Colson (The Henchmen MC #20) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,14

You made the freaking neighbor sit up until I got home."

"He should have minded his own business," Jacob insisted, chest puffing up.

"Watch it," I told him, leaning against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "Listen to me. You are fourteen-years-old. You have four years until you are free to do shit like making stupid decisions and hanging out with dangerous people."

"He's your brother."

"Yeah, and he's an asshole, okay? Only an asshole tries to get his teenage nephew to hang out with a gang."

"So the gang is bad, but the arms-dealing bikers are cool? Hypocrite much?"

Oh, the little bastard.

"The difference is, our neighbor isn't trying to recruit either of us into his arms-dealing biker club. He's just being a halfway decent human being. I don't understand what I have to do to get this through to you—" I broke off on a choke. Angry tears strike again!

"Don't cry," Jacob said, looking stricken. "I won't go anywhere tonight. I promise."

Tonight wasn't the promise I wanted. But it was what I had at the moment. And that was better than nothing. At least I could get through my shift without worrying about him getting into who-knew-what kind of trouble on the streets.

"Thank you," I said, nodding, and reaching up to wipe the tears off my cheeks, deciding he didn't need to know they were angry, not sad, tears. Sometimes you just had to lie to your kids. That was life.

"I'll set the table," he offered, piling on the apology.

Maybe I should have taken the opportunity to have a serious talk, to do the lecture thing.

But I was just too tired.

I remembered to text Colson back when I was pulling up to work at ten-forty-five that evening.

- Sorry. I hope I'm not waking you up. Totally forgot to text you. This is my number. It's Eva, by the way.

-- Yeah, got that, babe. I don't go giving my number out all the time. Have a good night at work.

Was that a little flutter across my chest?

It sure felt like it.

I forgot what it was like to talk to another adult. And have them talk back. And make sense. And care about how my shift went.

It was nice.

Maybe even too nice.

It was something a woman could get used to.

And that was dangerous.

Because nothing could happen between Colson and me.

THREE

Colson

Things seemed to quiet down next door.

And I was a complete asshole for being disappointed.

Of course, I wanted Eva's life to be easier. I thought I had my hands full with Jelena. I couldn't imagine needing not only to care for a headstrong teen, but also an ailing mother who was slowly losing her grip on reality.

She deserved a break.

But it also meant I had no reason to run into her again.

Christ, I even caught myself trying to get up earlier than usual to casually drink my coffee on the porch the next day as though that was the most normal thing in the world while I had never done so before, hoping to catch sight of her on her way in from work.

Thank God I realized how pathetic I was being before she got there, and took my ass back inside.

We did, however, have a casual text conversation, that was choppy because of our mismatched schedules.

I just found myself craving more.

While I tried to convince myself that having more was not an option.

So, with Jelena off at school, I took myself over to the clubhouse, ready to jump into the investigation about the supply chain, inwardly hoping it was just some fluke, not something sinister like everyone else seemed to be figuring it was.

"'Sup, Colson?" Brooks greeted me, rising up from a crouch, hands soapy. I was pretty sure my bike had been cleaned more over the past week than it had in the rest of its life.

"Who's hanging around?" I asked, jerking my chin toward the clubhouse.

"Edison, Roan, Laz, Pagan, and West right now," he told me.

"And Sugar and Virgin," Tyler, the other non-related prospect, piped in, materializing out of nowhere.

I couldn't get a feel for the kid.

I couldn't tell you why.

I guess we just hadn't clicked.

He was around the same age as Brooks, but shorter, slighter, and so pale that he was almost translucent—his blue veins prominent in his neck and wrists, though he was steadily covering them up with bright blue and gray tattoos.

Reign had liked his history in some form of martial arts or another, that he came from a rough area, that he was just reckless enough to be