Brooks (Henchmen MC Next Generation #11) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, MC Tags Authors: Series: Henchmen MC Next Generation Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
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“Not my thing,” I said, shrugging.

“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s everyone’s thing. I don’t even go that way and I’m revved up,” she said before walking through the door, leaving me to follow behind, dropping my headphones off on the table like everyone else, then getting back out into the night air.

It was humid as fuck, but it was still somehow cooler than the closed-in warehouse full of moving bodies, and the slight breeze had some of the tension leaving my shoulders.

Ahead of me, Cali reached to lift up her hair, allowing the air to tease over her bare skin for a moment before reaching for her phone.

“Why don’t I just give you a ride home?” I asked as she opened up a ride-share app. “I’m already here,” I reasoned, shrugging as her gaze cut to mine.

To that, she sucked in a deep breath.

“Fine,” she said. Then, much more grudgingly, “Thanks.”

She was pretty steady walking to the car, so I had no reason to think she was high, or even drunk for that matter. This hadn’t been about that. I found relief in that for reasons I didn’t really understand as I opened the door for her, and let her slide in before closing it and moving around the car.

That was one thing I missed now that my main mode of transportation was a bike. Being able to open doors for a woman. Though, you had to admit that the bike had a car beat if you were driving a woman you were interested in around, their arms and legs around you, their body plastered to your back…

Not that I was interested in Caliana.

This wasn’t like that.

Or, at least, if I repeated that to myself enough, I figured I might believe it.

“Got some good shit?” I asked as I climbed in, seeing her twisting her kandi around on her wrists, checking out their sayings.

Music is therapy.

Daddy issues.

Stay hydrated.

Strangers with kandi.

“I think this one is my favorite,” she said, twisting one around.

Vienna.

“What’s that one mean?” I asked, figuring it was something to do with rave culture. Something I knew next to nothing about.

“It’s a song,” she told me. “Someone gave you one?” she asked, zeroing in on my wrist.

“Yeah,” I said, reaching to pull it off and hand it to her. “Here. Add it to your collection.”

“That’s not how it works,” she said, pulling one off of her wrist, and handing it to me.

Amor fati.

“What’s it mean?” I asked.

“Love your fate,” she said.

“You don’t want this one?” I asked, figuring she’d rather part with the Daddy issues one, since she didn’t have them. And we both knew I did.

“No,” she said, her tone clipped. Like the very idea of this saying rubbed her the wrong way.

Weird.

But nothing about her body language suggested I could ask any follow up questions.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked as I pulled behind the line waiting to turn onto the highway. “What?” I asked when she shot me a bemused smirk.

“You just sounded a lot like a dad right then,” she said, shaking her head at me.

That was not the first time I’d heard someone make a comment like that.

I dunno if it was the time away from the club, or maybe Clay’s passing that was making me more reflective of my own life.

But I was suddenly wondering why the fuck I’d been so hard on the prospects, why I cared that they wanted to get whipped cream in the pool or fuck on the roof.

For years, I told myself it was because I’d had to work my ass off to prove my worth. And that no one should get an easy ride. Especially the legacies, just because they were related to old club members.

Really, though, why the fuck did I care so much? Who was I to tell them how to live their lives? So long as shit got done at the club when and how it was supposed to, anyway.

At my silence, Cali turned to look out the window.

“It’s something to scratch off my bucket list,” she said, leaning her head against the rest, seeming suddenly exhausted.

“Not something you’d repeat?” I asked.

“No. Just something I wanted to experience,” she said, and there was a melancholy in her tone that I didn’t understand. And didn’t think she would welcome me pressing her about.

Reaching out, she blindly cranked the volume on the classical station up, making it impossible to carry on any more conversation.

I couldn’t help but have my gaze cut to her a few times on the drive, finding her far away, shut down.

So was this her thing?

Keep herself busy to keep the grief at bay?

“Well, thanks for the ride,” Cali said as soon as I pulled up to her curb. “Stop stalking me,” she added.

“Wait,” I called as she slammed the door, reaching into the backseat to grab the folder, then rushing up to catch her before she slammed another door in my face. “You should have this. For… whenever you’re ready to deal with it.”


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