Colson (The Henchmen MC 20)

We were taking "unnecessary risks" by not having a reliable way to wash our cash.

She was right.

And I had been too stubborn to see it before now.

Almost dying did a lot to a man with a fuck of a lot to lose. It put shit in perspective.

Giving my kids and my club a future, one that they could then pass on, was important to me. So was keeping them out of jail. And, hopefully from being strung up in a garage and beaten with a bat.

I was going to wait it out until he was ready, until I got it all lined up, then I was going to hand my son the reins of something he could build his legacy on, something he could be proud of, something safer than the one I had been handed.

"He's got some growing up to do," I agreed. "And, luckily, Colson isn't the type to hold a grudge."

"I heard his girl is really nice."

"I didn't spend much time with her, but she seems like a good, normal kind of woman." Which was good since Colson and always been a normal sort of man. Sure, he had acclimated, become a brother, but he was a single father before it all, someone from a different life than the rest of us.

"I like the idea of him with a single mom. We owe that kid a really nice Christmas present," she added, fingers tracing over the bandage on my arm.

We would shape him up, too. Especially now that his toxic uncle was out of the way.

"Okay, I'll shut up," she said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Eat."

Then because my woman demanded it, and because I liked that she still loved me enough to do shit like that, I ate.

"I know, I know," she said, rolling her eyes as she took the tray, climbed off the bed. "You can't be in bed all day. And you need to handle business. And your men need to see their fearless leader," she said, waving a hand in the air. "But you get two hours before I drag you back to this bed."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, lips curving up.

"That's not what I meant," she told me, but her eyes were getting warm.

"No? 'Cause, babe, that's what I heard."

To that, she let out a small laugh.

"Okay. Yes. Maybe I meant that too. But only if you are back in this bed in two hours."

"Three."

"If it's three, you have to promise to get a full night of sleep after."

"I'll probably need it," I told her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips before moving out into the common space.

Just in time to see the front door open and hear Huck sigh.

"You can't be fucking serious right now, Remy," Huck said, shaking his head. "Where the fuck did you even find that?"

The that he was referring to was a wide-headed blue-toned pitbull, all barrel chest and bright blue eyes.

"Didn't Roderick tell you?" he asked, looking over to the man in question who had his woman sitting on his lap.

"Hell no. You're not getting me involved in your shit, man," Roderick said, shaking his head.

"Remy," Huck said, patience wearing thin. And that was saying something. Because that man had the patience of a saint, the nerves of steel this entire trip up, dealing with shit when I couldn't, when Cash wasn't around to do so either.

"She was in the room of one of those assholes we needed to take out," Remy explained, leading the dog—hot pink leash and all—into the clubhouse. "Look at her. She's been overbred like some fucking puppy mill dog. Those shitheads just wanted to make a quick buck off of her because she probably makes pretty babies with blue hair and eyes," he said, leaning down to pet the dog's head. In turn, she looked up with him with trusting, loving eyes.

He was right about the poor dog who had long, swollen nipples that swung around when she walked. Despite that, she seemed thin with a couple of open sores on her back and ears.

"You already have four dogs, Remy. And then there are the cats. And that fucking tortoise," Huck grumbled.

"What was I supposed to do? Leave her there? If she went to a shelter, they'd have put her down."

Huck, it seemed, had his very own male version of our Rey with her love of animals. Unlike Rey, though, the rumor was that Remy came with a violent streak. He didn't just take the dog from you if he saw you hit it, he beat the ever-loving shit out of you for doing so, and then took your dog.

"How the fuck are we supposed to get it back down to Florida? We rode our bikes up here, remember?"

"It is a she. And her name is Ramona," Remy declared, patting her massive head. "And West already agreed that when he could get away, he and Gus will drive a truck down with us and the bike."