Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20)

by Jessica Gadziala

  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 his tall body in front of mine.

  "What's going on?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

  "You people need to get back into your home," the man warned, his gaze scanning around the neighborhood.

  "I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding—" the woman behind me said.

  "I'm not sure—oh," I cut off when I heard the rumble of the bike in the neighborhood.

  I wouldn't like to think of myself as a coward, but if this was a bad situation, I liked the idea of an arms-dealing biker handling it rather than a postal sorting single mom with two people very dependent upon her.

  "Daddy!" Jelly cheered, moving to walk past me. And my mom-instincts made my arm shoot out, grabbing her, pulling her behind my back as Colson's engine cut, as he pulled off his helmet.

  "What—" he started, and I jerked my chin toward the man with the gun. "Oh," he said, giving me something close to a bashful smile. "Sorry, Eva. I probably should have warned you," he said, clamping a hand on the armed man's shoulder as he walked past, moving up toward Jacob, giving him an approving nod. "Protecting your mom. That's what a good man does," he told him, and I felt my lips curl up at the way Jacob's posture straightened, his chest puffing out as he moved to the side so I could see Colson better. "And you. Protecting my little girl," he said, giving me a warm smile. "Though, you left her open at the back," he added, nodding his head toward the woman there.

  "Oh, I, ah, I thought maybe she was your, you know, girlfriend," I said, releasing Jelly who flew at her father, wrapping her arms around him like she hadn't seen him in ages.

  Colson's arms went around her, squeezing her until she let out a little gasping noise.

  "That's my sister. Freddie," he explained. "Freddie, this is my neighbor, Eva. And her son, Jacob."

  "It's nice to know Colson and Jelly have neighbors willing to stand as body guard for them," Freddie said, giving me a look that I thought I recognized, a look that said she thought something was going on there.

  "Colson, not to tell you your business, but being on the street..." the man with the gun said, glancing around.

  "Right. Yeah. Jelly and I are here to grab some clothes," Colson explained, nodding his head toward his sister, pushing Jelena in her direction, and the two of them unlocked the door and moved inside. "Jacob, can your mom and I talk for a moment?" he asked, looking over at my son.

  Jacob looked between us, not wanting to be dismissed, but sensing there was a reason, so he gave him a nod and moved inside.

  "He's not a bad kid," Colson reminded me.

  "I know. He's just misguided at times. Okay. So... the gunman over there," I said, nodding toward him.

  "A body guard of sorts. For Jelly and Freddie."

  "I don't think I've ever seen Jelena with a body guard before. I mean, not that I have been keeping an eye or anything," I rushed to add, not wanting to sound like a creep. God, when did I get so bad at this? "Just, you know, the babysitter she resents."

  "We have one for, ah, special occasions," he told me. "Wanna come in for a minute?" he asked, waving toward his door, seeming to sense the discomfort of the body guard when we hadn't moved inside like he'd suggested.

  "I, ah, yeah, sure," I agreed, suddenly wishing I looked less of a hot mess in my baby pink sweatpants and black sweatshirt two sizes too big, with no makeup and my hair in need of some deep conditioning.

  Why that mattered was not beyond me. Clearly, I had a small thing for my neighbor, despite all the reasons I knew it was a stupid idea.

  I was just trying to convince myself that it was a proximity thing, nothing more.

  The layout of Colson's house was much like mine, though all the touches were different. My foyer had tile, while Colson's entire lower floor was a wide-plank dark hardwood. The walls were an almost honey shade of beige that was immediately homey and warm.

  His dining table was made from multiple planks of wood stained to match the floors. The salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of elephants wearing tutus, likely something Jelena had insisted upon, since I'd caught her leaving the house in her ballet leotard and skirt more than a few times.

  Colson's living room was dominated by a dark brown material sectional and ottoman facing the TV mounted over the fireplace.

  There was no carpet, no throw pillows, but there were a couple throw blankets draped over the backs of the couch.

  "I could use some coffee. I don't know about you," Colson said, turning off into his kitchen.

  "Nice countertops," I said, eye-banging his butcher blocks, stained a little darker than they had likely come. They looked great with the taupe color of the cabinets, the white backsplash, the stainless steel appliances.

  "Thanks. I got to pick most of the details in the house. I got in when things were still in the planning stage."

  "What is that?" I asked as Colson produced a purple little pod from the cabinet.

  "Jelly was pissed when I got myself a single-serve coffee machine. Apparently, they learned about how bad for the environment the pods are. So she insisted I buy these refillable ones," he explained, brewing the first cup. "Okay. Body-guards."

  "Yes, body-guards," I agreed, sitting down at the small two-seater table in the corner near the window.

  "You're from around here, right?"

  "Born and raised."

  "So you know who I am. Who my... co-workers are."

  "Yeah," I agreed, nodding.

  "So, you can imagine, in this business, sometimes shit happens."

  "I imagine that is true."

  "This time, things are not good," he said, glancing out the window in the kitchen into the rest of the house, making sure Jelena wasn't around. "Jelly and my sister are spending some time away where they're safe. With lots of men and women like our friend outside to keep an eye on them."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm at the clubhouse. There's a lot going on. I have to be there."

  "You look like you haven't been sleeping," I observed, seeing the heaviness in his eyelids.

  "I haven't," he admitted, putting milk in my coffee after sniffing it suspiciously before handing it to me. "Things are stressful. And I'm worried about Jelly. I know she's safer where she is than with me right now, but I'm not used to being away from her for more than a day or two."

  "At least she gets to be with her aunt."

  "That's true," he agreed, reaching for his own cup of coffee.

  "Do you think it is going to be for a long time?" I asked, inwardly hoping he said no.

  "I have no fucking idea," he admitted, shaking his head. "I pray not too much longer. For many reasons. But there is no way of telling."

  "Can I ask why?" I wondered. "I mean... why did you choose to become a biker, not why this situation might take longer than you'd like."

  "I'd never considered
it, honestly. Until Freddie started dating a biker. And I saw that they weren't just greasy-haired, racist old assholes who drank too much and slept around. Even then, though, I accepted the connection for her, but never considered it for myself."

  "Until?" I prompted, not even caring if I was prying.

  "Until I lost my job. I busted my ass there for years. Did what I was told. Kept my head down. Made sure I did my best every night. And then something went missing. And I got blamed. I think a mixture of anger at doing everything right and still getting fucked over, as well as the desperation to provide well for my daughter, were what eventually pushed me in the direction of the club."

  "Do you regret it?" I pressed. "In situations such as this," I specified, waving a hand out toward the armed man on the street, still scanning the neighborhood for possible threats.

  "That's a tough one. I don't ever want my daughter to be in danger. But I also know that she is somehow more protected than I ever could have made her. If that makes sense."

  "Surrounded by men and women with guns. Yeah, it makes sense."

  "But aside from this—and this is not something that happens every other week—I gained a lot by joining the club. There is the brotherhood, but more so than that, the family-type dynamic. Someone is always there to have your back. You don't have to stress if you can't get free to pick your kid up, someone will do it for you; you wouldn't even have to ask. Each and every man and woman associated with the club has a wealth of knowledge from their varied life experiences. They offer bits and pieces of that to Jelena who otherwise would never have heard it, learned it, taken something from it. And, of course, the money. I think we can both agree that when the issue of money is handled, everything else in life feels a whole lot easier to manage."

  "Isn't that the damn truth," I said, sighing. "Maybe I should be a biker," I added, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

  "Instincts like yours out there, I'd say they'd be lucky to have you. If they were forward-thinking enough to allow women to join."

  "Damn patriarchy," I said, watching as a tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  "How have things been?" he asked, taking a sip of the coffee that was still far too hot for me.

  "You're involved in some sort of underground biker war, and you're asking me how I have been?" I asked, shaking my head.

  "Single parenthood is its own kind of war," he said, shrugging.

  "It's been alright. He confused my angry tears for sad tears, and has been feeling guilty. I am not above using guilt to my advantage when I need to."

  "I'm glad things have been easier on you."

  "I'm sorry they've been rough on you," I told him. "If you need me to check on your house or take in your mail, let me know. I'd be happy to."

  "Your best bet right now is to pretend we've never met."

  "Oh," I said, feeling a sinking sensation inside that I had no right to feel.

  "You're not in danger right now," he clarified, confusing my lack of response for discomfort or fear. "If I thought you were, I would have people here to watch you. But anyone who knows anything about the Henchmen, knows that we send the women and children and close relatives away when the shit hits the fan."

  "What? Do you like rent out that weird paramilitary camp or something? Oh, my God," I said, feeling the laugh bubble up. "You do? Seriously? I always thought they were some weird group set on taking over the government or something."

  "They are, ah, let's just say they are a powerful group. And they are more than capable of protecting anyone who needs it. What?" he asked, reading a look on my face.

  "It has just never really occurred to me how different the world is than I know. Paramilitary camps who protect the innocent. I mean, who would have guessed something like that existed?"

  "I had no idea either, until I joined up with the Henchmen. And, to be fair, the only reason we know about that group is because one of my brothers is married to the leader of it."

  "How many brothers do you have?"

  "Not blood brothers," Colson clarified, smiling. "Biker brothers. I have two siblings. Freddie and Thad."

  "It's me and my brother Miguel. Though, we aren't exactly on speaking terms. You seem close with your sister, if she is staying with Jelly," I said, rushing to change the conversation away from my brother. He was a sore spot. And even though his choices were his alone, and by no means a reflection on me, I still somehow felt a strange embarrassment at being associated with him.

  "We are. Freddie was away for a while, but once she came home, we have been tight. And Thad has practically been a second parent to Jelena."

  "That's nice. I sort of had that with my mom. Before."

  "How's your mom been?"

  "She's okay. Status quo, so I can't complain."

  "You can complain, babe," he corrected, shaking his head. "Your mom has dementia. Someone who you used to lean on now needs you to take care of them. That's not an easy adjustment. You're allowed to have complaints about that."

  "She took care of me."

  "Still," he said, shrugging. "No one is expecting you to have a stiff upper lip during all of this."

  "So, what I'm hearing is that the next time I have an epic meltdown, you are offering to feed me mac & cheese and listen to be bitch for three hours," I joked.

  "When all this shit is over, my door would be open to that, Eva," he told me, and the sincerity in his deep voice made my belly quiver.

  "Colson." His sister's voice joined us in the kitchen, making me jolt, realizing I'd been staring at Colson like a creep. "Your daughter is insisting on picking through her entire wardrobe. I know you said we were on the clock."

  "I'll go rush her along," Colson said, draining his coffee, then moving out of the room, giving me a look before he went. A look I wanted to analyze, but his sister wouldn't let me.

  "I know my niece pretty well," she said, making her way to the coffee pot. "She seems to think something is going on with you and her dad which is why she is trying to give you two as much alone time as possible."

  "There's nothing going on with me and Colson," I assured her, ignoring the twinge of disappointment at those words.

  "Well, no, not yet. But maybe she was picking up on a possibility," Freddie mused.

  "We barely know each other," I objected. "He stopped my son from sneaking out one night. I work overnights," I explained. "And then again helped me with my mom who has dementia. Really, that is all it has been."

  "Hm," Freddie said, turning to make her coffee. "Well, you did just move in."

  "I'm not really looking for a man," I said, even as my lady business whimpered in objection at the idea of an even longer dry spell. "With my mom and my son and work and trying to balance daily stuff, I just can't fathom trying to make time for dating."

  "Oh, the convenience of him living right next door," Freddie said, brow quirking up. "Look, I get it. The biker thing," she said, reading the situation effortlessly. "It's not like what you are thinking."

  "Just extended stays at a paramilitary camp," I shot back.

  "Strange situation. Definitely not common."

  "How many people have been killed?"

  "Since I have been around, none of the men or women or children have been killed. Before that, I don't think any of the women or children ever have, either. I'm just saying, TV makes things sound a lot more dramatic than they actually are. In reality, ninety-nine percent of the time, it's calm. I mean, my man is home for dinner almost every night. I'm not trying to talk you into anything. I'm just saying, keep an open mind if you do think there was some kind of connection there."

  "Colson seems like a good man."

  "He's the best," Freddie agreed. "He has the best heart, even if he hasn't been willing to give it to a woman in ages. So, yeah, that is the story about how Colson saved a nest of baby robins in seventh grade," Freddie declared, confusing me for a second until I turned to find the man in question moving into the space.

  Looking over at Freddie, we sh
ared a smile.

  "Really? The bird story?" Colson asked, shaking his head, looking bashful. "My sister thinks I peaked in middle school, I think."

  "Don't be silly. You also brought that lost dog home in tenth grade," Freddie ribbed him, giving him a big smile. "Did you get yourself packed up?" she asked, getting a wince from Colson. "Men," she said, looking over at me, shaking her head. "I will handle it," she said, pushing out of the room before her brother could object.

  "I'm starting to think the women in my life are trying to force us to be alone together," he told me as I got up, walking over toward the sink, turning on the water, reaching for the sponge.

  "Guests don't wash dishes," he objected, reaching to take the sponge, his giant palm covering my hand, sending a jolt of desire through my system.

  From his hand brushing mine.

  God.

  How hard-up could a woman get?

  Even as that thought formed, though, other ones chased it away.

  Because I realized how closely he had moved in behind me, so close that I could feel his body heat through his—and my—clothes, could sense his height over my shoulder. He was tall enough that if I leaned back against him, I could still rest my head on his chest—something unheard of for a woman who was generally considered tall.

  I noticed too—seeing as time seemed to standstill in that moment—the long arm connected to that wide palm of his, the corded muscles of his forearm, the strong biceps they connected to.

  I imagined if I pressed my back to his front, I would feel nothing but the hard lines of well-worked muscles. I bet they contracted when you ran a finger over them. I bet they shivered when you glided your tongue between them.

  Not that I was going to do that, of course.

  No way.

  But a woman could fantasize, couldn't she?

  Colson's body shifted ever so slightly, the front of him sliding across my ass. My inner wantonness made me want to arch upward, to wiggle against him, to feel his cock harden, press against me, fill me with ideas of how he would feel buried inside me.

  His hands took hold of the sponge as his other arm went around my body to grab the cup, steadily washing it out while I stood there trapped in his arms