Both. Either.
- Fine. I'm going to bed.
-- Goodnight, baby.
I got no response. I didn't expect one. She was a go-with-the-flow kind of kid most of the time, but once in a blue moon, she could be a stubborn-ass as well. She wanted me to give Eva a shot. And while I would never even think about going into a relationship without running it by my kid, I also had to make sure where my head was at, where Eva's head was at, if this was just a casual flirtation, or something more, before I decided to
bring my kid in on the matter. Doing it before then would only leave her disappointed, and me feeling guilty for making her feel that way.
Things needed to be right if I was finally going to date after all this time. Maybe especially so because I had chosen not to do so for so long. Jelly had never experienced anything like this, and might get it in her head that Eva was going to be a new mother figure to her before Eva and I knew where each other's head was at.
I didn't want to do that to Jelena. I know that, while she had always had a tight relationship with me, she'd always wanted a mother. Of course she did. All little girls did. Freddie coming back into our lives had helped fill that void, but I think we all knew it wasn't the same. She wanted someone right there in the house that she could turn to, rely on, confide in. While I wanted to always be that person for her, I understood that she was growing up, that some things weren't as comfortable for her to discuss with me anymore.
So I only wanted her in on the specifics of my relationship when I knew it was heading somewhere serious.
And it just wasn't the time for serious, I reminded myself as I heard bikes rumble in, the clomping footsteps of tired, defeated feet, knowing my brothers were coming back empty-handed again.
The hopelessness of the situation was thick in the air the next morning after all of us caught a couple stolen hours of restless sleep.
Coffee mugs were clutched in bloodied-knuckle hands, everyone staring off at nothing at all, eyes far away, all of us trying to figure out where he could have went, what could have happened to him, how the club would go on without him, what life would be like without our leader, our father figure, of sorts.
Ferryn was a restless presence in the club after Vance had dragged her back the night before, forcing her to get some rest. She paced the main room, her long, lean body tight with worry, her hands busted, her face busted, with a nasty trio of claw marks across her neck.
Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20) Page 7
