Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20)

by Jessica Gadziala

  I ground against him shamelessly, too far gone to care about my neediness, consumed with the relief of the painful desire gripping my system.

  My lips bruised into his as my hips moved harder, faster, as my body got pushed to the edge.

  Colson's hand dragged me against him one final time.

  And I crashed into my orgasm, my body jolting, my legs seeming to lose their strength, the pleasure starting at the juncture of my thighs and exploding outward as I cried out my release to his muffling lips.

  He held me against him after for what felt like hours before shifting my hips so I was nestled at his side, my head on his chest, my arm across his body, my leg draped over his hips.

  "Sleep, babe," he demanded, voice deep, thick, full of the desire he hadn't gotten relief from.

  "But you—"

  "There's time. I'm in no rush."

  A strange little warming sensation spread across my chest at that.

  Because he meant that.

  He wasn't in a rush.

  He wanted to take his time with me.

  Because he planned to give his time to me.

  That realization was a warm blanket I felt cuddled into. Mixed with the steady beat of his heart under my ear and the safe sensation of being in his arms was like a lullaby that had me slowly, happily, drifting off to sleep.

  Blissfully unaware of what was coming.

  EIGHT

  Reign

  I don't think there was an inch of me that wasn't bruised.

  I had to remember, for future reference, if I lived through this shit, not to poke at the egos of little men.

  They did everything in their power to prove they were bigger and badder than you were.

  I learned this on what had to have been the third or fourth day in that garage. After two more visits from the asshole with the bat.

  Judging by the screaming to my kneecap and the left side of my ribs, some shit was broken.

  The side of my face felt swollen.

  I didn't know if it was my jaw or my tooth. Something was fucked up there too.

  In between the visits from the idiot with the ego, I had once-daily visits from a small group of mismatched kids, all ranging from their late teens to their mid-twenties, all of them loud and on-edge as they carefully lowered me down just enough so that I could touch my feet down, leaving me there for a few moments while my muscles adjusted, allowed me to hold my weight, then loosening the chain once again so I could walk across the room to piss in a bucket there for me.

  They always strung me back up too soon, leaving me swinging across the room, gritting my teeth to keep from yelling out as my shoulders screamed, as my ribs sent shooting pain through my system.

  Once they had me up again, whichever was the braver of the group would make their way toward me with a plastic water bottle with a long straw, squirting water into my mouth for a moment before they all left me once again.

  They didn't want to kill me.

  That was the message I was getting.

  Holding onto me was the plan.

  Otherwise they wouldn't have given me water.

  So the only question was, to what end?

  Was I being held for ransom?

  They would know my family and my club could afford it.

  But why then was it taking so long to get the cash? Summer knew where a third of it was. Cash knew where another third was. And Wolf the final. There was more than enough to pay any ransom.

  And even if it wasn't, I knew Lo would put the rest up.

  And if that still wasn't enough, Chris would have her counterfeiter man Finch print up enough fake cash to make the difference.

  So the fact that days had clearly past without that happening was what was troubling me.

  What the fuck was the end goal?

  And why weren't they fearing retribution for beating the shit out of me, if they planned to let me go one day?

  No one had questioned me.

  They didn't seem to want information of any sort.

  None of this shit made any goddamn sense.

  I kept hearing my men's bikes though.

  Coming and going and coming and going.

  Clearly, they were no closer to figuring this shit out than I was.

  And if they weren't, that meant that each hour that passed without them finding me was making it less and less likely that they ever would. That anyone was coming to save me.

  Shit.

  Something had to give.

  The man with the bat was eventually going to do some damage that wasn't just going to hurt now and cause an ache down the road whenever it rained or I turned the wrong way.

  He was going to crack a rib and puncture a lung.

  He was going to hit me into the face and drive my nose up into my skull.

  There were countless ways he could accidentally kill me when he was in a rage.

  If my men weren't coming, I had to find a way to get myself out.

  The best bet would be when the kids were letting me down. But I didn't like my chances against three or four of them when I was as busted-up as I had been.

  After hanging for so long, I wasn't sure my shoulders would even let me swing.

  Maybe a direct engagement wasn't what was needed. I could practically hear Chris whispering in my ear, telling me that a bikers' instinct to bare-knuckle fight when a more strategic plan would produce better results was the reason MCs weren't taken as seriously as other organizations in the criminal world.

  She was a trip, that kid. She was going to do a great job with Hailstorm when Lo stepped fully down.

  And maybe she was right in this case.

  Maybe the plan couldn't be to go toe-to-toe with a bunch of kids half my age while I was seriously injured, but to find a way to use their presence to my advantage, find a way to rig the system, get myself free when no one was around to try to stop me.

  Yeah, that seemed like a better plan, I decided as I took a deep breath that made a stabbing sensation assault my ribs.

  It wasn't long after that when I heard the familiar car, doors, the footsteps.

  Two sets.

  I was getting good at figuring shit like that out.

  Old dogs could, apparently, still learn some new tricks.

  "Not looking so good, big man," my torturer's voice taunted as he came around me, a bat rested across his shoulders, his arms resting on it. "See?" he said to someone behind me. "It's not so bad. You get used to it," he added. "Come over here and get a look at him."

  This wasn't one of the other guys I had seen before.

  He was younger.

  Yeah, sure, the others were young too. But all, from the looks of things, legal.

  This one?

  No.

  He had to be just barely a teen.

  My boys had looked just like him at that age, all arms and legs. And not a fucking lick of sense.

  This kid wasn't as hardened as the others, either. The others didn't flinch when they saw me, didn't show me any sympathy.

  But this one flinched.

  His eyes looked wide, full of pity, shocked, and maybe even a little queasy.

  "He thinks he's a badass," the older guy went on, making my gaze shift to him for a second. "But I have been showing him just how much of a pussy he is. Like this," he went on as I tried not to brace, knowing it would hurt more, might cause more damage, if my muscles were tense.

  The bat caught me across my lower stomach. Unpleasant, but luckily not somewhere that would cause too much damage.

  The kid winced, sucking in his breath.

  If I had a chance of getting someone to help me, he was it.

  The problem was that the older guy would never let that slide.

  "Fuck," he hissed a couple minutes later, his phone ringing in his pocket. He reached for it, cursing again. "I have to take this, little man. Here, have some fun," he demanded, handing the bat to the kid and strolling out of the building.

  "Hey, it's alright," I told him as he star
ed helplessly down at the bat. "You don't need to beat someone with a bat to prove you're a man," I told him.

  He glanced at me, then around me where his friend or mentor or whoever the fuck he was was talking on the phone. I couldn't make out any words, just the stressed sound of his speech.

  The kid's hands tightened on the bat. He even managed to raise it, cock it back, before his shoulders slumped, unable to find the stomach to do it.

  He lowered the bat down at his side as he walked around the mostly empty space, going over toward the small storage cabinet at my side, running his hand over the items there.

  My cell, long dead. My wallet. A wad of cash with a silver money clip Summer had given me for a Father's Day once. It wasn't worth much, but it had sentimental value. It took a lot not to object when the kid glanced over at the door to make sure the man wasn't looking before picking the cash and the clip.

  Swallowing my pride, I let out a low, groaning sound, making the kid's glance shoot over to me, his eyes wincing small.

  "My shoulders," I told him, hearing the man's voice outside get more rushed, more heated. I wouldn't have long. He was going to come back in here and take his mood out on me, or he was going to peel out of here to handle something. I knew that tone. It was a 'shit hitting the fan' tone. "I've been hanging here for days," I added.

  "I don't know—" he started, looking helpless. "I can't—" he tried again, shaking his head.

  "You could let me down. Just an inch," I pressed. "No one but me would ever know. I couldn't get away. It would just stop my shoulders from screaming. I don't know if I can take anymore. Please, kid. Just an inch," I kept going, seeing him wavering, his eyes darting from me, to my shoulders, to the chain, to where the chain was attached to the back wall. "He would think it was one of the other guys who comes by," I added. "I won't say anything."

  "Yo, come on. We have to go!" the man outside called, slamming his car door, the engine bursting to life.

  The kid's shoulders slumped as he walked past me.

  There was an undeniable sinking sensation inside. I thought the kid had some humanity left, that there was some sympathy to work with.

  But he just walked past me like all the others.

  That is, until I felt the chains slackening, pins and needles immediately assaulting my arms as my toes touched down.

  "Thank you," I hissed quietly.

  "What the fuck are you doing, little man?" the man called.

  "Trying to find the light," the kid called back before hitting the switch, shrouding me once again in darkness.

  The door closed.

  The car pulled off.

  I was alone again.

  I didn't know for how long.

  So I didn't have long.

  But I rested my arms as much as possible. I rolled my shoulders. I tried to will some strength back into them.

  Then I tried to reach up, to climb up the chain, falling three times in a row, my arms too weak.

  No.

  Not my arms.

  This shit was always mind over matter.

  I could do this.

  I had to do this.

  Because I wasn't sure I would get another chance.

  And if I didn't, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to make it out of this alive.

  Ferryn, Fallon, and Finn would be without their father.

  Summer would be without me.

  Fuck.

  No.

  No, that couldn't happen.

  Not yet, at least.

  Not until I got to see her one last time, touch her one last time, tell my kids I loved them one last time.

  No.

  Their images flashing across my mind, I hauled myself up.

  My arms shook violently.

  Sweat poured.

  But I worked my way up, heaving out my breath, biting into my cheeks, willing my body to hang with me just a couple more minutes.

  My hands closed around the last chain at the top, the one just below the one attached to the hook in the ceiling.

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the fall, then pried the loop over the hook.

  My stomach plummeted as my body swooped downward through the air, free falling.

  I tried to brace my arms, to limit the damage.

  But I came down on my side, on my arm, the pain exploding through my shoulder, whiting out my vision for a long moment.

  It was shattered.

  I would be lucky if I could ever lift it up over my head again.

  But pain meant one thing.

  I was still alive.

  "Fuck," I hissed, throwing myself onto my stomach, pulling my legs in, my forehead resting on the concrete for a long moment as I tried to focus through the pain.

  It felt like hours that I sat there before I pushed my legs to stand, and my body straightened as much as possible.

  I shrugged out of the chains and made my way to the door, listening for a moment before using my good arm to pull it open.

  I'd been right.

  About the area of town.

  Way off on the outskirts of Navesink Bank off the highway.

  But that was good.

  The highway meant people.

  Someone would stop.

  With that in mind, I made my way through the darkness and into the road.

  Almost there.

  I was almost there.

  Back home.

  To my kids.

  To Summer.

  Nothing else mattered.

  NINE

  Colson

  I should have made her go.

  I had no business inviting a woman to stay at the clubhouse. Especially one who wasn't related to us, while all the other women were stuck up at Hailstorm feeling useless, while their men needed comforting and went to bed alone, bodies sore, spirits deflated.

  But there I was.

  In bed.

  Eva fast asleep on my chest, warm and soft and way too fucking tempting.

  I didn't realize how much self-control I had until she was writhing against me, until I was nearly mindless with my need to ease inside her, to feel her walls clench around me as she came, until I let her take her orgasm, then didn't allow things to escalate any further.

  Sex was great.

  But sex with a woman who was overwrought with emotions was manipulative at best. I didn't want to be the man she woke up next to with regret.

  So I let her take.

  And I beat down my need for release.

  I lay there awake hours after she passed out, my cock throbbing, my mind racing.

  I should have been thinking about Reign, about his wife and kids, about the club.

  But all my thoughts were on other things instead.

  What it would be like for things to calm down, to be able to take Eva out somewhere, to just be two normal fucking people trying to get to know each other. How the kids would get along once they met. How Jacob would react to me being in his life as something more than a neighbor who thwarted his efforts to fuck his life up.

  Eventually, though, exhaustion claimed me as deeply as it had claimed Eva.

  I woke up to fingers tracing over my chest, down my arm.

  I was barely awake, but I could feel my cock getting hard as her fingers moved back to my chest, then down my stomach.

  "Eva," I grumbled, my hand grabbing her at the wrist, dragging it back up to the center of my chest.

  "You sleep like the dead," she declared. "I actually flicked your nose and you just grumbled something about a feather duster?" she said, pressing up to look down at me, her brows drawn together. "I am going to need an explanation for that one."

  "My aunt," I said, snorting. Christ, I had forgotten all about that shit. Or so I thought. "She took us in when we were kids. Not," I clarified, "out of the goodness of her heart. I think she did it more as virtue signaling, really. She wanted everyone else to think she was so good for taking in her screw-up sister's kids after she couldn't take care of us anymore. She was, ah, she was a ha
rd woman. And I don't like saying that. But you can be strong without being hard, if you know what I mean. This club has a ton of strong women, but there's some softness there too, even if they struggle to show it at times. It's there. My aunt? She didn't have that shit. I didn't think she was equipped to care for a cat, let alone three children."

  "I'm sorry about your mom," Eva said, eyes sad. "And that your aunt was so miserable. But we haven't gotten to the feather duster part," she told me. "I'm not letting you get away with not telling me.

  "My aunt decided when we were in the picture that she wasn't going to lift a finger anymore. That it was our job to clean the house. To earn our keep, I guess. Saturday mornings were our cleaning day. Thad, my brother, was always the first one up. I think he did it on purpose. Got up first, dealt with the wrath of our aunt for us before she left the house. Thad has always been better about letting things slide off his back like that. He's gay," I told her, "and he's always been out. So I think he was used to getting shit from people, even at a young age. Anyway, he would deal with her, then he would come up and wake up me and Freddie. With a fucking feather duster over the nose. Shit," I said, shaking my head. "I practically forgot about that," I told her, smiling a bit.

  It hadn't been an easy upbringing for us, but having one another made it tolerable. Even, at times, enjoyable.

  Like on those Saturday mornings when we were sure our aunt wasn't going to come back, so we cranked up music she wouldn't have approved of—which was practically anything other than Christian music—and danced around the house, shouting the lyrics as we did our chores.

  "Alright. So what I am hearing here is," Eva said, pursing her lips, that you actually know how to clean. I was starting to think your gender as a whole are just incapable of understanding the concept. Do you know how many times I have shown Jacob where his shoes go, but they always somehow end up in the middle of the floor for me to trip over? Speaking of him, I should probably go see if he's up yet."

  I didn't want to let her go.

  But I knew if we stayed in that bed much longer, I would forget all about wanting to take it slow with her, roll her under me, drive her up, then bury myself inside her.

  So, I released her hand, and let my arm drop from her waist.