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)
"Jacob," I called, giving him a nod when he looked over, guilt creeping across his features as I gave him a chin jerk, a silent command to follow, then turning and starting to walk.
I wasn't surprised when he followed behind.
"I can expl—"
"No, you can't," I corrected. But you are going to get in that car."
"You don't under—"
"Nope," I agreed, opening the backseat door, waving him inside. "I don't," I agreed. "And none of the crap you are going to say is going to change that."
With that, Che and I climbed in, driving around town a few times before making our way back to the clubhouse.
"What are we doing here?"
"Can't exactly bring you home. You won't stay."
"My grandmother is alone."
"Yeah, you should have thought about that, huh?" I asked, reaching for my phone, shooting out a text to Lo, asking her to send someone over to Eva's place to keep an eye on Eva's mother. "Here I was thinking you were growing up, becoming a man when I saw you trying to protect your mom. Then you go out and do this shit? You have any idea how much she worries about you?"
It wasn't my place to scold him. He wasn't my kid. I wasn't related to him.
He slunk out of the SUV, following me into the clubhouse as I reached for my phone again, shooting a text to his mother about finding him and taking him to the clubhouse, that she could pick him up on her way home.
I gave Che my room to crash in since the other beds were full-up, and stuck Jacob on the couch while I lounged in one of the chairs.
Sleep was a nonexistent thing, so I made pot after pot of coffee until I felt like I was fucking buzzing.
"Yo, Colson, your woman is here," Virgin declared, giving me a chin jerk.
"She's not my woman."
"That's not what Freddie says."
"She's my neighbor. We barely know each other."
"Mmhmm," he said, brushing me off as he turned out of the room.
"Where is she?" I asked, walking out into the common area, not seeing her anywhere.
"From what Huck says, sitting in her car having a breakdown. Where you going?" he asked as I went to brush past. "To go comfort her?" he asked, smirking at me as I opened the front door. "Yeah, no, she's not your woman, though, huh?" he said as the door closed behind me.
I got to the passenger side of the car, stooping down to find Eva's arms wrapped around her steering wheel, her head pressed forward into it, her body racked with her sobs.
No, she wasn't my woman.
But that tug inside at seeing her so upset, that was suggesting I wanted it to go in that direction, to at least give it a try. When all this shit was handled.
That was a possibility that was, at once, both exciting and terrifying.
But there seemed to be no use denying it anymore.
SEVEN
Eva
I held it together at work.
I had become a master at holding it together at work over the years.
I had gone directly to work after my mother's doctor's appointment that had spelled out her diagnosis—and all the possible ways that would impact all our lives. I had sorted the mail when I found out that because of all the moving expenses, our light bill was not going to get paid, and I had only forty dollars to feed all of us until the next paycheck.
I was a master at a stiff upper lip when I was on the clock.
But I was not, by nature, a stalwart kind of woman.
I felt things.
And I felt them deeply.
So when I finally got out of work and in the car, and across town, and into the Henchmen compound parking lot, I just... lost it.
It was all just too much lately.
I had been managing alright. Even with the new stress of home ownership, of having to make a dollar stretch further than I ever needed before. Even with my mother losing more and more of herself with each passing month.
I had managed.
Because my son was safe. He was in a good school. He was going to be able to secure a nice future for himself.
And then... fucking Miguel.
Luring my son away with ideas of easy money and nice clothes and fancy electronics.
All the things kids wanted. And I couldn't even fault Jacob for that. I wanted those things for him as well.
But if not for my brother, he would have continued to understand that nice things require hard work and perseverance. And, hopefully, choosing a great college major that would set him on a financially stable career path in his early adulthood.
But, no.
Miguel had to dangle fast and easy money in my son's gullible face.
There was no such thing as fast and easy money. Especially where a street gang was concerned. It wasn't like he would join up on a Sunday and be making thousands of dollars by the next Friday. And even if the money did start to come in, there were sacrifices to be made first.