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I knew I should have felt some sympathy—a better woman would have—but all I felt was an odd numbness. I mean, my brother had knowingly exposed my child to something incredibly dangerous. And it was only because these bikers were good men underneath it all that my kid was walking away from this. Other organizations wouldn't have spared him just because of his age.
"Go on out there and get to cleaning up the mess the men made last night," Reign demanded. Jacob quickly got up and left the room.
"I don't think I've ever seen him jump up to follow through with a chore that fast before."
"Helps, I think, that he knows I'm armed," Reign quipped, giving me a smirk. "The guys around here, they aren't going to go light on him. He's going to be tired."
"Good. Maybe he'll be too tired to sneak out then," I said, rolling my eyes. "Thank you for going easy on him. I will look into the karate thing. It probably would be good for him." I didn't know where the money would come from, but I would figure it out.
"Don't worry about it. We'll get it arranged."
"Cash and his wife own a martial arts gym. There are karate classes for kids his age with instructors from Hailstorm," Colson explained.
"I can't let—"
"Yeah, you can, babe," Reign said, waving me off. "It's nothing. And it will give him a new focus. And between doing work around here and martial arts classes, and school, he will be too beat to get into any kind of trouble. But speaking of pain in the ass kids, I've talked to Fallon about pulling a gun on you."
"It's not a big deal," Colson insisted, shaking his head.
"It's a big fucking deal," Reign corrected.
"He was worried about you."
"And that is no excuse. Not to pull a gun on a brother, anyway. If it was someone outside the club, this would be a non-issue. But that shit doesn't fly here. Not even if I am missing. Or dead. He knows that now. So you two," he said, nodding toward us. "You're a thing?"
"I, ah," I stammered, unsure how to respond to that. Because, well, we were sort of starting a thing, but did that qualify as "a thing" yet? I didn't think it did.
"It's new, but yeah," Colson answered.
"Okay. In that case, babe, your brother..."
"I know," I cut him off. "I understand. And, I mean, that's the lifestyle he chose. These are the choices he continues to make."
"He's still your brother."
"He stopped being my brother when he tried to turn my son against me and get him into a gang," I told him, hearing the heat slip into my tone as I turned to make coffee. "How do you take it?" I asked, waving toward the cups, knowing how Colson took his.
"Black is fine. My brother says you have a mother at home," he said as I handed him the coffee, careful to place it so he could easily reach for it with his good arm.
"I, ah, yeah. She has dementia."
"I'm sure you're eager to get back to her, but I think it might be best for you and Jacob to stay here for another couple days."
"Colson already told me I have to and that I can't go to work," I added, feeling my stomach twist.
"Will you lose your job?"
"I have sick leave."
"Okay. It won't be long. We just need to have church to talk it over."
"You talk things like this over at church?" I asked, brows drawing together, getting a chuckle out of Reign and Colson.
"It means a meeting," Colson explained. "Just the brothers."
"Oh, okay. That makes more sense."
"Feel free to make yourselves at home. I'm sure you're comfortable in Colson's room, and we can put up Jacob in the barracks. Seems we have an empty bed open now."
My gut twisted a bit at the reminder about the man in the basement.
I would have to become okay with things I never would have been alright with before, I realized, if I continued to let something grow between Colson and me.
He was a biker. An outlaw biker. He ran guns for a living. As did all his brothers.
That lifestyle brought with it certain risks. And it came with an understanding that traitors couldn't be tolerated, that blood would be on the hands of everyone around you, that the law would always look sideways at you because of your association.
How did the women—especially the ones who had led very normal lives previously—come to accept these risks and this lifestyle for not only themselves, but their children?
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.
