I suddenly wished the women weren't swooped off to the paramilitary camp—Hailstorm, they called it—so I could pick their brains, understand how they came to make this decision, live this lifestyle.
I understood Colson's reasons. If I were in the position he had been all those years ago, out of work, no hope for anything better on the horizon for him and his daughter, and someone offered this as an out for me, I might have taken it too. You'd do anything to give your kids a better life, the best chance at a better future.
But what was the motivator for these women to give up a life of relative normalcy to worrying about guns and kidnappings and having to drop everything to go hide out at some camp with armed guards and razor wire?
Was it love?
It had to have been love.
The kind of which I wasn't familiar with.
I'd loved Jacob's father in an immature way, full of superficiality and the infatuation that came with being intimate with someone for the first time. It wasn't a genuine love. I don't even remember being all that upset when he decided he didn't want to be with me anymore.
And since then, there had simply never been time for things like falling in love.
I couldn't wrap my head around it.
But it had to be the reason, right?
People killed for love, went to war for love. Certainly, they could become "old ladies" to outlaw bikers as well for it. With all the unpleasantness that entailed.
"I'm sure you want to reconnect with your friends," I said, feeling like that word was clumsy on my tongue. Friends didn't do the things these men had done for him, family did. "I will go back to Colson's room and get out of your way. I'm glad you're okay. And thank you for being more patient with my kid than even I am."
With that, I made my way out, finding Jacob with Huck on the couch.
"Bud, you want to come with me to watch a movie in Colson's room?"
"I'm going to set him up in the barracks," Colson said, coming up behind me. "You will be hanging there with Brooks and Finn and Malc for the time being."
"What about Fallon?" I asked under my breath.
"His father needs him for now. Don't worry, nothing is going to happen to Jacob."
"Okay," I agreed, following Colson back to his room.
A nervous skittering moved through my belly. He hadn't slept with me the night before, choosing instead to do guard duty so the other brothers could have a bit of a celebration.
He wouldn't say it, but I was pretty sure he did so because he felt some sort of guilt over not having been more of an active part in the recovery efforts, that his knuckles weren't torn up, and his face wasn't busted.
"You can take a breath now," Colson said as soon as the door was closed and we were officially alone.
"That is one intimidating man. Even when he's being nice, he's terrifying."
Colson gave me a small smile. "Jacob did a good thing, though. That had to have been good to hear."
"He still left him there to some unknown fate."
"Yeah, but he's young. Your brother is an authority figure. He didn't feel like he could stop it. But he did know he could ease the man's pain. He did that. Some hard work and some karate and something to focus on other than joining a gang, and he will be a different kid in a year's time."
"From your mouth to God's ears. I can't do another year of being worried sick about him while I am at work. You know, if I still have a job."
"Come here," Colson said, dropping down on the bed, kicking out of his shoes, then laying back, patting his chest.
I shouldn't have.
Things were crazy.
Things were about to get crazier before they calmed down.
I should have been figuring out what the future held for me and Jacob. And for me and Colson.
But there was no stopping my legs; they had a mind of their own, carrying me over to the bed, climbing over his reassuringly strong body, and dropping down on him, taking a deep breath, breathing him in, feeling his arms go around me.
"It will all work out," he told me, hand moving up and down my spine.
"You don't know that. But thanks for saying it anyway."
"I do. Because you will make sure it does. You're not a quitter."
"How long do you think we will be here? It would be nice to go back to normal life. This is nice," I said, tapping his chest, "but it would be nice to be back home, see my mom, maybe have you and Jelly over for dinner."
"That would be nice."
"Then maybe we can, I don't know, go out. Be adults. Without kids. Can you imagine?" I asked, smiling at the idea, realizing I didn't own a damn thing that could be worn on a date. I think I had one black dress in my closet. I'd bought it to go to a funeral five years ago. Which meant it wasn't so much sexy as, well, matronly. It had sleeves for goodnessakes.
"I haven't taken a woman out on a date in, shit, I don't even remember. I'm pretty sure eating is involved, though."
"Eating should always be involved in any activity."
"You don't want to go dancing, do you?" he asked, grimacing.
"I, ah, that depends. Do people still Tootsie Roll and Cha Cha Slide?" I asked, smiling at the laugh that moved through his chest.
"Judging by the very intricately choreographed shit I see my daughter and her friends practicing, we have advanced well beyond the nineties greats."
"We will never advance beyond them, but I am willing to concede that the world has moved on without me in that one regard. No dancing."
"Good. Because I don't even know where to go if you wanted to dance anyway," Colson admitted, shrugging, moving my body with his.
"I don't think my feet would accept being in pretty heels to go dancing anyway. I've been in mama flats for fourteen years."
"Maybe we can just order food in," he suggested.
"And watch a movie," I decided.
"Without the kids," he added.
"And with comfy pants on," I specified.
"Sounds perfect," he agreed.
"God, we're old, huh?"
"Seems that way."
"And kinda lame."
"We'll probably even grumble at the movie for using too many curse words," he agreed.
"And fall asleep before it is over. I don't think I have finished a movie in five years."
"I, unfortunately, know the end of every teen romantic drama. Amazingly, apparently all seventeen-year-old relationships that start as a love triangle somehow end up in a happily-ever-after."
"Isn't someone always disappointed?"
"Somehow, no. Or even if they are, some secret comes out that they were a dick all along, so no one feels bad for them anyway."
"Well that works out perfectly. Just like real life," I said, snorting.
"Hey, sometimes real life isn't that bad," he said, arms giving me a squeeze.
"Yeah," I agreed, feeling my lips curve up—content, hopeful.
Blissfully unaware of what was still to come.
TWELVE
Colson
We waited it out for three days.
Lo and Roan—who seemed to have the most experience in reconnaissance work—convinced Reign that they needed more time, that they needed to watch the movements of the members, work out the hierarchy.
It also gave them time to question Tyler in the basement. Finding out things like how much information he'd fed to his friends in Third Street, if he exposed any serious security secrets to them, how he'd fucked with Reign's bike to make it break down on the side of the road the night he was taken.
I didn't ask about the sudden lack of trips to the basement after day two, knowing that they weren't going anymore because he wasn't there anymore. Because they'd gotten what they'd needed, and Pagan had either beaten him to death, or Roan had snapped his neck, or Reign had put a bullet between his eyes.
What I suspected, though, was that they hadn't needed the three days to get it all figured out. It was more likely that they wanted to give Reign the time to recoup he wouldn't have
given himself. I could see it in the worried looks Lo cast at his back when he wasn't looking, doting on him because he wouldn't allow Summer to be at the clubhouse to do so until all of this was handled.
He was hurting. Even if he wouldn't admit it. Even if he wouldn't take the drugs the doctors had prescribed for him, not wanting to be slow if or when we had to jump into action.
Fallon was never far from him, moving in to open bottle or jar tops before Reign could even attempt to do so by himself, saving him the embarrassment of having to ask for help.
It could not have been easy for a proud man to feel like he needed to be taken care of. And I didn't figure it mattered to him that he'd literally been strung up and tortured, and that not a single one of us was looking at him as though he was weak. He felt like he needed to be strong, to be the leader everyone expected. Even if that meant we constantly found him gritting his teeth, trying to pretend sudden movements didn't make his ribs scream, or keeping busy when he clearly wanted to be able to sit still.
In a fucked up sort of way, it would almost be better for him when the plan was carried out, when Third Street was taken out—if they hadn't run already—and then he could go home, let his woman and kids fuss over him.
"It's his good shooting arm," Lo whispered to Roan, both of them glancing toward Reign.
"Then I will stand in front of him," Fallon said, chin lifting. "We didn't get him back to lose him. I'll be his good shooting arm."
And with that, there were no other objections to the plan, no other lines of bullshit they could throw at Reign to keep him from knowing what their motives were.
"Colson—" Reign started after the plan was discussed, the exact details, everyone's roles.
"I'm going," I said, shaking my head.
"I know this part of it, this has never been your thing," Reign said, shaking his head. "And I don't hold that against you."
"This place, these people, you, joining up here has changed shit for me. In a lot of ways. And maybe it took me longer than it took some of the others, but this brotherhood means a lot to me. And I believe in fighting for what matters to you. I want in on this."
Reign searched my face for a long moment before giving me a nod.
"Alright then. Keep that kid on your mind. You gotta go home to her. First time you do shit like this can get confusing fast. Keep your mind right," he said, reaching toward the bar where the guns were all lined up, handing me one gun, then another. "You're a good shot, so these should do for you."
Those and the twenty brothers who would likely make it so I didn't do that much of the dirty work.
Lo had called down some of her troops to protect the clubhouse along with Brooks, Malcolm, and Finn—the latter two needing to be talked down by their fathers who insisted they were too young, that the only reason Fallon was going was because he was older.
"No," Reign said, drawing my attention to the doorway.
Where his daughter was standing.
Decked out in her all-black outfit, her curved karambit in her hand, a gun strapped around her back.
"Try to stop me," she shot back, giving him a devilish smirk.
"Yep, that's your kid, alright," Cash said, slapping his brother on his good shoulder.
"Your mother is pissed enough with me about letting Fallon come," Reign insisted. "And he's part of the club."
"Well, that's why we aren't going to tell her until it's over. Trust me, Dad, this is hardly the most dangerous thing I have been involved in."
"Fuck, kid, don't remind me," Reign said, shaking his head. "Alright. Everyone arm up. We are leaving in twenty," Reign declared, nodding toward Cash and Wolf, the two men following him outside.
"Why would you volunteer?" Eva's voice said from behind me, making me turn on my heel.
"You weren't supposed to be listening, babe," I reminded her, shaking my head.
"I really wasn't. Okay fine," she said, smiling. "I couldn't for most of it. But then you and Reign moved closer to the hallway. Your voices carry, even when you think you're being quiet. Why did you volunteer? He was going to let you stay here."
"That's a tough one to answer," I admitted to her. "This club means something to me. They're important. And these people just hurt—and may have been ready to kill—the person who gave me the life I now have. Some things are worth fighting for. This club is one of them."
To that, her chest expanded with a deep sigh. "Okay. Fine. Yeah. I guess I understand that. Even if I don't like it."
"You're in good company, babe," I said, waving my hand out toward the club where all the men were either talking on their phones or texting. "Not one of the women get used to this or like it. But they understand it. That's all any of us can ask of you."
"You have to be careful. You owe me an old people date."
"Definitely a good reason to make sure I make it home," I agreed, tucking the guns away, then letting my arms glide down her back, sinking into her ass, yanking her up onto her tiptoes to seal my lips over hers.
It was hard and fast and deep, one full of promise.
I wanted to give this a real shot once this shit was handled. Once we could both go home, fall into old rhythms, find some new ones.
"Yeah, we get it," Huck called. "You two want to fuck. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we will get him back to you, babe," he added as we broke apart.
For such a strong and confident woman, Eva had a tendency toward shyness, making her head dip, her smile go wobbly. And, sometimes, a small flush to work over her skin, barely noticeable, but there if you looked closely, tinting her cheeks.
"You good?" I asked, ducking my chin to catch her gaze again.
"Don't worry about me. I'll be stress-cleaning the kitchen.
"Just a couple hours, at most," I assured her, grabbing her chin in my thumb and forefinger.
"Don't be too much of a hero," she demanded, then pulled away, turned, and walked into the kitchen.
As I made my way toward the door, I could hear the water running, the cabinets opening and closing as she gathered cleaning supplies.
"What?" I asked when Huck stood there waiting for me.
"What?" Oh, nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Not a bad thing," he mused as we walked outside.
"What?"
"Having a woman like that waiting for you."
"I hear Florida has women too," I said. "You could find one."
"Christ, I couldn't bring a woman into the shit we are into down there. Che, you good?" Huck asked, moving away from me.
The bulkiness under Che's shirt suggested he'd doubled—or tripled—up on elastic bandages to keep his ribs from screaming. Under other circumstances, I think he would have been willing to sit this out. But when the president was going into battle with bruised ribs and a busted shoulder, you sucked it up and fell in line as well.
We weren't taking our bikes.
Reign had pitched a fit when Lo told them it was a bad idea. He thought that the rumble would put dread in the men's hearts, that it would send a message to anyone else who fucked with us.
But Lo was quick to remind him that the bikes also gave them all time to prepare and possibly ambush us, that it would draw the attention of the police who—while sometimes inept—were not entirely useless, and would figure something was going on.
Begrudgingly, we filed into various cars that Huck and his team had 'sourced' for just this occasion. We weren't going to chop them, but Lo's team was prepared to take them from us on the way back, clean them, and return them, if possible, or drop them in random locations to be discovered in a few days.
I was in a car with Huck, Che, and Adler who was practically bouncing in his seat, one of the brothers who came from the criminal life, thrived on action and dangerous situations, had no problem taking a life since he'd taken many before.
"Ya good?" he asked as we got closer to Third Street territory, all the cars breaking off onto separate streets, the plan to strike multiple locations at once, since Third Street wasn't kn
own for all being in one spot at a time.
"Yeah."
"Use yer head. Don't hesitate to pull the trigger. Not complicated," he said, giving me a nod then watching out the window again, fingers thrumming on the barrel. "I got yer back," he added as we all climbed out, looking around. "If for no other reason than yer woman would have my arse if I don't."
Huck gave us all a head jerk, making us fall silent as we moved in behind him, moving down between two apartment buildings.
Our target was a basement room where some of the members could be found playing cards most nights of the week when most of the deals were done for the night.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, making my pulse pound, every inch of me hyper-aware of every small breeze, the music from some of the apartments, the smell of someone cooking chili.
My thoughts, though, were almost alarmingly still. I expected for them to be swirling, weighing all the ways this could go wrong, what would happen to Jelly if something happened to me. But all there was in my head in that moment was a grim sort of determination as we all flattened back against the wall for a moment as Adler made short work of picking the lock, holding the door open for Huck, but falling in between him and Che, leaving me at the back.
Our footsteps were all but silent on the stairs leading down into the basement.
In a storage room toward the back corner, there was music blaring, thumping loud enough to move up through the soles of my shoes and through my body as we all came to a stop outside the door, Huck looking over our faces, making sure we were all on the same page, then nodding his head at Adler whose hand was on the knob.
And just like that, Adler threw the door open, Huck Che, and Adler moved in, and I followed up at the rear.
They didn't even hear us, didn't see us.
Hell, the music was so loud that I didn't hear the quiet pop of the silenced guns as the men raised and shot, bodies jolting as the bullets met their targets, red bursting through the material, brain matter splattering the walls.
It was like a movie, watching five men meet their ends in a flurry of action.
Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20) Page 14