Mason: Inked Reapers MC

by West, Heather

  The feeling of freedom was intoxicating. As the wind blew through her hair, she leaned back and relished the sensation. She pedaled harder to help whip her hair into a wild frenzy. She was laughing, delirious with the excitement of it all. The fact that her visit to the library was forbidden made it feel all the more wondrous.

  She was giggling to herself like a crazed sole conspirator as she chained up her bike and hurried up the stone steps towards the library. It was now four fifteen leaving her only thirty minutes to find the perfect job, which Sylar couldn’t possibly say no to.

  “You can do this,” she told herself confidently as she entered the air-conditioned cool of the library. Pushing back her shoulders and lifting her chin she approached the section with the computers and tried to blend in, acting as though she belonged there, that what she was doing wasn’t actually some strange act of defiance. As she logged into a vacant computer, she prayed that her perfect job was just a few internet searches away.

  Chapter 3

  A shiver of excitement danced down Brea’s spine. It flooded her whole body with a warm tingling sensation. She had found the perfect job, she was sure of it. Leaning closer to the computer screen she read the post through again and again, each time feeling more certain that this was the job for her.

  A tattoo artist in the next town over was seeking an apprentice. Experience in a tattoo parlor wasn’t necessary, all they wanted from applicants was ‘a sincere love and appreciation of art in all its forms.’ Brea clasped her hands together in delight and stifled an excited squeal. She most certainly did have a love of art. She had a sketch book full of drawings to prove it.

  After printing out the details of the posting, Brea used the rest of her allocated time on the computer to research tattoos. It was a subject area she knew little about. She remembered a few of the girls at school talking about getting tattoos, but no one ever did. As Brea started scanning through internet images of tattoos, she saw why the love of art was required. Each tattoo she saw was a work of art in its own right. She saw designs so intricately beautiful that they threatened to bring tears to her eyes. And the people who had these designs tattooed on them had the privilege of being living, breathing works of arts. It was amazing.

  With wide eyes, Brea tried to take it all in. As her excitement mounted, she became increasingly certain that this was where she belonged. Tattoos were living art, lifelong testaments to beauty. This job would be the perfect fit for her.

  “Just one town over,” she mused aloud. It really wasn’t that far. It would take her half an hour, maybe a little bit more to cycle there. It was nothing really. The biggest hurdle she’d have to overcome was facing her brother. He’d be angry if he found out she’d been at the library, how could she expect him to allow her to go and work in a different town? But he had to.

  Brea folded up her printed pages and placed them in her purse. She knew in her heart that her brother had to approve, had to let her take this job. She couldn’t spend her life locked up in their parent’s house like a prisoner. It was time she found herself and experienced the world and he couldn’t deny her that.

  As Brea cycled home, her initial excitement dwindled and turned to nerves. In her mind, she rehearsed what she was going to say to her brother, how she was going to make him see that her getting a job was a great idea. She wished, as she so often did, that her parents were still alive. The memories she had of them though dulled with time, were still a source of comfort. She remembered them being kind and enthusiastic people. She had no doubt that if she’d gone to them with her desire to become a tattoo artist’s apprentice that they would have been supportive. Perhaps she needed to remind Sylar of that fact? For so long he’d embodied both mother and father for her – putting food on the table and a roof over her head. But he’d forgotten the most important part of being a parent – supporting your child and nurturing them into an adult.

  If her parents were still around, what would they make of his dangerous night job which saw him coming home with black eyes and shaken nerves?

  Brea shook her head, dismissing her dark thoughts and letting her hair tumble into her eyes.

  “Urgh,” she scoffed as she released one hand from gripping her bike to toss the hair out of her line of sight. She was almost home. Just a few more blocks and she’d be there, with her brother hopefully still sleeping soundly in his bedroom and none the wiser of her little trip out.

  When Brea got home, she was grateful to have been right. The house was silent as she crept inside. She braced herself for her brother’s anger when she walked through the door but was met only with tranquility. Sighing with relief, she headed towards the kitchen and turned on the cooker, ready to prepare that pizza she promised him. She dropped her purse but couldn’t stop thinking of the printed article inside. She knew she had to approach her brother about it and this was the best time to do so – when he was well rested.

  Brea nervously prepared a frozen pizza. She kept glancing at the clock and chewing her lip, wishing it was already time for Sylar to get up so that she could get the awkward conversation out of the way, but then also wishing time could go slow and prevent their encounter altogether.

  Eventually the pizza was cooked, she carefully removed it from the oven, the cheese atop it all golden and bubbling as distantly a door creaked open. Sylar was awake. He strode into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a loose fitting white t-shirt. The musky scent of sleep still clung to him.

  “Dinner smells good,” he commented, patting his belly.

  “Just took it out of the oven,” Brea smiled a little too widely. Her nerves were getting the better of her. She sliced up the pizza with a shaking hand, but she kept her back to Sylar so that he wouldn’t notice the tremble in her wrist as she used the knife.

  “You had a good day?” Sylar asked as dropped down onto the sofa and flicked on the TV.

  “Uh huh,” Brea replied ambiguously. “You sleep okay?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “So you’re all good and rested?”

  “Yep.”

  “Awesome,” Brea bought a plate of pizza slices over to him which he gratefully accepted. She lingered by him for a moment, wondering if this was the opportunity she needed to seize in order to discuss the job with him. But then she decided it was better to let him eat first. Rested and well fed would leave Sylar in the optimal mood to approach the topic. Retreating back towards the kitchen Brea picked up her own plate of pizza and came and sat beside her brother.

  He was watching a Nascar race, his bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. For a while, they ate in silence, with only the excited chatter of the commentator and the roar of the engines filling the space between them. There had been a time when her brother was determined to be a Nascar driver. He’d power his little go-cart up and down the street and tell everyone that one day he was going to be a famous driver and be the fastest in the world.

  “Speed isn’t everything,” their father would warn.

  “It is if you want to be the best,” Sylar would challenge. Even as a little boy he was a hot-headed thrill seeker. He’d ride his go-cart so hard and fast that the tires wore too thin and pedals became loose. Sylar was competitive too. He’d challenge any kid he saw on their street to a race and he’d beat them every time, even if they were on a two wheel bike. It was like there was a fire inside him that would only diminish when he was racing through the wind on his go-cart and then eventually his bike.

  Brea often wondered what happened to that fire after her parents died. She often thought it must have just been abruptly extinguished by sorrow. But when Sylar bought himself a motorcycle she began to entertain the thought that perhaps the fire was still there. Perhaps a part of Sylar still had to race to be the best. But she never asked. There was so much between them that went unsaid.

  Chapter 4

  The race had almost ended when Brea finally worked up the courage to ask Sylar about the job. She carefully unfolded the piece of paper she’d earlier wedged
in her pocket and smoothed it out on the table beside his feet, her heart racing the entire time. At first Sylar didn’t notice what she was doing, he was too engrossed in the final moments of the action on TV. But then he caught a glance of the piece of paper and with a prolonged sigh hoisted himself up to grab it.

  “What’s this?” he asked curtly.

  “It’s what we were discussing earlier,” Brea explained sweetly, clenching her hands in a neat ball upon her lap. She watched her brother’s expression darken as he read the advert he was holding.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded. Brea’s heart sank. He was going to be so angry at her for going to the library that she wasn’t even going to get a chance to plead her case about the job.

  “Did you go out while I was asleep?”

  “Yes!” Brea cried, springing up to her feet. She’d finally found something to give her life purpose, to help further her love of art and she wasn’t about to let Sylar ruin that for her. She knew that just because he’d helped her growing up she didn’t owe him a lifetime of servitude.

  “I went to the library, Sylar. Like any normal person would do when they need to use the internet. You can shout and scream at me all you want, but there’s a big world out there and I’m done with staying away from it!”

  “Don’t you realize how dangerous our town is?” Sylar raged as he threw the piece of paper back down.

  “No, I don’t!” Brea snapped. “I don’t because you never let me go out to experience anything. You just keep me locked up here all day! I need to live my life, Sylar. Surely you get that?”

  Sylar was scowling at her, collecting his thoughts. Brea snapped up the momentary silence between them to the further advance her cause.

  “Yes, I went to the library while you slept. I went there because I want a job, Sylar. I want to do something that excites me, something that lets me live a little. And if this town is so damn dangerous you’ll be pleased that the job I want to do is in the next town over!”

  Sylar grumbled as he reached again for the paper and re-read the job post, his scowl remaining.

  “I love art,” Brea continued enthusiastically. “I always have. And this job would be perfect as I’d be learning a trade and embracing my love of art. Sylar, you at least have to let me apply!”

  “No.” He said the word so coldly that Brea was taken aback.

  “No?” she echoed.

  “No,” he repeated solemnly. “I’m not having you going all that way each day to work as some tattoo artist’s apprentice.”

  “You don’t own me.”

  “I’m just looking out for you. Like I’ve always done.” He added bitterly.

  “And I’m grateful for that!” Brea insisted. “Truly I am! But Sylar, this is a chance for me to grow up, to branch out of this town and be my own person. Don’t you want what’s best for me?”

  “Brea,” he said her name as though it pained him to do so. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there. There are people who would want to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Brea asked quietly. “But why?”

  Numerous ugly thoughts ran through her mind. Did her brother owe people money? Bad people? Is that how he’d managed to take care of them for all these years? Surely that was just another reason for her getting a job, to help him get out of whatever debt he was in.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Sylar waved a dismissive hand at her.

  “Try me!” Brea raged through gritted teeth. “Because it sounds to me like you got yourself in trouble and now I’m the one paying for it!”

  “Is this the gratitude I get!” Sylar stood up, his face pinched and red with rage. “I give up everything to take care of you and this is how you repay me? Any trouble I got myself into, it was for you! For us!”

  “So you are in trouble?”

  Sylar was storming off towards his bedroom with Brea flanking his every step, eager for answers.

  “No,” Sylar shook his head, his hand on the door handle. He pulled to open it, but Brea pressed her palm against the flimsy wood, preventing him from doing so.

  “I’m applying for the job,” she told him with confidence.

  “No,” he growled, “you’re not.”

  “I’m done living like this!” Brea lamented. “If this town is so dangerous, let’s just leave!”

  “It’s not that simple!”

  “Why not?”

  “You wouldn’t understand!” Sylar shouted so loudly that the boom of his voice made the nearby framed pictures of their parents shake fearfully on the walls. Brea stepped back, removing her palm from the door as Sylar angrily flung it open and disappeared inside.

  Slowly Brea went back to the sofa, shoulders slumped. She hadn’t wanted a huge argument with her brother. She just wanted him to see things from her point of view. Of course she was grateful for everything he’d done for her, she always would be. But that gratitude couldn’t replace the gnawing feeling in her stomach that she felt each and every day. She yearned for excitement, for adventure. She yearned to live a life that felt like her own, not one that had been planned out for her.

  From inside Sylar’s bedroom, loud music started to boom out. Brea knew that in less than an hour he’d come back out, face like thunder before leaving on his motorbike, roaring off into the night to work his dangerous job. Brea disappeared into the cool of the garden, not wanting to be around when her brother resurfaced.

  Chapter 5

  Brea awoke early the next morning to the shrill squeal of her alarm telling her that it was five AM. She always got up extra early to ensure she was able to get out and about before Sylar returned. The house felt painfully empty as she wandered around fixing herself some cereal for breakfast. She turned on the TV but struggled to engage with the show that was on. She kept thinking about her argument with Sylar, wishing they had left things on better terms before he’d gone out.

  The piece of paper with the job advert was still on the coffee table, slightly crumpled. Setting down her empty bowl Brea picked it up and glanced over the information. Her heart sang at the thought of doing a job where she could use her love of art. And if she did well, if she progressed beyond apprentice then perhaps Sylar would be able to give up his dangerous job, then they would both be happy. Brea made her decision, even though her brother wouldn’t be happy with it.

  It was agonizing as she waited for the hours to pass. But she needed it to be nine o’clock before she could call the number on the ad. She anxiously paced around the small house, running over in her mind what she would say.

  When nine o’clock did arrive, Brea had her speech all planned out. She knew exactly what she was going to say, she just had to make the call. Which she did. She shut out all her negative thoughts about Sylar and just focused on how good it would make her feel to get this job. Her heart jumped up into her throat with each passing ring and eventually someone picked up.

  “Hi,” Brea squeaked, sounding every bit as nervous as she felt. “I’m calling about the ad for a tattoo artist’s apprentice.”

  Chapter 6

  It was ten when the roar of Sylar’s motorcycle rumbled like thunder in the driveway. Brea was perched on the edge of the sofa. She’d had an hour to prepare herself for what was about to happen, but that still didn’t feel long enough. But there was no putting off the inevitable. If she wanted this job as badly as she knew she did, she was going to have to get Sylar on board. Either that or sever all ties with him, which definitely wasn’t what she wanted to do as he was the only family she had left.

  Sylar stormed through the door, his expression grim.

  “Hey,” Brea called amicably from the sofa. He paused en route to his bedroom to look at her.

  “I know you’re tired,” she held her hands up apologetically as he frowned at her. “But I need to talk to you. Just ten minutes, I promise.”

  With a groan, Sylar sauntered over to the sofa and dropped down beside her. He stank of petrol and cigarette smoke, but thankfully boasted no
new injuries though the bruise beneath his eye had blackened something awful.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” Brea began quietly.

  “No, I’m mad at myself,” Sylar interrupted. “You’re right, Brea. You’re always right. It’s one of the things I hate about you,” he admitted with a sad smile.

  “I was right?” Brea felt confused.

  “I have kept you here like a prisoner,” Sylar lowered his head shamefully. “I always thought I was doing the right thing by you, keeping you here, keeping you safe. But the troubles that follow me around town, they are my own, not yours. Last night at work, I got to thinking about what Mom and Dad would have said if you’d gone to them with that job idea.”