Mason: Inked Reapers MC

by West, Heather

  “I know I don’t look like my usual pretty self,” he chuckled. “But I’ll be right again soon enough. Hand me that will ya?” he nodded to a half empty bottle of whiskey over by the television. Miles stepped back into the room to grab it for him.

  “Thanks,” Hank lifted the bottle to his lips and drank greedily from it. “You off out?” he asked when he was done drinking.

  “Yeah,” Miles nodded. “I need some pain meds.”

  “I got all the pain relief I need right here,” Hank raised the bottle and grinned.

  “I need to keep a clear head,” Miles countered.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “We made a lot of noise last night. We’ll have attracted the attention of the damn Blood Pact, I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough.”

  “Let them come,” Hank gestured widely with his bottle, his eyes burning with the fiery delight of a mad man. “I had so much fun last night. I’d love to do it all again.”

  Miles’ head throbbed even more furiously when he thought about the previous night. How the three of them had descended upon the small bar in town. It had been a slow night, most of the tables were empty.

  A waitress with dark blonde hair had flirtatiously lifted her top to show Hank her new tattoo. He’d grinned with approval and ran a hand down her back, letting it settle on her waist.

  “Darling, I think you should come home with me,” he’d told her. Miles had glanced at the tattoo and wondered if it was Brea’s work. He felt heavy with guilt to think of her. He knew that they should have been in some darkened theater watching a movie, rather than him out running errands for the Reapers gang. Resentment burned in him, dangerous and hot.

  When the clock approached the witching hour, the trio made their move. Hank had casually approached the pool table where two men in lumberjack shirts were playing.

  “Hey man, we’re still playing, wait your turn,” the taller of the men had declared tersely.

  “I don’t like waiting,” Hank had replied, narrowing his eyes. Then without warning he’d punched the taller man square in the nose, deliberately aiming his fist so that it connected with the soft base. There was a loud crack and blood erupted from the man’s face like a sinister fountain. He staggered back, clutching at his nose.

  “You broke my fucking nose!” he cried shrilly. “You fucking bastard!”

  The man’s friend managed to get a punch in. It landed on Hank’s cheek, connecting squarely with his flesh. Spittle came from his mouth as his face got knocked so harshly to the side. But Colin was there to step in. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, pulled him close and then delivered a knee directly into his chest, winding him.

  “Hey, we don’t want no trouble!” the freshly tattooed waitress had called out, her face drained of color.

  “Go home,” Miles instructed her quietly. “Turn around and walk away right now.”

  “I’ll lose my job if I leave,” she fretted.

  “Then find somewhere to hide. Things are going to get pretty ugly in here.”

  She’d nodded fearfully and scurried off towards the back room. A few of the other patrons made a hasty retreat, but the more foolhardy among them stayed. They were keen to defend their local bar. Miles wanted to laugh at their naivety. Instead, he was surprised by a bearded man who wielded a blade and slashed at him, realizing that he was with the other trouble makers.

  Miles cried out in surprise. But he didn’t hesitate in delivering a defensive blow. He moved with cat-like speed and grace, grabbing the man’s arm which was holding the blade and bending it back, applying pressure until he heard the reassuring snap of a bone breaking. The man screamed and dropped to his knees in agony. Stooping down Miles grabbed the blade and took it for himself.

  “Thanks,” he told the man who was writhing in pain, clutching his limp arm. Miles walked over to join Colin and Hank, he could feel his own warm blood trickling down from where the blade had caught him.

  “Hey,” Colin was wiping a hand across his clammy forehead, his sleeves rolled up as six burly men approached the trio, thinking that they had them cornered over by the pool table.

  “What happened to you?” Colin nodded at Miles’ ear.

  “Some fucker cut me,” he replied with a sneer.

  “Redneck bastards. Who brings a blade to a brawl?”

  “Exactly.”

  The other men in the bar who had banded together approached the trio and as the two sides connected punches and kicks were thrown. Hank bit the ear clean off one guy, while Miles tried to keep his own fighting cleaner. He mainly just punched anyone who came at him. He knocked out a few teeth and might have even broken a jaw or two.

  Finally, when all the men were down, they started to rip apart the bar. They turned over tables, toppled the pool table, ripped down light fittings. They did everything they could to render the place ruined.

  Not once did they hear the piercing squeal of approaching sirens. The cops knew that this was pack business and were smart enough to stay away.

  “Are we done here?” Hank eventually asked, pausing to kick a fallen man in the ribs.

  Miles scanned the destruction. The bar had been totaled. It would be months before it was able to re-open.

  “Yeah, we’re done.”

  As they were leaving, he noticed the blonde barmaid peering out from a distant door towards the back of the room. When she observed the destruction, a solitary tear fell from her eyes and she shot Miles a hateful look. He’d normally shrug off such a look but this time it pierced him deeper than the blade had. She hated him and she had every right to. He’d ruined her bar and for no good reason other than he’d been told to, by his bitter old Uncle. Both shame and pain kept Miles’ head low as he trudged back towards the motel behind Hank and Colin.

  Chapter 66

  Sylar didn’t care who saw him as he rode into town. With Smith at his side, he felt powerful and unstoppable. He drove down the narrow streets until he arrived on the street where Brea worked. He drove directly towards the tattoo parlor and then stopped.

  “Looks closed to me,” Smith observed as he came to a stop just behind him. Swinging himself off his bike he walked round to Sylar and glanced at the closed shutters.

  “Yeah,” Sylar agreed, frowning in confusion. “It does.”

  “Shouldn’t it be open by now?” Smith checked the time on his cell phone.

  “It should be, yeah.”

  Smith approached the shutters and read the sign on the nearby wall which had the opening times for the tattoo parlor.

  “Open daily 10 – 8,” he called out. “And it’s 11.30.”

  “Damn,” Sylar clenched his fists in frustration. Brea blatantly wasn’t at work which meant she must be back at her apartment. It’d be hard to convince her to leave from there and worse, Miles might be there. Fear slid up Sylar’s throat, causing him to cough. Even though it’d be two on one, he didn’t want to have to face down a Highway Reapers gang member in front of his sister. He knew how messy that could get.

  “So is she at her place?” Smith was striding back towards his bike. “Let’s go there.”

  “I need to check if she’s alone first,” Sylar sighed as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

  Chapter 67

  Brea stopped crying when she heard her cell phone ringing. Sniffling she wiped her face and reaching for the phone, expecting to see Miles’ name glowing on the screen. Instead, it was her brother’s details she saw. For a moment, her finger hovered over the decline button but then at the last minute, she accepted the call.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Brea, are you at your place?” Sylar’s voice was muffled by a loud noise like a passing car. Where was he? Was he outside somewhere?

  “Yeah,” she frowned at his question. “Why?”

  “Are you alone?”

  She straightened up on the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Why would you ask that?” she demanded angrily. “What the hell do you want Sylar?”
/>   “Are you home alone, yes or no,” she could hear the tension in his voice.

  “Is everything okay?” Brea glanced fearfully around her apartment. She was most definitely alone.

  “Just answer the question.” She imagined her brother delivering the question through gritted teeth as he swiftly lost patience with her.

  “Yes, I’m alone,” she replied tersely. “Why would you even ask me that?”

  “And you’re in your apartment?”

  “Yes!” Brea was getting wound up with all her brother’s strange questions. What was he even getting at?

  “Stay where you are,” he ordered.

  “Don’t go telling me what to - ” Brea stopped talking when she realized that the line had gone dead, Sylar had hung up. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest as she stood up and tentatively approached the window, which overlooked Colridge. She couldn’t see the street outside from her apartment, only the backs of the buildings. She wondered what was going on and why her brother was asking such strange questions. And for a sickening moment she wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened at the bar the previous night.

  Chapter 68

  Miles popped two ibuprofens in his mouth before leaving the grocery store. He was about to make his way back to the motel when he froze. He saw two parked motorcycles outside the closed tattoo parlor across the street. Both of the riders wore leather jackets and looked well-built but from this distance he couldn’t discern their faces. Inhaling nervously he stepped back inside the shop, away from view. He watched them from within the safety of the store. He could immediately tell that they were Blood Pact members. They had the club’s emblem proudly displayed on their bikes.

  “Shit,” Miles breathed as he watched them, praying that they’d soon leave. If they saw him he was done for, he was certainly in no state to defend himself. He wished he’d been smart enough to take Colin and Hank with him. Colridge was now a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. Even a wander down the street could be dangerous.

  After a few minutes, the riders pulled off and disappeared down the street. Miles wasted no time hurrying off in the opposite direction. He had to get back to the motel and fast.

  “They’re here,” he declared as he pushed open the door. Both Hank and Colin glanced up at him in surprise. They were both freshly showered which made their wounds seem less dramatic.

  “Who is here?” Colin asked, wearily rubbing at his eyes.

  “Blood Pact. I just saw two of their members in town.”

  “Well I say we go roll out the welcome wagon for them,” Hank grinned, baring his teeth.

  “No,” Miles raised a hand of objection at him. “We don’t do anything until we hear from my Uncle.”

  As if on cue the telephone in the room began to ring. The three men shared wary glances before Miles stepped forward and picked up it, placing the receiver against his ear.

  “Hello,” he tried to make himself sound as foreboding as possible.

  “Miles, that you?” he instantly recognized the craggy old voice of his Uncle Deacon.

  “Yes, Uncle, it’s me.” Still holding the phone Miles lowered himself onto the bed. He could see Hank and Colin sharing worried looks.

  “You boys did a nice job at that bar last night,” Deacon complimented.

  “Thanks.” Miles’ wounded ear started to throb so he switched sides with the telephone. As he did so, he noticed that it was spotted with his own blood. He might need to consider getting stitches on his cut if it didn’t stop bleeding.

  “I think you really stirred up the hornet’s nest there in Colridge,” Deacon continued, clearly amused.

  “I think so too. I spotted a couple of Blood Pact members out on the streets this morning.”

  “Good, good. Well then, I need you boys to high-tail it back here as quick as you can.”

  Miles tightened his grip on the phone. Go back? But why? Going back would mean leaving Brea. Miles closed his eyes in frustration as he recalled how she’d hung up on him. He couldn’t leave without making things right with her. But if he saw her now how would he ever explain his wounds without letting her think he was a monster.

  “Come back?” Miles choked out the words. “But why? Don’t you need us here in Colridge in case they retaliate?”

  “No, I need you back here,” Deacon clarified sternly. “There’s a war coming, Miles. We need to batten down the hatches and prepare.”

  A shudder of fear flew up Miles’ spine. He hadn’t intended to start a war. Was that what it was coming to? Pack against pack? Where did Brea even fit into all that. He couldn’t leave her in Colridge when things were getting so dangerous there.

  “I need to bring someone else back with me,” Miles stated.

  “If it’s that girl you’re fucking, you can think again,” his Uncle replied coldly. Miles felt his body tense in shock. He looked over at Hank and Colin, expecting to see their guilt ridden faces, but they were both avoiding his gaze.

  “Uncle - ”

  “Her brother rides with the Blood Pact. Don’t think I don’t know. I know everything, Miles. I’ve got eyes everywhere.”

  “She doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this,” Miles pleaded, feeling panicked.

  “I don’t have time to listen to you whine about some girl,” Deacon raged. “I need you and the others back here by this evening. We need to start planning how we’re going to ruin the fucking Blood Pact once and for all.”

  Miles swallowed nervously. The rivalry between the two gangs was intense but never before had one sought to destroy the other.

  “War really is coming,” Miles realized, tasting bile in his mouth.

  “You bet your ass it is,” his Uncle swiftly agreed. “And you want to make sure that you’re on the winning side, Miles. So be here before sundown. Just the three of you, no stragglers. It’s high time the Highway Reapers Gang proved that we’re the fucking authority in these parts.”

  With a shaking hand, Miles lowered the phone back down. Hank and Colin still refused to meet his gaze.

  “I hope you’re both happy,” he addressed them flatly. “We’re going to war with the fucking Pact.”

  Chapter 69

  “This has been a long time coming.” Miles listened to his Uncle Deacon address the crowded bar. Every available member of the Highway Reapers had packed inside the flimsy building. The air was thick with sweat and cheap beer.

  Miles stood towards the back beside Hank and Colin. His head still throbbed from the wound he’d picked up during the bar fight back in Colridge.

  “Too long have the Blood Pact taunted us,” his Uncle raged to his enraptured audience. Pack members hollered in agreement, raising bottles of beer to the air in a toast. “Too long have they crept into a territory that isn’t fucking theirs.”

  “Your Uncle is certainly fired up,” Colin whispered quietly to Miles. All Miles could do was nod stoically in agreement. He had hoped he’d have time to talk to his Uncle, privately, before the entire crew assembled. He wanted to do all he could to discourage his Uncle Deacon, from going to war with the Blood Pact. But as soon as he pulled into the bar’s parking lot, he knew he was way too late. Almost a hundred motorcycles were lined up outside, glistening in the early morning sunlight, like precious polished toys. All members of the Highway Reapers were in residence; his Uncle was preparing his troops.

  “I like where the old man is coming from,” Hank growled with delight, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall.

  Miles said nothing. He continued to gaze over at his Uncle, who was decidedly more animated than usual as he addressed the packed bar.

  “I say tonight we show The Pact who really runs things around here!”

  People were cheering, salivating at the prospect of spilling blood.

  “We’ll run them out of Colridge, out of the state with their tails between their legs like the pathetic dogs they are!”

  “Ooow! Yeah!” men howled like wolves
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  Groaning, Miles tried to disappear into the shadows of the bar. He couldn’t stop thinking about Brea, about how his old Uncle had known about her all along. Surely she was now in danger? But he couldn’t go back to her, not at the risk of turning the entire pack against him. They’d tear him apart before he’d made it to his bike. No, he needed to tread carefully, especially now.

  Finally his Uncle dismissed his audience, insisting everyone go home and rest up before the big night. But this dismissal hadn’t included Miles, which he realized as he headed for the doors with the others but was promptly pulled back by a strong pair of hands which clamped around his shoulders like a vice.