Colson (The Henchmen MC 20)

"Which fucking idiots on the other side of the town?" Cash asked, brows pinching.

"The wannabe gangbangers."

"Technically, they are a gang," I corrected. "They've been around longer than I have."

"Yeah, but the way my uncle tells it," Huck said, having an older relative in the area, the whole reason he had ever been to Navesink Bank, and Reign had come across him, "they have no central power structure. Always in-fighting, changing up leadership, constantly changing their hustle."

"Yeah, but hookers and H and Easy Lay. They've never wanted in on the arms trade."

"Alright," Huck said, clearly doubting Cash's certainty in the matter, but shrugging it off.

Cash's gaze went in my direction, searching, questioning.

"I can go out there, take a look, maybe get my ear on the ground if I can," I suggested. "Send Che with me," I added, doubting anything would come to blows, and the man had been looking as aimless as I felt sitting around the clubhouse while his brothers handled the interrogations.

"Alright, yeah. Some of the other guys are going to need to take a break while their hands heal up. They can take a couple guard shifts. You go on out," he agreed, then looked over at Huck. "If you are good with it," he added.

"Whatever it takes," Huck agreed, nodding as Che moved to stand, doing so no less stiffly than the day before. "Lose the cuts, though," he added. "They won't recognize Che. And you seem low-profile, so you might be able to get closer than some of your other brothers with their ridiculous reputations."

I should have been proud of my low-key lifestyle, the fact that I hadn't been a lunatic, a savage killer, but I felt uncomfortable instead. But he was right. The fact that I had been a normal person up until I joined the MC worked in our favor. Unless Third Street was watching us closely—and I highly doubted that—they wouldn't know who I was, and my possible ulterior motives.

I shrugged out of my cut, waiting for Che to get out of his, then we made our way to the yard, taking one of the spare SUVs, and heading out, driving around a bit to make sure no one saw us leaving the Henchmen grounds.

"How are your ribs?" I asked as we climbed out of the vehicle, making our way casually into the other side of town.

"Screaming," Che admitted, and I slowed my pace to allow for him to take it easy. "The wrap is helping, but just barely."

"Only bruised my rib once. I felt like I couldn't get comfortable for three weeks. Did you bust it?"

"Two. But we had to get on the road two days after," he said, shrugging in a very 'what can you do" way.

"Things been crazy down there?" I asked. "Since West came back," I clarified, realizing how little the majority of us were up-to-date on the goings-on at the new chapter since then.

"Ever see one of those action movies where everyone is out to get the main guy despite all the gunfights, never manage to kill him? It's been a lot like that," he admitted. "Turns out, everyone wants the gun trade in that part of Florida. Close to the ports like here."

"Before the new chapter," I said, keeping my voice low even though the only people we'd passed so far were a couple old people, a single mom, and dog walker, "you chopped cars, right?"

"Yeah. And before that, I raced cars. I've been in this kind of life for a long time, and never met with a fifth of the action we've seen over the last year or so."

"It's been calm here," I told him. "For the most part. Until now," I added.

"We'll find him," Che assured me. "Someone, somewhere, sometime, is going to talk. One perk to no criminals having any code these days is everyone gets loose lips eventually. With as many allies as the Henchmen have around here, someone will overhear.

Five hours of lingering around later, turning down the sex workers two separate times, and hearing not a damn thing, Che and I decided to head home to relieve the other guard shift.

It was right then that I saw a familiar face.

A very young, familiar face.

That did not belong in this part of town.

That should have been in his room one house over from my place.

Whose mother likely didn't realize he'd snuck out again.

Who was rubbing shoulders with fucking gang members.

At fourteen years old.

"Fuck."

"What?" Che asked, following my gaze. "I know these guys start young, but he seems really young."

"I know him. And his mom is going to lose her shit."

Torn, I stood there for a long moment, unsure what to do.

"You gotta get him out of here," Che said, shrugging like it was that easy. "If he's got a mom that gives a shit where he is, he doesn't belong here."