Mason: Inked Reapers MC

by West, Heather

  “Because,” Hank sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. “You’ve got something to live for, something beyond the gang. Me? I’ve never had that. I’ve only ever been about the pack, there isn’t enough room in my life for anything else. I’d gladly die for these assholes, would you?”

  Miles was silent.

  “Exactly,” Hank raised his eyebrows. “And honestly Miles, I don’t want someone out there fighting with me who isn’t completely committed.”

  Miles nodded softly, understanding where Hank was coming from.

  “So go,” Hank prompted again, pointing towards where the motorcycles stood. “Go save your girl and ride off into the sunset together.”

  Miles felt torn. He looked back at the bar, his sanctuary, the place his Uncle Deacon took him into all those years ago when he had nothing and no one.

  “You think because he saved you that you owe him your entire life?” Hank asked, as though reading his mind at that exact moment. “That’s how we all feel, Miles. But that’s not normal, is it? Deacon, he plucks us out of obscurity and seemingly saves us, but always to meet his own needs. It’s never the selfless act it appears to be.”

  Miles was stunned by Hank’s brutally honest assessment of life within the gang. And it pained him to acknowledge how true the other man’s words were. Why had his Uncle not intervened with Miles sooner? Why let him live rough on the streets for a few years? It was because Deacon wanted to see if he was tough enough, wanted him to see how bad things could get before he bothered to extend the olive branch of safety. Deacon had willingly let Miles suffer as a teenager just to ensure that he’d make a decent member.

  “You’re right,” Miles felt steeled with decisiveness as he strode over towards his bike. He was ready to leave Deacon and the Highway Reapers behind him and move on with the next chapter of his life. Brea, she was it.

  “Ride hard and fast,” Hank advised with a wry smile. “And don’t bother checking over your shoulder because we’ll never be there.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  “You’re just going to have to take my word for it.” Hank grinned around the cigarette which was clamped between his teeth.

  Chapter 82

  “Brea,” Sylar gave an exasperated sigh. “I really don’t have time for this.”

  There was so much Brea wanted to say. She wanted to scream at her brother and demand to know how he could be part of a violent motorcycle gang. She wanted to voice her bitter disappointment towards him, to cry. But instead she was stoic. As much as she wanted to convince him to change his ways, to denounce his pack, she knew she couldn’t do that alone. She’d need Miles’ help. So her first priority was stealing away from the house without Sylar knowing. Outside it was almost dark, she knew that she didn’t have much time.

  “I’m just tired,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I need some sleep, that’s all.”

  “Women and their Goddamn moods,” Sylar was shaking his head as he backed out of the door and trudged back down the hallway, satisfied with her explanation.

  When Brea was quite certain that he was gone and out of earshot, she stood up on her bed and carefully slid open her bedroom window. Cool air rushed into the room and ran goose bumps down her skin. Once the window was open as wide as it would, go she moved towards her bedroom door and listened. She could hear the faint moaning of women who sounded like they were being pleasured. Brea frowned, wondering where the sound was coming from but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She reached for her rucksack and began shoving in a few essential items.

  Chapter 83

  When Sylar returned to the sofa, Smith was once again watching his porn but this time he didn’t object. He dropped down beside his friend and watched the two attractive women pleasure one another. He felt his body start to respond appropriately and he was grateful for the distraction. If he was getting aroused and jerking off, then he wasn’t thinking about the upcoming fight, wasn't thinking about all the possible outcomes in this situation.

  “I need the distraction,” Smith said tightly as if sensing what Sylar was thinking.

  “I get that,” Sylar nodded. Smith, more than anyone, knew first hand just how brutal the Reapers could be. In the glow of the television, his scars looked like an alien landscape stretched tightly across his face. Sylar wondered if his friend’s wounds still caused him pain, but he never dared to ask. Most of the time they just pretended it had never happened, which was easier than addressing it.

  “Your sister okay?” Smith asked, never taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Yeah, she’s just resting.” Sylar put his feet up on the coffee table, feeling a pang in his chest remembering how his Mother used to always object to such a stance.

  “Feet off the table,” she’d tell Sylar sternly as she playfully swatted at him with a rolled up newspaper.

  “You heard your Mother,” his Father would chip in from where he was sat in the kitchen reading a book.

  With a dramatic teenage sigh, Sylar would drop his feet and glare at his mother. Looking back, he couldn’t believe that he ever wasted even a second feeling negatively towards her. If only he’d known back then that every moment with his parents was precious and to be cherished.

  Smith also propped his feet up on the table, his face starting to get flushed. Sylar thought of his sister and wondered if his friend would be able to resist going to pay her a visit once he was fully aroused.

  Chapter 84

  Brea pushed her upper body out through the window, grateful that it was a single story house. She dropped her rucksack out onto the soft grass and then, as gracefully as possible, she followed after it. She landed on the ground with a dull thud and froze for a moment, her heart racing, waiting for Sylar to come bounding into her bedroom demanding to know what the hell she was doing. She sunk low against the wall to avoid detection, but her bedroom remained silent and still, no one appeared.

  Dressed in skinny jeans and dark green hooded sweatshirt, Brea began to creep her way around to the front of her house. She’d sent Miles a message before climbing through the window, telling him to meet her on the small bridge just outside of town. If she ran, she could be there in ten minutes but she needed to avoid the main roads. Barely daring to breathe, she fumbled her way around to the driveway and then sprinted off towards the road, past the neat row of houses she’d grown up amongst. She kept running, not daring to look back. Her hair tumbled into her eyes and she didn’t bother to knock it away. All that mattered was putting as much distance between herself and her house as possible.

  Each time the beam of a headlight drew up, Brea panicked. Twice she flung herself into some bushes. But the lights always continued on, oblivious to her presence.

  “Nearly there,” Brea told herself breathlessly as the bridge came into view up ahead. Her whole body trembled uneasily and she yearned to fling herself into Miles’ protective embrace and just remain there forever. Despite the choices he’d made, the company he kept, she still loved him and believed that they could have a future together. If only Sylar weren’t caught up in all the gang mess, they could make a clean break and just run off. But she wasn’t about to leave her brother to fend for himself. With Miles, she would go back and plead with him to turn his back on his pack, on his life of violence and crime.

  Guilt caused Brea to choke and stumble on the road. Rough asphalt connected with her outstretched hands as she fell. She was the reason Sylar was involved with the Reapers. It was his feelings of duty towards her which had made him join the pack, had made him make all his bad life choices. Brea was softly crying as she clambered up to her feet and dusted herself off. Her sobs caught in her throat when she looked up at the bridge and saw Miles standing in the center of it, backlit against the moonlight, looking so handsome, so perfect.

  Her knees buckled, threatening to not carry her the rest of the way. But thankfully he turned and saw her, his chiselled features warming with a broad smile and he was running, running to scoop her up int
o his arms and spin her around. It was like something out of a movie and for several blissful minutes, Brea forgot all about the motorcycle gangs and the fear polluting her veins. She thought only of Miles and how good it felt to be with him once again.

  Chapter 85

  The women on the television were still writhing all over each other. The taller one had lowered herself so that she was now gently sucking the other’s clitoris, her tongue expertly easing against the nub, the well-placed camera catching every intimate moment.

  “Okay,” Smith clapped his hands together and stood up. “I’m going to go and check on your sister.”

  Sylar tensed. He knew what his friend could be like with women. He could be charming and sweet, he could also be forceful when he didn’t get his way.

  “If she’s not into it, just back off, you hear me?” Sylar warned tersely as Smith sauntered off down the hallway, not acknowledging his comment.

  Looking back at the television Sylar considered playing with himself right there on the couch. His hand already rubbing his hard cock through his jeans, keen to pull them down and give himself some much needed sexual release.

  “Hey,” Smith was calling him. With a groan of annoyance, Sylar spun around on the couch to look at his friend. Smith was in the doorway to Brea’s bedroom, one hand shoved into his pocket.

  “What is it?” Sylar demanded angrily.

  “We have a problem.” Smith explained.

  “If she’s asleep, just let her rest,” Sylar exclaimed.

  “It’s not that,” Smith was shaking his head and intermittently glancing into Brea’s bedroom.

  “Then what is it?” Sylar had no time for this. He stood up and glared down the hallway at his sheepish friend. “Well?” he prompted heatedly when Smith remained silent.

  “She’s not here,” Smith explained softly.

  “What?!” Sylar narrowed his eyes and tried not to give into his rising levels of annoyance. “What do you mean she’s not there?”

  “I mean,” Smith gestured in to the bedroom, “that she’s not here. The window is open and the room is empty. There’s no Brea. Your sister is gone.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Sylar sprinted towards Smith and gazed into the empty room to see that his friend was right. Brea was gone. All that remained were the curtains which flapped in the cool night breeze, taunting them.

  “Fuck!” Sylar pressed his hands to his temples and kicked at her bedroom door. “Fuck!” he yelled again. With Brea gone they wouldn’t be able to go and join the rest of the Blood Pact until she was found.

  “This is so what we don’t need right now!” Sylar raged. “Fuck!”

  Chapter 86

  Miles breathed her in as he held her against his chest. She smelled so sweet, like cherries and cinnamon. His entire body trembled with the relief of holding her again.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered breathlessly. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

  Standing on the small bridge just outside of town, they were silhouetted against a darkening sky. Miles wanted to keep holding onto her never letting her go. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the gang he’d left behind. Even though Hank said he didn’t need to, Miles lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. Behind him the road was empty in the twilight, his bike rested against the brick bridge.

  “It’s okay,” Brea reassured him as she burrowed deeper against his chest. “I forgive you.”

  Miles bit back tears. He knew that he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Before she came along, his life had been a string of bad choices and only now did he see the path he should take clearly laid out before him.

  “There’s no excuses for the things I’ve done in my past,” he sighed, running a hand up and down Brea’s back. “I’ve hurt people, Brea. I’ve hurt them and not even cared about it.”

  “But you see it. You don’t deny and get defensive about it. You know how bad you fucked up,” Brea leaned back and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling as though they held fallen stars. “You want to break away, to move on with your life.”

  “Yes,” Miles agreed emphatically. “More than anything I want to move on now, to start a life with you away from them, away from all their expectations of me.”

  “I wish my brother felt like that,” Brea looked forlorn as she stepped away from Miles and wandered sadly back along the bridge.

  “Did you… ask him about it?” Miles hated that he’d been the one to tell Brea just who her brother was. He understood why her brother would have been keeping the secret from her, seeing as how Miles had been keeping his own secrets for the same reasons.

  “No,” Brea replied tightly, pulling her arms together across her chest. “I just left,” she hung her head shamefully. “I figured it would be easier to talk to him about leaving his pack together.”

  Miles tensed. She was expecting him to talk to her brother? A Blood Pact member? Such a conversation would inevitably end in bloodshed. Even though Miles had no intention to ride again with his own gang, in the eyes of the Pact, her brother’s membership to his own pack had a lifetime guarantee.

  “He won’t listen to me,” Miles insisted. “Besides, there’s no time. We need to get out of here, Brea, before anyone comes looking for us.”

  “We have to talk to him!” Brea looked at him pleadingly. “We have to go back and talk Miles out of fighting your pack. I can’t just run away from him.” Her beautiful face crumpled with hurt. Miles rubbed his hand against the back of his neck and tried to think. He knew that they were already wasting precious time. They should be out on the open road putting as many miles between them and his Uncle, as possible. Miles still wasn’t sure he trusted Hank, but he had no choice but to heed the other man’s advice. Especially when it meant that he was now able to be with Brea. But he didn’t want their time together to be short lived. He had to keep her safe.

  “We really need to go,” Miles looked at his bike, yearning to get on it and leave nothing but a trail of dust in its wake.

  “Please,” Brea approached him and reached for his hands, cupping them in her own. “I have to go back for Miles. I have to at least try to reason with him.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work?” Miles countered sharply. “What if we go there white flags waving and he still guns me down.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Brea objected, her voice highly pitched with horror.

  “He’d do far worse than that,” Miles told her flatly. “And the ties we have to our packs, it runs deep, deeper than blood. We pledge our lives to our packs.”

  “So how can you just turn your back on that pledge now?”

  “Because of you,” Miles reached for her delicate face and drew her close to him. She looked so perfect in the fading light. She opened her mouth to speak, but he kissed her deeply, silencing her words. When they parted, her eyes glistened with joy.

  “Don’t you think Sylar will abandon his pack for me too?” she asked softly. Miles wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear, that yes, of course her brother would leave his gang for her. But the truth was that he wouldn’t. He loved Brea but not like Miles did. For Miles Brea was his destiny, his future and for Sylar she was a link to his past, someone he’d forever feel responsible for.

  “I have to ask,” Brea stated contritely, sensing Miles’ misgivings.

  “We don’t have time.”

  “We’ll make time,” Brea was approaching his motorcycle with quick, determined steps. Miles groaned in frustration before jogging after her.

  “This is a bad idea,” he warned as he swung his leg over. Brea climbed on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. It felt good to have her so close. With them both on the bike, it truly felt like them against the world. Miles had to fight the urge to take off in the opposite direction and just burn rubber until the streets around them became blurred and alien.

  “Do this for me, please,” Brea was speaking directly into his ear; her breath feather light and hot.

  “Okay,” Mi
les turned the throttle on his bike and the engine purred to life. “We’ve got one hour. That’s at most.” he told her before roaring off into the night.

  Chapter 87

  Gina had drawn all the drapes in her apartment and sat on her sofa, her legs curled up beneath her as she held a large mug of hot cocoa and watched a marathon of Next Top Model. She had no intention of leaving the safety of her home until the following morning. Over the sound of the television, she strained to hear any sides of chaos drifting in from the outside but so far the evening had been still.

  She was about to fast forward through an ad break when her phone whirred to life on her nearby coffee table. Gina strained forward to glance at the screen. Sylar was calling her. She groaned and considered just letting the call ring out and have her answering machine pick it up. But after the fifth ring, she conceded and grabbed the device, pressing down hand on the green answer button.