Mason: Inked Reapers MC

by West, Heather

  Chapter 59

  “Where the hell have you been?” Hank unleashed the words sharply from his tongue like a whip. Miles stared at him in surprise. He’d thought he was back at the motel early enough so that both guys would still be resting, sleeping off their latest hangover. But he was wrong. Colin and Hank were stood waiting for him, their bodies tense and their eyes alert.

  “I’ve been out,” Miles growled dismissively, moving deeper in to their motel room.

  “Yeah, well we got a call from your Uncle.” Hank explained tersely. Miles froze. He could feel the blood in his veins turning to ice. His Uncle had called. That meant that they had new orders.

  When Miles was with Brea it was easy to forget the real reason for his visit to Colridge. With her in his arms, he could forget all about the monster he sometimes had to be. Staring at Hank and Colin his skin started to itch and feel hot as though it now longer fit him right.

  “We’ve got orders,” Colin added, cracking his knuckles. When Miles had left his two companions had seemed like lovable drunks. Now they appeared more like seasoned killers. Their hardened expressions spoke of all the punches they had thrown and they were eager to do more.

  “What are the orders?” Miles lowered himself on to the bed, doing his best to remain calm. He feared that the orders would be to turn over the tattoo parlor, to rough Brea and her friends up. Miles had been so careful to keep his relationship a secret but what if he hadn’t been careful enough? What if he’d somehow made Brea a target?

  “That quaint little bar we went to the other night,” Hank raked his hands through his golden mane and smiled maliciously. “We’re to go and turn the place over.”

  Miles swallowed uneasily. It was a small bar off a side street in town. He doubted it was even Blood Pact territory. But he knew his Uncle’s style. Whether it was Blood Pact territory or not, turning it over would still send a message.

  “We were thinking we’d head there around eight, wait until it picks up a bit and then start some trouble,” Colin explained, his eyes bright with excitement.

  Members of the Highway Reapers were always excited by the prospect of violence. It was what drew them to the pack in the first place. They were violent men who’d led difficult, violent lives. But among the other pack members they found kindred spirits. They found a family.

  Miles squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He’d promised to see Brea later. They were going to go the movies together. He didn’t want to start letting her down, especially when he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her the true reason for his cancellation.

  “Does it have to be tonight?” he ventured.

  “Yes,” Hank nodded briskly. “Your Uncle was very specific about that.”

  Miles shot a dubious glance at the telephone on the table in the motel room. He’d wager that there was a possibility that his Uncle hadn’t called at all and that his roommates were just getting itchy feet. He could imagine them sitting together plotting in his absence. It would make sense for them to agree on the bar as a target since it was small enough to not make too big a stir.

  “He was?” Miles narrowed his eyes at Hank.

  “Yes, he was,” Hank repeated slowly. “He said it’s high time we start some shit in the Blood Pact territory. And I, for one, am not going to let him down, are you?”

  Miles wished he’d been present when his Uncle had supposedly called. He’d perhaps have been able to make the old man see sense. The small bar was a poor target. All they’d do is cause hassle for the owners, the Blood Pact probably wouldn’t even notice if it got trashed, it wasn’t like their members frequented it.

  “Don’t you think it’s a strange target?” he asked his companions. Hank gave Colin a sideways glance and shrugged.

  “I suppose,” Colin agreed, “since no Blood Pact members even go there.”

  “What were my Uncle’s exact words?” Miles pressed.

  “He said it’s time to start shit,” Hank swiftly recalled. “And he suggested we start small, go with a ripple rather than a wave.”

  “Hmm,” Miles thoughtfully massaged his neck. It wasn’t like his Uncle to show caution. If he really wanted to anger the Blood Pact he’d surely go all in.

  “I think we should hit something bigger,” Hank declared with a grin. “Like the biker bar outside of town on the highway. If we hit that, we really send a message.”

  Miles tensed. If they did that they’d be sending one hell of a message, they’d be making a declaration of war.

  “If my Uncle wanted us to start small then we hit the bar,” Miles decided. He hated himself for agreeing to the plan but it was better to turn over the bar then to start something they possibly couldn’t finish out at the biker bar.

  “Good, I’m itching for a fight,” Hank cracked his knuckles dramatically.

  “Let’s try and keep things as clean as possible,” Miles pleaded, glancing between the two men.

  “We don’t do clean,” Hank laughed, his mouth twitching up in to a grin.

  “Your Uncle will want this done right,” Colin agreed darkly. “We crack a few skulls, break a few noses, that should get our point across.”

  Miles pitied the poor saps who’d be in the bar later that day. They’d have no idea what was coming, they were just going to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Guilt pressed heavily against his shoulders, causing him to slump down. The worst part of it all was that he was going to have to cancel on Brea. And in the morning sunlight she’d smiled so sweetly at him when he’d said he wanted to take her to the movies. She always looked so beautiful first thing, with her skin effervescent in the early morning light. He didn’t want to be the reason her sweet expression turned sour with disappointment.

  “Tonight at eight it is then,” Hank grinned manically. “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter 60

  Brea was just finishing up a tattoo of a Celtic cross. It ran down the back of the petite woman she’d been working on and had a vine of roses growing around it. It was a beautiful, ornate design, one Brea had designed herself especially for her client.

  “Urgh, my back kills,” the woman exhaled tensely.

  “It will all be over soon,” Brea confirmed softly. “I’m nearly done.”

  “How does it look?”

  Brea leaned back to take in the full image. It looked beautiful and gothic. “It looks amazing.”

  “Awesome,” the woman titled her head to smile up at Brea. “I can’t wait to show it off tonight at the bar.”

  “You won’t be able to show it off tonight,” Brea warned. “It needs to be kept under wraps for a while to let the skin heal. But you’ll be good to show it off at the weekend.”

  “Urgh, that’s like ages away,” the woman protested though she still smiled.

  “So is the bar where you work?” Brea asked, finding it best to engage client’s in small talk to distract them from the pain of their tattoo. Towards the end of a design, once all the more intricate work had been done Brea found that she was able to chat more easily.

  “Sure is,” the woman confirmed. “I’m busting my ass there to save up enough money to put me through college.”

  “Where’s the bar?” Brea asked. The woman was now face down on the table again, her short dark blonde hair fanning out over her shoulders.

  “In town, down the street by the Laundromat. It’s called O-Hannigans.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve been there, it’s a nice little bar.” She’d taken Sylar there and watched him spend all night talking to Gina instead of paying attention to her. Brea frowned to herself, considering how strangely Gina had acted that morning. She’d barely said a word to Brea and hummed to herself as she puttered around the shop.

  “I wish more people went there, so that I’d get more tips,” the woman said, her voice slightly muffled.

  “You close to having enough to go to college?”

  “Pretty much. The plan is to go to Ole’ Miss, that’s where my brother went.”

  Brea smiled wit
h understanding as she finished off the tattoo. “Your brother still go there?”

  “Probably. We’re not that close, haven’t spoken in like two years.”

  Brea was rubbing down the new design, the black ink as dark as tar when it was shiny and newly applied.

  “Okay, we’re all done.” Brea pushed back her swivel chair to give the woman space to get up. She moved slowly as though her limbs were stiff from lying down for so long.

  “Oh, wow,” she saw the design in the full length mirror on the other side of the small treatment room. “That looks killer.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  The woman took a moment to stand up and admire her new tattoo. “I love it,” she declared breathlessly. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re most welcome,” Brea smiled warmly as she applied antibacterial ointment and bandaged the newly completed tattoo. “Good luck with college and finding your brother.”

  “Thanks,” the woman wiggled back in to her vest top and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I just miss him, you know? Family is so important.”

  “Yeah,” Brea agreed with a nod. “It is.”

  Chapter 61

  Miles lingered in the stairwell of Brea’s apartment; it was six o clock and she was due home any minute. Outside the sun was already losing some of its brightness as the day prepared to turn into night.

  He heard the door at the bottom of the stairwell open, followed by quick, light footed steps. Brea soon appeared below him, her pretty face breaking out in to a smile when she saw him.

  “Hey,” she hurried up to his level. “I didn’t expect you to come round so early. The film doesn’t start for another few hours.”

  Miles swallowed the guilt that seemed to bubble like bile in his throat, and waited for Brea to unlock the door to her apartment. When they stepped inside she turned and placed her palms on his chest, gazing up at him flirtatiously.

  “Or did you think of something we could do before the movie?” she asked, biting her lip.

  Miles wanted to go with his instincts and take her there and then. He’d bend her over the couch and fuck her hard until her legs shook from delight. But for now, he had to ignore his desires. He had other things to worry about.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he clutched her hands in his but kept them pressed to his chest. He liked how it felt when she touched him. “I’m going to have to take a rain check on tonight.”

  Her face crumpled, clearly hurt by the rejection, but only momentarily. She quickly recovered and smiled confidently at him.

  “Okay, how come?”

  Miles wanted so badly to lie. To have her think he was doing something noble like saving orphans from a burning building. Instead he was going to be beating up innocent people but she certainly didn’t need to know that level of detail.

  “I’ve got to work,” he hung his head against his chest in regretful shame. “It sucks, I know. But I wanted to come and tell you in person rather than send a message.”

  “Oh, well if you’ve got to work that’s fine. I understand.”

  Miles wondered if she’d be so sweetly understanding if she knew what his line of work actually entailed. He doubted it. And he didn’t blame her. He loathed what he did. Riding with the Reapers had stopped being fun twenty bar fights ago. He felt like he was always starting trouble without good cause and being overly reactive to things for no reason. He got the feeling that his Uncle just enjoyed seeing people bleed, which was why he was always keen to start shit in the pack’s name.

  “You okay?” Brea reached up and stroked his cheek. Her touch as soft and tender as velvet. Miles leaned in to her. He wanted to stay there in her apartment, with her, but instead he had to go out and run errands for the Reapers. It was far from ideal and the worst part was that he had no choice. If he disobeyed his Uncle’s orders all he’d do was shine the light of violence directly upon himself. And he knew that both Colin and Hank, would beat the living shit out of him if it was his Uncle’s say so. Every member of the Reapers was loyal first to their leader, second to one another.

  “You seem troubled,” Brea continued, tilting her head to the left.

  “It’s because I’d rather not be working,” Miles replied honestly. “I’d rather just stay here with you.”

  “I’d rather you just stay too,” Brea said breathily, leaning up to kiss him on the lips. Miles kissed her back. It was soft and tender at first. It reminded him of stolen kisses in the rain when he was younger, back before he knew the world could be such a savage place.

  “I love you,” Brea uttered the words with beautiful softness as their lips parted. Miles wanted to bottle up those words and listen to them over and over again until he lost the ability to hear. Those three little words were the greatest thing anyone had ever said to him.

  “I love you too.” He kissed her again, with more vigor. He wanted so badly to stay. But as they parted he saw the darkening of the sky. If he wasn’t back at the motel before eight he’d be in a world of trouble.

  “I’m sorry but I’ve really got to go,” he told Brea regretfully.

  “It’s okay,” she smiled sadly at him. “Maybe we could do the movie tomorrow night?”

  Miles wanted to immediately agree but it depended on how badly he got hurt later tonight. He couldn’t very well explain busted open lips and black eyes to Brea. What kind of job resulted in such injuries? If the night at the bar went without too much of a hitch, then yes, he could go to the movies. But he was reluctant to commit to anything until he knew and risk disappointing Brea again.

  “Have a good time at work,” she waved him off from her apartment door looking impossibly sexy. It took all of Miles’ will power to walk away from her. He loved her, he wanted her so why the hell was he now willingly walking directly into the lion’s den? Miles felt resentment for his Uncle burning inside him like a forest fire as he jogged back to the motel, back to Colin and Hank and back to the strange loyalty that he owed the Highway Reapers. A loyalty which had robbed him of an evening out with the woman he loved.

  Chapter 62

  Sylar sat slumped over the bar, nursing a cold beer between his palms. He was exhausted. He’d driven back home as dawn was breaking overhead, turning the sky a deep, blood red. He released his beer to wearily rub his eyes.

  “Hey man,” he flinched as someone smacked him on the back. Smith hauled himself on to a neighboring bar stool. He stank of liquor and his eyes were bloodshot. Sylar bet his friend had been at the bar all night.

  “Hey,” Sylar nodded at him in greeting and then sipped on his beer.

  “Missed you last night.”

  “Hmm, sorry. Something came up.” Sylar briefly closed his eyes and remembered gripping Gina’s waist, remembered pressing her up against the reception counter at her tattoo parlor. A satisfied smile pulled on his lips.

  “Ooh, hey!” Smith raised his beer to him and laughed. “You got lucky! I knew it.”

  Sylar gave a modest shrug. Yes, he’d got lucky. But he’d also failed to enlist Gina in helping him get Brea out of Colridge. His sister was still dating a Reaper, which meant that she was still in grave danger. The thought chilled him to his bone and he pushed his beer away, watching it skid across the bar. He no longer had a need for its cold contents.

  “Hey, don’t waste it,” Smith reached for the beer and drew it close to himself, grinning like a child who had just acquired a free toy.

  “I’m not in the drinking mood,” Sylar sighed. The only thing he was in the mood for was sleep, but the worries which gnawed at the back of his mind would prevent him from resting. He shouldn’t have left Colridge as hastily as he did, but he didn’t dare stay to watch the sun rise. He’d heard the squeal of sirens late in the night. There was troubling brewing in the town, he could almost taste its sourness on the air.

  “Was the sex that bad?” Smith frowned at him.

  “No,” Sylar shook his head. “It was good. Very good.”

  “But,” Smith drew out the word, ga
zing expectantly at his friend.

  “But it wasn’t the reason for my visit. I went to Colridge.” Saying it out loud made everything about his little trip feel more risky. He hung his head and sighed.

  “This about the Reaper?” Smith asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You managed to ride him out of town yet?”

  “No.” Sylar slumped with dismay. He had to keep Brea safe, he had to keep her away from her boyfriend, Miles. He was a Reaper. He was dangerous.