Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20)

by Jessica Gadziala

  We didn't get to watch Ferryn grow into the woman she was today, but we'd seen her ruthlessness since she came back. She was always ready for a fight, always the fiercest person in a room. And that was saying something when she often shared rooms, with our ragtag group of various badasses.

  I hadn't seen Fallon since we'd realized his father was gone.

  Finn was in and out, seeming to spend time what little free time he could find with his distraught mother since her other two children were on missions to paint the entire fucking east coast red with blood in the search for their father.

  It was later that afternoon, as most of the guys headed back out to try to question less and less likely culprits, that the Florida crew came back, looking even more busted-up than before, each accepting food and coffee and glasses of whiskey as they dropped down on the common room furniture, looking beat.

  "If they had anything to say, trust me, they would have talked," Huck assured Cash, eyes dark with the demons of the past several hours, the torture they'd clearly inflicted on what turned out to be innocent people.

  I couldn't help but wonder how many enemies we were creating in the search of our president, in what awful ways all of this might blowback on us in the future.

  "Thanks for trying," Cash said, looking like he'd aged five years in as many days.

  "What about those fucking idiots on the other side of town?" Huck asked.

  "Which fucking idiots on the other side of the town?" Cash asked, brows pinching.

  "The wannabe gangbangers."

  "Technically, they are a gang," I corrected. "They've been around longer than I have."

  "Yeah, but the way my uncle tells it," Huck said, having an older relative in the area, the whole reason he had ever been to Navesink Bank, and Reign had come across him, "they have no central power structure. Always in-fighting, changing up leadership, constantly changing their hustle."

  "Yeah, but hookers and H and Easy Lay. They've never wanted in on the arms trade."

  "Alright," Huck said, clearly doubting Cash's certainty in the matter, but shrugging it off.

  Cash's gaze went in my direction, searching, questioning.

  "I can go out there, take a look, maybe get my ear on the ground if I can," I suggested. "Send Che with me," I added, doubting anything would come to blows, and the man had been looking as aimless as I felt sitting around the clubhouse while his brothers handled the interrogations.

  "Alright, yeah. Some of the other guys are going to need to take a break while their hands heal up. They can take a couple guard shifts. You go on out," he agreed, then looked over at Huck. "If you are good with it," he added.

  "Whatever it takes," Huck agreed, nodding as Che moved to stand, doing so no less stiffly than the day before. "Lose the cuts, though," he added. "They won't recognize Che. And you seem low-profile, so you might be able to get closer than some of your other brothers with their ridiculous reputations."

  I should have been proud of my low-key lifestyle, the fact that I hadn't been a lunatic, a savage killer, but I felt uncomfortable instead. But he was right. The fact that I had been a normal person up until I joined the MC worked in our favor. Unless Third Street was watching us closely—and I highly doubted that—they wouldn't know who I was, and my possible ulterior motives.

  I shrugged out of my cut, waiting for Che to get out of his, then we made our way to the yard, taking one of the spare SUVs, and heading out, driving around a bit to make sure no one saw us leaving the Henchmen grounds.

  "How are your ribs?" I asked as we climbed out of the vehicle, making our way casually into the other side of town.

  "Screaming," Che admitted, and I slowed my pace to allow for him to take it easy. "The wrap is helping, but just barely."

  "Only bruised my rib once. I felt like I couldn't get comfortable for three weeks. Did you bust it?"

  "Two. But we had to get on the road two days after," he said, shrugging in a very 'what can you do" way.

  "Things been crazy down there?" I asked. "Since West came back," I clarified, realizing how little the majority of us were up-to-date on the goings-on at the new chapter since then.

  "Ever see one of those action movies where everyone is out to get the main guy despite all the gunfights, never manage to kill him? It's been a lot like that," he admitted. "Turns out, everyone wants the gun trade in that part of Florida. Close to the ports like here."

  "Before the new chapter," I said, keeping my voice low even though the only people we'd passed so far were a couple old people, a single mom, and dog walker, "you chopped cars, right?"

  "Yeah. And before that, I raced cars. I've been in this kind of life for a long time, and never met with a fifth of the action we've seen over the last year or so."

  "It's been calm here," I told him. "For the most part. Until now," I added.

  "We'll find him," Che assured me. "Someone, somewhere, sometime, is going to talk. One perk to no criminals having any code these days is everyone gets loose lips eventually. With as many allies as the Henchmen have around here, someone will overhear.

  Five hours of lingering around later, turning down the sex workers two separate times, and hearing not a damn thing, Che and I decided to head home to relieve the other guard shift.

  It was right then that I saw a familiar face.

  A very young, familiar face.

  That did not belong in this part of town.

  That should have been in his room one house over from my place.

  Whose mother likely didn't realize he'd snuck out again.

  Who was rubbing shoulders with fucking gang members.

  At fourteen years old.

  "Fuck."

  "What?" Che asked, following my gaze. "I know these guys start young, but he seems really young."

  "I know him. And his mom is going to lose her shit."

  Torn, I stood there for a long moment, unsure what to do.

  "You gotta get him out of here," Che said, shrugging like it was that easy. "If he's got a mom that gives a shit where he is, he doesn't belong here."

  "Jacob," I called, giving him a nod when he looked over, guilt creeping across his features as I gave him a chin jerk, a silent command to follow, then turning and starting to walk.

  I wasn't surprised when he followed behind.

  "I can expl—"

  "No, you can't," I corrected. But you are going to get in that car."

  "You don't under—"

  "Nope," I agreed, opening the backseat door, waving him inside. "I don't," I agreed. "And none of the crap you are going to say is going to change that."

  With that, Che and I climbed in, driving around town a few times before making our way back to the clubhouse.

  "What are we doing here?"

  "Can't exactly bring you home. You won't stay."

  "My grandmother is alone."

  "Yeah, you should have thought about that, huh?" I asked, reaching for my phone, shooting out a text to Lo, asking her to send someone over to Eva's place to keep an eye on Eva's mother. "Here I was thinking you were growing up, becoming a man when I saw you trying to protect your mom. Then you go out and do this shit? You have any idea how much she worries about you?"

  It wasn't my place to scold him. He wasn't my kid. I wasn't related to him.

  He slunk out of the SUV, following me into the clubhouse as I reached for my phone again, shooting a text to his mother about finding him and taking him to the clubhouse, that she could pick him up on her way home.

  I gave Che my room to crash in since the other beds were full-up, and stuck Jacob on the couch while I lounged in one of the chairs.

  Sleep was a nonexistent thing, so I made pot after pot of coffee until I felt like I was fucking buzzing.

  "Yo, Colson, your woman is here," Virgin declared, giving me a chin jerk.

  "She's not my woman."

  "That's not what Freddie says."

  "She's my neighbor. We barely know each other."

  "Mmhmm," he said, brush
ing me off as he turned out of the room.

  "Where is she?" I asked, walking out into the common area, not seeing her anywhere.

  "From what Huck says, sitting in her car having a breakdown. Where you going?" he asked as I went to brush past. "To go comfort her?" he asked, smirking at me as I opened the front door. "Yeah, no, she's not your woman, though, huh?" he said as the door closed behind me.

  I got to the passenger side of the car, stooping down to find Eva's arms wrapped around her steering wheel, her head pressed forward into it, her body racked with her sobs.

  No, she wasn't my woman.

  But that tug inside at seeing her so upset, that was suggesting I wanted it to go in that direction, to at least give it a try. When all this shit was handled.

  That was a possibility that was, at once, both exciting and terrifying.

  But there seemed to be no use denying it anymore.

  SEVEN

  Eva

  I held it together at work.

  I had become a master at holding it together at work over the years.

  I had gone directly to work after my mother's doctor's appointment that had spelled out her diagnosis—and all the possible ways that would impact all our lives. I had sorted the mail when I found out that because of all the moving expenses, our light bill was not going to get paid, and I had only forty dollars to feed all of us until the next paycheck.

  I was a master at a stiff upper lip when I was on the clock.

  But I was not, by nature, a stalwart kind of woman.

  I felt things.

  And I felt them deeply.

  So when I finally got out of work and in the car, and across town, and into the Henchmen compound parking lot, I just... lost it.

  It was all just too much lately.

  I had been managing alright. Even with the new stress of home ownership, of having to make a dollar stretch further than I ever needed before. Even with my mother losing more and more of herself with each passing month.

  I had managed.

  Because my son was safe. He was in a good school. He was going to be able to secure a nice future for himself.

  And then... fucking Miguel.

  Luring my son away with ideas of easy money and nice clothes and fancy electronics.

  All the things kids wanted. And I couldn't even fault Jacob for that. I wanted those things for him as well.

  But if not for my brother, he would have continued to understand that nice things require hard work and perseverance. And, hopefully, choosing a great college major that would set him on a financially stable career path in his early adulthood.

  But, no.

  Miguel had to dangle fast and easy money in my son's gullible face.

  There was no such thing as fast and easy money. Especially where a street gang was concerned. It wasn't like he would join up on a Sunday and be making thousands of dollars by the next Friday. And even if the money did start to come in, there were sacrifices to be made first.

  I loved my son. He was strong in many ways. But there was no way that kid could make it through a beat-in.

  This was the same kid who stubbed his toe in the morning and was down for forty-five minutes.

  He wasn't a tough kid.

  And that was a tough life.

  It would chew him up and spit him out.

  That was why I worked so damn hard to get him away from those influences.

  And that text from Colson just proved that it was all for nothing.

  I was tired for no reason. I was balancing my bills like they were loaded time-bombs for no reason. I was using my minimal spare time to research summer jobs and internships for him to increase his chances of getting into college... for no freaking reason.

  My kid wanted to be on the street.

  And my brother was helping him.

  Through my over-abundant—and in no way quiet—sobs, I could hear the door to my car open, could feel the shift as a large body climbed into the passenger's seat, then hear the slam of the door again.

  "Eva..."

  God, how did he make my name sound so reassuring?

  "He's okay," he added when I couldn't stop the tears or the pathetic sniffling.

  "Only because you stepped in," I told him, hearing the awful whine in my voice. "You're always saving me. My life is such a fucking mess."

  "It's not a mess," he assured me, a wide palm pressing down between my shoulder blades, just a firm presence for a second before it started moving in a slow circle. "You just have some shit going on," he added, and I could practically hear the shrug in his voice.

  Some shit.

  That was an understatement.

  But maybe to an arms-dealing biker single dad, my issues weren't that crazy in the grand scheme of things. I mean, his daughter and sister were hiding out chaperoned by a body guard because of whatever was going on in his world, in his life, at the moment.

  "You can just send him out here," I suggested, trying to rein it in, even as my eyes filled once again. "You don't have to be nice to me. You've done enough for me in the past week to last a lifetime."

  "If you think that, then people have been real shitty to you, babe."

  To that, I snorted through my tears. "I have no people," I admitted. "I have my mom and my son."

  "No friends or family?"

  "When would I have time for friends?" I asked, wallowing, and I didn't even care. "And my family has always been small," I added, made smaller still by Miguel's refusal to be a part of it. Aside from attempting to corrupt my son, that is.

  "You gotta have someone on your side. Helps make the rough patches a little more tolerable," he told me, and I could feel a hole in my chest, knowing he was right, knowing my mother had once been that person for me, and that I had been scrambling ever since her own mind turned on her. "So I'm gonna sit here. I'm gonna be that person."

  "You don't need to pity me," I objected, squeezing my eyes closed tight.

  "I don't pity you," he corrected. "I know how it feels to be down, Eva. I sympathize. That's it," he added, his hand starting to move up and down along my spine. The motion was meant to be comforting. And it was that. But it was more than that as well. A small sizzle of desire pinged off my nerve endings.

  It wasn't long before the memories of his kitchen were flashing across my overworked, exhausted brain, filling it—and my body—with all kinds of ideas.

  But I knew better.

  There was nothing less sexy than a bawling woman.

  "Hey," Colson said, his arm snaking around my shoulders, pulling me sideways over the center console, tucking my face in toward his neck. "Let me in," he demanded, arm tightening.

  God, I wasn't even sure how long it had been since I felt a man's arm around me, since I knew that comforting weight, since I could rest on a strong chest, since I could feel safe there.

  "You barely know me."

  "I know enough to know I'd like to know more. Talk to me," he demanded.

  "I want to throat-punch my brother for getting Jacob interested in gang life. Like it is a career path to aspire to. And I'm at a loss at how to stop him from sneaking out at night. The guilt only worked for a few days and I'm worried that the more I try to use it, the less effective it will be. And my mom. If I don't have Jacob there at night, what am I supposed to do about my mom? There just seems to be no good answer that doesn't involve hiring someone I can't afford."

  "What about Jacob's father?" Colson asked, tone hesitant, maybe knowing how touchy that subject could be.

  In my case, though, it wasn't. "Jacob's dad was my high school sweetheart. We went three long years without a pregnancy scare. And then there was a missed period and a dozen pee sticks. And irrefutable evidence of Jacob's existence.

  "Rob was never a bad guy. It just didn't work out. When he was still in Navesink Bank, he saw Jacob on the weekends, though he never took him overnight. But then he went away to college. And he decided to stay there. It's not far. Just over an hour from here. But Jacob was resent
ful that he left, doubly so when Rob married.

  "Then compile that with the kids he eventually had. Rob tries, but Jacob isn't receptive right now. Rob would take him. If I decided I needed to get Jacob out of town until he grows up a little, Rob would take him. But Jacob would never forgive me. And, quite frankly, even as much as a pain in the ass as he is being lately, I can't imagine not having him around."

  "Jelly's mom peace'd out right after she was born. Decided she couldn't take it," Colson told me, wanting to give me his story since I was giving him mine. I wasn't sure I'd ever had such an equal exchange of conversation with a man before.

  "No contact?"

  "Nope."

  "Not even now, when she's older?"

  "Not a birthday card, not a word."

  "Do you ever worry she will come back and try to take Jelena away?"

  "Every damn day of my life. But I think we are far enough along now that it wouldn't happen. Legally, I think it qualifies as abandonment, but I've never tried to file the paperwork to strip her rights. It didn't feel like my place. If she did come back one day, and Jelly did want to get to know her, I figured that was her right to make that decision."

  "That must have been hard on Jelly."

  "Not so much as she was little. But, lately, I think she is looking for that mother figure. Teen troubles on their way and all that."

  "She has your sister, at least. I know it's not the same, but it is something. Have you... ever been close? To finding someone," I clarified, wincing even as the words were coming out of my mouth, wondering if they were too prying, if he thought I was asking to be nosy, or—worse yet—so I could be jealous of this woman I had never met.

  "Honestly, I really haven't even dated," he admitted.

  "There's just never any freaking time, right?" I asked, shaking my head. "What? Squeeze a string of dates in between parent-teacher meetings and class parties and the summer shuffle to try to set up camp or other arrangements? So sexy."

  "You haven't dated?" he asked, sounding surprised.