Colson (The Henchmen MC Book 20) Read online

  He was a lighter-skinned kid with sharp, dark eyes, short-cut hair, and a scowl that only a teenager could wear with any success.

  "I got a kid too and—"

  "Don't need your life story," he shot back, making his way toward the front steps.

  If you asked, I wouldn't be able to tell you what made me fly out of my chair and shoot across the porch.

  Was it concern for his safety?

  Or was it the blatant lack of respect?

  I didn't know.

  All I knew was I was across that porch before he could get to the bottom step, snagging the back of his shirt, jerking his whole body backward, dragging him across the porch.

  "Get off me," he snapped, flailing.

  Even if I didn't outweigh him by a good hundred pounds, he didn't stand a chance as I pulled him over to my side of the porch, tossing him down into one of the chairs.

  "Sit your ass down," I demanded when he tried to shoot up, his chest meeting my palm as I pushed him back down.

  "Who the hell do you think you are, man?" he snapped, not trying to get up again, likely sensing his chances were slim getting past me.

  "A concerned citizen," I offered, taking my seat, but keeping an eye on him in case he thought he might be able to jump over the porch railing. "We are going to sit right here until your Ma gets home.

  "My mom won't be home for hours. You will fall asleep," he shot back, all bravado, his chest puffing out. "Then I will go."

  "Oh, little man. I've been stubborn longer than you have been alive. We'll see who is still awake when she rolls up."

  To his credit, he made it to five-thirty before his chin hit his chest, his head lolling to the side.

  The day was weighing on me too, but purpose was keeping me up even as the sun started to rise.

  It wasn't long after six when the white sedan pulled into the driveway. The engine cut and the driver was popping out in under a minute, making her way up the driveway.

  Fuck, she was pretty, too.

  And young.

  Young to have a kid her son's age anyway.

  Like her son, she was tall and dark-eyed. Her long curly hair was worn down, framing a soft oval face. Her frame was swallowed up by an oversize white sweatshirt with the words "Afro Latina" across the chest, worn, it seemed, over a blue-gray collared shirt.

  "Jacob," her voice snapped as she stepped onto the stairs, her tired gaze steely, her voice loud enough to make the kid startle awake.

  I held back a smile at the way the kid bolted out of his chair, shoulders hunching forward.

  "Are you kidding me right now?" she asked. "Get in that house, take a shower, and get ready for school."

  "I didn't sleep."

  "Yeah, that's going to suck, huh?" the mom shot back, voice fierce. "Go," she added, pointing toward her door.

  Jacob's jaw got tight, but he moved inside to follow her orders.

  "He was trying to sneak out?" she asked. With her son out of sight, her shoulder slumped, exhaustion and defeat weighing on her.

  "Sometime around one a.m.," I told her, nodding.

  "Oh, that little shit. Sorry, are you one of those parents who doesn't call their kids little shits even when they are being little shits? Because I am one of those who does. Obviously. I'm Eva, by the way," she said, moving closer, offering me her hand. "I probably should have introduced myself before now."

  "Colson. And my daughter informed me that I was supposed to be the one to introduce myself first."

  "It's annoying when they are right, isn't it?" she asked, letting out a small laugh.

  "Apparently, the day they turn twelve, they know everything."

  "Oh, twelve. Those were the days," Eva said, sighing wistfully.

  "How old is Jacob?"

  "Just turned fourteen. So, obviously, he is a full-grown man who doesn't need a mother anymore," she told me, rolling her eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to sit up with him."

  "Don't mention it. If Jelena was sneaking out, I would hope someone would stop her for me."

  "Jelena. Pretty. I promise if I ever see her sneaking out, I will stop her. Though I'm sure she's a good kid."

  "I'm sure Jacob is too," I assured her, sensing her defeat, not wanting to pile on by telling her about her son's mouth. Kids could be assholes at times. You had to give them a little slack.

  "He calls me dude," she told me, brows scrunching together. "Not Mom or even Ma. Dude. Freaking dude," she repeated, reaching up to scrub a hand across her tired eyes. "I am going to go be a bad mom and force some coffee down my child's throat, so he doesn't fall asleep in math and get me a call from the principal. Thanks again, Colson. I really appreciate it. I'm sorry you lost sleep over him."

  "Don't mention it," I assured her, waving a hand.

  "And, you know, if you need a cup of sugar or any of that neighborly stuff, feel free to knock on my door. Though, come to think of it, I am probably out of sugar at the moment," she said, giving me a grimace. "It was nice meeting you."

  "You too," I agreed, returning her smile before she ducked into her home.

  With a sigh, I stood up, going into my own place, finding my daughter making her way down the stairs in a royal purple robe—a gift from her uncle—her eyes still blinking at the morning light.

  "Did you just get home?" she asked, looking around the empty living room.

  "No. I was just sitting out on the porch. You'll be happy to know I finally met the neighbor."

  "Yeah?" she asked, moving into the kitchen, knowing the routine. I always made breakfast. It didn't matter how early our day was, I took a couple minutes to throw eggs in a pan for her, butter some toast. I wanted her to start her day right. Even if I was coming off a rough overnight shift. "What are they like?"

  "Well, the son has an attitude and was trying to sneak out last night. The mom was nice. Funny."

  "Oh, she was, was she?" Jelly asked, eyes getting bright. "Was she pretty?" she asked, making me turn back to her.

  "That's a strange question, baby girl."

  "Not really. It's a normal question. Was she?"

  "Yeah, she was pretty." Beautiful, really. "But that is beside the point."

  To that, Jelly shrugged. But I knew her well enough to know that something was going on in her little head, her eyes bright.

  She really was growing up, I realized as I looked at her while whisking some eggs in a bowl.

  As much as I wanted to forever see her as a chubby little girl with giant eyes, there was no denying she had sprouted up a lot over the past year and a half, getting tall and lanky, her body and face thinning out. She was looking more and more like her mother every passing day. The same heart-shaped face, the same perfect skin, the same eyes. I didn't see much of myself in her at all. Maybe I could claim her ears. But that was about it. Otherwise, she was the mirror image of the girl who had walked out of both of our lives soon after Jelly was born.

  That said, I liked to think she had more of me personality-wise. She was a good kid who was rational and level-headed at least sixty-percent of the time. She applied herself in school. She was patient and kind.

  She had some of her Uncle Thad's crazy mixed in with that, since she spent a lot of time with him. That was where she got her love of the more feminine things I was useless with, who helped with her hair, who waved a hand and soothed over the complete wreck of a job I had done trying to teach her about puberty a few years before.

  My sister came back into her life when she was still little, and had become the soft female shoulder I understood Jelly needed at times. I hadn't been able to give her a mother. But I had given her a loving and dedicated family. And, eventually, a whole slew of mother figures in the girls club who took her right into their fold like one of their own.

  There were times I second-guessed my decision to join the MC, but it had proven time and time again to be more of an asset than a liability.

  That shit they say about raising a kid taking a village? It was true. Jelena wouldn't be the kid she wa
s today without me having that, having the men at the club, having their women, having my siblings.

  "She's having a rough time with her son," I admitted. "He seems to be going through a rebellious stage. Trying to sneak out. Mouthing back."

  Jelly's eyes went thoughtful at that, her head dipping toward her shoulder. "Are you going to help her with that?"

  "I... no. Well, I caught him sneaking out last night. Kept an eye on him until she got back from work. That's all it was."

  "It would be okay," she told me as I mixed the eggs around in the pan. "If you wanted to help her out," she clarified.

  "Jelly, baby girl, it's not like that," I told her, shaking my head.

  Christ, I just met the woman.

  "I'm just saying," she told me, getting up, holding out her plate to me to drop the eggs onto. "If it was like that, I'm okay with that."

  "I'm not interested in dating, Jelly."

  Had there been a handful of casual flings over the years? Especially after joining up with the MC? Yeah, sure. But it had never been anything more than that. All parties involved knew it. And it truly had been only a handful. Over the course of Jelena's entire life.

  For me, dating hadn't been an option.

  Everything was about Jelly when she was little.

  Then, later, it was just a habit.

  I hadn't dated since right out of high school. I couldn't imagine getting back into that after so long.

  So, once in a while, the need to be with a woman got too strong to ignore, but my interest had never been in more than that.

  "You don't have to be alone."

  "I'm not alone. I have you."

  "You know what I mean, Dad. I'm not a little girl anymore. If you want to date, date."

  "I don't want to is my point. What? What are you rolling your eyes about?" I asked as I put toast on her plate. She'd tried to hide it as she went to get the orange juice out of the fridge, but I had eagle eyes when it came to eye rolls. I hated them. And she knew it.

  "I'm going to go to college one day."

  "Damn straight," I agreed, nodding. It was one of the reasons we had a townhouse and not a standalone one; I wanted to keep our costs down so I could sock as much away as possible for her schooling. She needed seven years to put a doctor in front of her name? That was what I was going to do for her.

  "My point is, I won't be here anymore. And then what will you have?"

  "Family. Friends."

  "Dad," she said, sighing, shaking her head at me.

  "Alright, kid. I get your point. If I suddenly wake up one day and decide I want to date, I have your blessing."

  "Totally," she agreed, giving me a smile as she took her food out to the living room, flipping through Netflix on the TV as she ate.

  I wasn't bullshitting her.

  I didn't want to date.

  Or, at least, I hadn't.

  There was a slam out front, and my nosy ass moved to the front window, glancing out to find Eva trailing behind her slow-moving son down the front porch.

  "Roll your eyes at me one more time, Jacob," she snapped, making my lips curve up. Oh, the struggles of trying to raise a halfway decent human being while keeping your sanity intact.

  We all had losing days in that battle.

  This seemed to be one of those days for our new neighbor.

  I didn't realize I was standing there watching her get into her car and drive off until I heard Jelena clearing her throat behind me, making me jump and turn in a way that had to be called guiltily.

  "What?" I asked at the smug look on her face.

  "Not interested at all, huh, Dad?" she asked, turning around and flouncing away in a blur of brown curls and self-righteousness.

  I couldn't even call her on it either.

  Because that strange, unsteady sensation in my chest?

  It sure felt a hell of a lot like interest.

  TWO

  Eva

  Starting over was never easy.

  I had to remind myself of that at least a thousand times a day.

  Everything was new.

  The neighborhood, the house, the school, my commute to work.

  It was just going to take some time to adjust.

  At least, that was what I wanted to believe. I wanted to blame the very sudden move for Jacob's behavior issues. But if I were being honest with myself, they had been a problem on and off for the past year.

  I thought getting him into a better environment would help. Shake up the school, the friend group, everything. But if anything, things seemed to be getting worse.

  When I was home, I kept him under control. He wasn't a bad kid. And he generally didn't even backtalk me all that much. But I had to leave. I had to work. And that was when the trouble always seemed to start.

  "I don't know what to do, Ma," I said, dropping down the bedrail, so I could sit at her side on the bed. She wouldn't respond to me. When she did speak these days, it was either complete nonsense or memories from her twenties. Everything else seemed to be gone or going. All the memories from Jacob's life. Hell, all of them from mine. Some days—maybe even most days lately—she didn't recognize me as her daughter, thinking instead that I was one of her sisters.

  The oldest memories are the last to go the doctor had told me once at the beginning when I didn't understand why she kept regaling me with the story of her wedding as though it happened just a few months before.

  "I know what you did when my brother started acting out at his age," I went on, needing someone to talk to, and my Mom had always been that person for me, even if she could no longer be an active participant in the conversation. "And doubling down on the discipline only seemed to push Miguel further away."

  He had been utterly uncontrollable by the time he hit seventeen. Loud and mean and aggressive, but my mother refused to kick him out, but didn't send out a search party when he decided to stop coming home anymore.

  We saw him over the years. Sometimes he would drop-over for Thanksgiving like there was no bad blood between us. And for the sake of family, my mother and I would pretend that we didn't see the gun in his waistband, or the massive number three tattooed on his forearm.

  Third Street.

  It didn't surprise me that he chose that family over ours when he was young, and stupid, and looking for a thrill, and easy money. What did surprise me, though, was that he stayed. Even through all the changes in leadership, even through all the arrests and the drugs and the in-fighting.

  I guess a part of me had naively always thought of gangs as a young guy's game. For some, to get away from shitty home lives. For others, to get the thrill of doing something illegal, the bragging rights for having a nicer car and better clothes than everyone else they went to school with.

  I always figured that Miguel would get tired of it at some point, see that there was really no future in that kind of life, and come back to the family, start over, build a normal life.

  I stopped wishing for that a couple of years ago, though.

  In fact, Miguel was really what had finally pushed me to bite the bullet, take all my savings, and get us this new place.

  Because we had still been living in the old neighborhood. Sure, there were shitty areas, streets I didn't want to walk down at night, but for the most part, the apartment where we lived was full of people just like us. Young families, multi-generational families, everyone just trying to get by in life.

  The schools weren't the best, but they weren't awful either. And keeping our overhead low allowed me to build a savings in the first place.

  But when I noticed Miguel and Jacob starting to kick around together, when I saw the strange way Miguel looked at his nephew, almost like he was waiting for him, and then, in turn, the same way Jacob looked at Miguel, with a bit of wonder, I realized what was starting to happen.

  Jacob was starting to see the lure of the streets. And Miguel was helping him.

  That was the final straw.

  I would be damned if I let my son follow on the mi
sguided path of his uncle.

  Did I understand? Christ, yeah, I actually did. I, too, wanted to know what it was like to food shop with wild abandon, spring for the expensive cereal and the name brand pasta sauce. I would have liked to invest in a new wardrobe or get myself a pair of earrings that didn't turn my earlobes green. And I knew that Jacob wanted some of the finer things in life too. I couldn't even begrudge him for it. But getting it by selling drugs or pimping out down-on-their-luck women? Yeah, no, that was not going to happen. Not on my watch.

  So with my heart firmly lodged in my throat, I had taken my savings and socked it into the townhouse. Which, thankfully, had been on the market long enough that the sellers were happy for any bid.

  I had such high hopes about the whole situation.

  Until Jacob started sneaking out.

  I knew right where he was going too.

  To see his damn uncle.

  See, I had been lucky when I was young to snag myself a job at the post office. I had been luckier that, when I found out I was pregnant, they had allowed me to switch to the graveyard shift. It allowed me to be with Jacob all day, then get him to sleep at night, and leave him with my mother in case he woke up. It had been perfect. I got to go to every school event for Jacob, be there to nurse him when he was sick, help him with homework, get dinner on the table for him.

  But then Mom started forgetting things. And you know how it is at first, you blame it on age, you blame it on being tired, on side-effects from one of her medications.

  The denial keeps you going until, eventually, the signs are too strong to ignore anymore.

  Then there were the doctor visits, the tests, the diagnosis that changed everything.

  I had to be home to take care of her all day, to see to her needs. Which meant that, at night, Jacob was on his own.

  I guess I had overestimated his loyalty to his grandmother, since the woman had helped raise him. That was my fault for thinking a headstrong teenaged boy would have the forethought to realize his grandmother left alone at night could wander around confused, walk into the street, and get hit by a car. I thought that was common sense.

  Clearly, we needed to have a sit-down about it.