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

with your bare hands.

"That all you got?" I asked, watching as his eyes blazed. A flush worked its way up the sides of his neck, coloring his cheeks.

He had something to prove.

That was interesting.

Whoever he was, he didn't have the kind of power I had or Luca Grassi or Lo or fucking Quinton Baird had. Our reputations stood on their own. No one needed to prove shit.

This guy was not a big player.

But a small-timer with a lot of ambition was a worthy opponent. Especially if you weren't as hungry as you had once been.

And I wasn't.

But I did have a lot to live for.

Which was its own kind of motivator.

I took a deep breath as he turned to walk behind me, heard the car door outside slamming closed, then footsteps coming close again.

"Watch out," the older guy called to the others, barely waiting for them to scramble backward before cocking back and swinging the bat.

The next couple moments were a pain-soaked blur as I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth ached to keep from letting out my reaction.

It had been a long-ass time since I got a beatdown. And I could practically predict the future arthritic spots as the bat landed to the side of my knee, my shin, across my hip, my lower back, just barely missing the kidney shot I think he was going for.

"Not so fucking big and bad now, are you?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"Dunno man," I said through gritted teeth. "I didn't have to grab a bat to get my point across. Seems there's only one small man here."

The crack to my head was expected.

The unconsciousness as well.

When I woke back up, I was alone again, still hanging, draped in darkness, tasting blood, feeling the trickle of it down the side of my face, feeling the ache of bruises all across my body.

I took a couple deep breaths, trying to focus through the pain.

Even as I did so, I heard it.

The rumble of bikes in the distance.

A dozen of them.

More.

My men were on it.

I just had to pray they found me in time.

FIVE

Eva

I hadn't seen Colson or Jelena at their house in three days.

And I was frustrated with myself for noticing that.

But his bike was missing. His car hadn't moved. The lights didn't go on or off. There were no sounds over there.

He'd never said anything about going away when I had sent that text a few nights before, a text that I had pre-written and refused to press send on for over an hour before—in a moment of insanity—I sent it out.

Then sat with my heart racing and my belly jumping, worried I was being too forward, too clingy.

He'd given me his number as a courtesy, not to exchange casual conversations. We weren't teenagers for God's sake. Adults didn't just start texting one another out of the blue. At least, in my experience, they didn't.

I was actually shocked when he wrote me right back. And even more surprised when his tone was light and easy, that he didn't tell me to fuck off and call me a psycho.

That said, though, I didn't have the balls to be desperate enough to initiate texts twice.

And now Colson was MIA.

And I was stupidly disappointed.

Like a teenage girl with a crush.

When did I become so pathetic?

Even as my thoughts swirled around that same topic for what felt like hours, I saw headlights in the driveway next door.

"Jesus," I hissed when I felt my heart leap up, excitement sizzling across my nerve endings.

Until I saw two people climb out of the car.

Jelena.

And a woman.

A really, insanely, ridiculously beautiful woman.

I had no right to feel disappointment crushing my ribcage, but there was no denying that I felt it.

At least for a moment.

Until a third person exited the vehicle.

A man.

Who was not Colson.

A man who had a hand resting on a holster under his arm.

I didn't stop to think. I didn't think about myself.

I flew up out of the kitchen, rushing into the foyer, reaching for the handle, ripping the door open, watching as the man's hand went for the gun.

"Jelly, honey, is everything okay here?" I asked, moving to step between her and the man.

"I, ah—" Jelly started.

"Please get back in your home," the man with the gun demanded.

"Um, no, I don't think I will."

"Mom, what—" Jacob's voice cut in.

"Jacob, get back in the house," I demanded when he stepped into the doorway.

But my stubborn son had good eyes, taking in the scene in a blink, then moving