Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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."