Colson (The Henchmen MC #20) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,76

"We all agree that if and when the club passes down, it should go to someone younger, someone who wants it more. Who wants it more than Fallon?"

"I don't like it," Summer said, sighing, resting her head on my good shoulder. It was the same thing she'd said when he'd first told us his intention to go through the motions to prospect for the club.

I bit my tongue in reminding her that her daughter was into much more dangerous shit than Fallon would likely ever be. It wasn't the time.

"He's not ready yet," I told her, reaching down to squeeze her knee. "But he will be. And he has what it takes. He just needs to grow up some first. Learn to control his anger a bit."

"I can't believe he pulled a gun on Colson."

While I didn't like that move, I appreciated that he was capable of doing what it took to get what he needed. No, he should never pull a gun on a club brother, but he'd been the only one willing to spring into action when he thought it was needed.

With a few more years, and maybe a little firmer guidance from me and his uncles, Fallon would be ready to take over the club.

And, I hoped, that club would be a bit more diversified than it currently was.

That was what else had been keeping me awake. Planning the future direction of the club.

This hiccup with the supply chain—one that seemed to only be getting worse somehow even with Third Street out of the picture—had made it clear that it was simply never a good idea to put all your eggs in one basket. Not when so many men, women, and children were dependent on a steady income.

Branching out to open sister clubs that would, in turn, give us a small cut of all their ventures, was a move in the right direction. It was a stream of income that didn't involve any extra work on our part. But there needed to be more than that.

That was what I was working on.

I was taking a page out of the Grassis and the Mallicks' books. I was going to make more of our operation legit.

We would always be a one-percent club. Who also happened to make a decent percentage of our income from other ventures. It was smart for many reasons. Not the least of which being it was a way to clean our money, something Chris had been on my ass about for a long while.

We were taking "unnecessary risks" by not having a reliable way to wash our cash.

She was right.

And I had been too stubborn to see it before now.

Almost dying did a lot to a man with a fuck of a lot to lose. It put shit in perspective.

Giving my kids and my club a future, one that they could then pass on, was important to me. So was keeping them out of jail. And, hopefully from being strung up in a garage and beaten with a bat.

I was going to wait it out until he was ready, until I got it all lined up, then I was going to hand my son the reins of something he could build his legacy on, something he could be proud of, something safer than the one I had been handed.

"He's got some growing up to do," I agreed. "And, luckily, Colson isn't the type to hold a grudge."

"I heard his girl is really nice."

"I didn't spend much time with her, but she seems like a good, normal kind of woman." Which was good since Colson and always been a normal sort of man. Sure, he had acclimated, become a brother, but he was a single father before it all, someone from a different life than the rest of us.

"I like the idea of him with a single mom. We owe that kid a really nice Christmas present," she added, fingers tracing over the bandage on my arm.

We would shape him up, too. Especially now that his toxic uncle was out of the way.

"Okay, I'll shut up," she said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Eat."

Then because my woman demanded it, and because I liked that she still loved me enough to do shit like that, I ate.

"I know, I know," she said, rolling her eyes as she took the tray, climbed off the bed. "You can't be in bed all day. And you need to handle business. And your men need to see their fearless leader,"