Ink (The Haven Series)

by Torrie McLean

  “Yeah, well, bitch was getting clingy,” Sam shrugged. “Gotta nip that in the bud real quick, man. Else they start getting all up in your shit all the time. She’s good – she ain’t that good.”

  Turning his attention to the call with a shake of his head, Colton answered with his usual “S’up?” Passing a hand over the scruff of stubble on his head as he listened, a frown crossed his face. “Nah – why would I?” he asked, ignoring Sam’s charade-like attempts to find out what was going on. “And you had to call me ... All right, I’ll check it out. Fuck, man, I said I would, didn’t I? Later.”

  “Problem?” Sam raised an eyebrow, seeing the look that had crossed his friend’s face.

  “Callie ain’t turned up for work. Sketch ain’t seen or heard from her since Friday night.”

  “And he thought she might be with you,” came the infuriating nod. “Funny that ...”

  ***

  Eying the cluster of twenty-somethings giggling like schoolgirls in the corner, Sketch turned to glower less than subtly in the direction of Callie’s empty work station. He was gonna have a helluva hard time not stringing that little brat up when he got his hands on her. Friend or not, she’d completely dropped him in the shit and not even that innocent-eyed act of hers was going to save her ass this time.

  “Ladies,” he said, forcing the lingering hangover from the night before to the back of his mind and plastering an enthusiastic smile on his face as he threw his arms open in welcome. “What can I do for your fine selves?”

  “Well, we were kinda thinking ...”

  Sketch doubted that, but let it fly as he waited patiently for the rambling brunette, fidgety with nerves, to get to the point. But apparently one of her partners-in-crime also felt time was a wasting.

  “We totally want tattoos,” the redhead blurted out, practically bouncing in her cork wedges. “We all went to school together, now we just got a place together and we thought it would be fun. And totally cute, you know?”

  Totally. Sketch just about managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “So all of you want a tattoo?” he asked, getting nods of varying degrees of agreement from the four BFFs. “And d’ya got any design ideas?”

  Cue Red launching into some tangled tale of playing dress-up, high school nicknames and pixies, amid more headache-inducing giggles and hair tossing worthy of a shampoo commercial. Pixies. Fuck that shit.

  Excusing himself and leaving them to discuss with each other the finer details of what to get tattooed where, Sketch first turned up the radio in the hope of drowning out the chatter and then whipped out his cell phone to make yet another call.

  “Callie, I swear to Christ if you don’t get down here pronto ...” he hissed darkly, looking around for suitable inspiration to finish his threat effectively. “I’ll ... I’ll ... I’ll tattoo a pixie on your fucking ass – and don’t you go thinking I won’t!”

  Hanging up as the chimes on the door jangled again, he heaved a what-fresh-hell type groan and threw his phone down at his work station to go greet the newcomers. “Halle-fuckin-lujah!” he exclaimed. “Did you find her?”

  “Ain’t been looking,” Colton shrugged, as Sam - his eyes lighting up – started introducing himself to the admittedly pretty enough girls who’d practically swooned on the spot at the sight of two denim-and-leather clad bikers. “Thought we’d swing by, see what the hell the fuss was about.”

  “The fuss? I’ll tell you what the fucking fuss is!” Sketch ranted, evidently insulted by the suggestion he was overreacting. “I’ve been abandoned and, unlike you two swanning around as you please, some of us got a business to run – and I don’t mean into the goddamn ground!”

  Looking up from where Red was trailing her fingertips over the ink on the bicep he just happened to be flexing at the time, Sam shot the irate studio owner a bemused grin. “Hey, we’re damn lucky to be swanning anywhere, in case you forgot. And seriously, dude, you need to chill out. What happened to all your usual zen go-with-the-flow shit?”

  “Ask Callie!” Sketch snapped, before all the fight drained out of him and he waved Colton towards the back office, leaving Sam more than willing to entertain his customers in the meantime.

  Slumping down at his desk, he watched as the dark-eyed biker simply cocked a shoulder against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. Waiting for an explanation. “It’s just been a rough morning, man. Barbie and her buddies out there aren’t exactly high on my hangover cure list. But seriously, I’m ... I’m kinda worried, Colt. This ain’t like Callie.”

  “Ain’t that all the more reason to cut her some slack?” Colton frowned, still not getting the need for the dramatics. “She’s late one morning and you’re acting like she’s skipped the damn country with the safe.”

  “We’re way past the oh-I-slept-in kinda late for a start,” Sketch insisted. “It’s past lunchtime and she shoulda been here to open up first thing. And whatever’s going on, I still don’t get why she wouldn’t just call. Girl knows I can’t say no to her – I’d give her as many days off as she wanted! But I’ve tried ringing and ringing and I ain’t heard a peep ...”

  “So why call me?”

  “Really? You’re gonna make me spell it out? Dude, I saw you. Friday night?” Sketch laughed wryly at the blank look he was getting and shook his head. “No way, bro, I know there ain’t nothin’ wrong with my eyes – you had your tongue so far down her fuckin’ throat, I thought we were gonna have to surgically separate ya!”

  The blank look turned to a glare, as close as he was going to get to an admission of guilt. “And what? You think I got her stashed away, tied to a bed somewhere?” Colton demanded, trying to ignore the fact that was a damn tempting prospect.

  “Nooo ...” Sketch said, the suggestion – however sarcastic – bringing a hint of uncertainty suddenly creeping into his voice for the briefest of seconds. And it disappeared just as quick when the glare hardened. “Nah, man, that’d be crazy. Look, Colt ...”

  “What, Sketch?” The rough voice dropped dangerously low. Making it clear, even to his near life-long friend, that he was already on shaky ground here.

  “I know I ain’t patched, man, but we’re still brothers – I trust ya and you know I always got your back,” came the attempt at an explanation. “But that kid’s like my baby sister and she ain’t got no one else to step up for her. She just ... she ain’t some club skank, Colton.”

  “Never said she was.”

  “I just think maybe she’s ... having a hard time. Working things out. In her head.”

  “Sketch, for someone worried about spelling things out, you sure talk a lot of shit. What are you trying to say here, man? ‘Cause I’m starting to feel like maybe I’m getting accused of something,” Colton growled, beyond exasperated by this circling and stalking forward to lean his hands on the table.

  “I’m just saying ... I know you two got this vibe going. I knew long before I even caught your little show at the clubhouse,” Sketch smirked in spite of himself. “But you need to know Callie ain’t as tough as she lets on. Not by half ...”

  FLASHBACK

  He’d gotten in the car the minute he’d ended the call, but his studio’s front door was already boarded up by the time he screeched to a halt in front of it. A vaguely familiar prospect was inspecting his handiwork under the glow of the streetlights.

  “Goddammit,” Sketch muttered, surveying the damage. He didn’t even want to think about the state of inside. But all that paled into insignificance when he spotted the bullet holes and thought about how shit could have gone down. “Yo, Reef! It is Reef, ain’t it? Where’s everyone else at? Got a call to say the cavalry was patching things up.”

  “I’m it,” the prospect nodded, looking almost as glum as the trashed studio’s owner at having been left out of the action. “Will took a few guys to send a message, if ya get my meaning. Rest of ‘em went back to the clubhouse.”

  “What about Callie? Chick who works here – little blonde?” Sketch demanded.
“She was still here when I left. I’m hoping she missed the action ...”

  “Nah, man, I know the one,” Reef confirmed, blue eyes wide as he shook his head almost disbelievingly. “Bitch got balls ...”

  “What? Why d’ya say that?”

  “Way I heard it, she was there when Colt turned up with the bangers on his tail. They were both inside when those bastards started smashing the place up. Had to jump off the fucking roof to get away. Can ya believe it? The roof! Then when Colt got shot--”

  “Hold the fucking phone! When Colt got what?” Sketch demanded, panic lining his face as he raked a hand through his short dark dreads. “He all right?”

  “Took a bullet in the side,” Reef said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. “But get this – Dozer reckons Blondie only stepped up at the clubhouse and pulled the thing out! Probably saved Colton’s life ... Hey, where ya goin’?”

  “Clubhouse!” Sketch hollered over his shoulder, taking off at a jog back to his car. His mind racing every bit as much as the engine until he pulled up in the yard in a hail of gravel.

  Bursting into the building was only an option because they’d recognised him on the CCTV, had in fact been expecting him and were ready for his demands. The tattooist both wanted to know more about what the hell had happened and was too worried about his youngest colleague to wait for answers.

  “Where are they?” he demanded, already striding past the bar.

  “Colt’s room,” Jake called after him, even though he was already rounding the corner and heading out of sight. “I’d knock first if I was you!”

  Storming down the dimly lit corridor, Sketch’s fists were clenched and he was muttering to himself as the shock wore off and anger set in. Knowing his friends were both still alive had allowed things to twist around until he was ready to kill them both himself for giving him a damn good shove in the direction of a heart attack.

  “What the hell was he thinking?” he demanded under his breath. “Leading a shit-storm straight to my door. Bastard coulda got them both killed ... I’m gonna wring his flaming neck ...”

  Neither having heard nor particularly paid attention to Jake, knocking never crossed his mind and he simply ploughed straight ahead when he reached Colton’s door.

  “Listen to me, ain’t nothin’ brave about not being scared. What you did tonight - jumping off that ladder, pulling that bullet out? Bravest fucking thing I’ve seen, little girl ...” the biker was saying gruffly, the words not nearly registering as much in Sketch’s mind as the gesture.

  Colton stilling Callie’s fingers with his own as she gently brushed over what could only be his patched up bullet wound, with an unfamiliar look in his dark eyes – one that disappeared without trace when the moment was shattered by the door crashing back against the wall …

  ***

  “Saving your ass once don’t make her part of your world, Colton,” Sketch sighed, finally getting down to it and not meeting that stare in front of him. His own brown eyes drifted to the little pile of yellow post-its – a reminder of the last number he’d had to scrawl down.

  The words had obviously hit home though.

  “You think I ain’t thought of that?” Colton demanded roughly. But he’d never been one to share his feelings and he wasn’t about to start now. No matter how unexpectedly insightful his old friend might prove to be. “Look, man ... Friday night was what it was. Cops called time on whatever it mighta been and I ain’t seen your girl since. Thought I might have, but I ain’t. Okay?”

  “So you two didn’t ...?”

  “Got Will to give her the key to my room and I know she used it, but she was gone when I got back,” he shrugged. “Girl’s smart. Maybe she got me all figured out and don’t need you playin’ daddy after all.”

  Sketch frowned at the tone, picking up on the tiniest shred of resentment and fixing Colton with a long stare. It made the biker wonder once again just what was behind all this. Sketch was many things – prone to sticking his nose in other people’s business was not usually one of them.

  “Callie’s real smart all right,” Sketch nodded finally, what he was about to do weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Book smart, street smart, you name it ... But when it comes to being smart about putting herself first and figuring out what she needs – seems she’s dumb as Sam’s new friends out there. You can’t see it, Colt, but trust me, you got her head in knots.”

  Colton considered that for a long moment and silently decided it was both possible and maybe only fair, since she seemed to have done the same damn thing to him. But apparently there was more.

  “And you know why?” Sketch demanded, taking a deep breath before the final plunge. “Because your brave little girl? She’s been seeing someone else and she’s shit scared – ‘cause all of a sudden, don’t look like he’s measuring up.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 16

  Elbow on the desk, head propped up in his hand, Will’s bored appearance belied the hard look in his eyes as he watched the club’s legal expert slump in his chair. Michael loosened his tie as he swigged from a mug of coffee with an added kick.

  Something had the usually in control lawyer distracted and that didn’t sit well with the MC president at all. Not when it was his club’s money footing the bill. Not when his men were depending on this suit to see them clear of another shit-storm.

  And he’d let it go for long enough, his patience wearing thin. “Something on your mind, Mikey?”

  For once, Michael seemed reluctant to engage. Setting his mug down, he leaned forward to pluck a framed photo from the corner of the desk and took in the dark-haired young woman and her shrewd smile, but with a preoccupied indifference.

  “Someone special?” came the eventual casual question. “Didn’t think you had a wife. Sorry - old lady ...”

  “Looks like you ain’t thinking much at all,” Will said coolly, reaching for the picture and firmly replacing it in its exact spot with a glare that ruled out further comment on the subject. “Least not about anything I give two shits for your opinion on.”

  Heaving a sigh, Michael raked a hand through his sleek dark hair and sat back to regard his client. He looked like the only thing he was thinking about right now was spilling his guts – and Will didn’t need that kind of over-sharing in his life.

  “You guys have the right idea,” the lawyer said suddenly, more to himself than anyone else. “Different chick every night if you want, no one to answer to. You’re the ones calling the shots. In more ways than one.”

  “You see a couch in here, Mikey?” Will asked, steepling his fingers together thoughtfully and drawing a confused frown from the other side of the table. “No. You know why that is? ‘Cause I ain’t your goddamn counsellor. And since I’m paying you, not the other way round, I need your head out of your ass and focused on my problems. Not pussy or ... or golf handicaps, or whatever shit it is you lawyer types stress over. Capiche?”

  Michael gawped at him for a long moment and then forced a laugh and rubbed a hand over his face. “Aw shit, man, I’m sorry. You know how it is - women thinking they can walk all over you, but you should be tiptoeing round them ...”

  Will didn’t. He’d never been walked over in his life, least of all by a woman. And biker boots weren’t made for tiptoeing anywhere.

  “... but I’m good, buddy – head’s in the game. Hundred percent. Now, let’s talk business.”

  ***

  Staring blindly into the mirror, it wasn’t hard to remember the last time she’d felt so small.

  But it had been twelve long years ago and she’d been a different person back then. One with a scared little girl hidden inside a front with a determined streak a mile wide. One who’d swore the first time would be the last time.

  She’d been taking care of herself ever since, but lately she knew she’d been letting that independent little girl down.

  “Not anymore,” she whispered, as the gray eyes looking back at her blinked back tears.

&
nbsp; The soft cream lace of her floaty dress fell to just mid-thigh and long bell sleeves grazed the backs of her hands, creating the picture of elegance. Her long blonde hair was half twisted up, half falling in gently curled tendrils over her shoulders and down her back to add to the effect, while the matte black platform heels and smoky eyes toughened it up.

  It was just a shame the mascara streaks on her cheeks completely ruined it all.

  ***

  “ ... so they’re yanking our chains. Huh, Mikey? Yo, Michael - snap the fuck outta it!” Will demanded, his exasperation now complete. “Jesus Christ, man. Drink the damn coffee and quit staring at it like you wanna drown in it.”

  “I was just thinking,” came the defence, unconvincing as it was. “About the case.”

  “You know something? For a lawyer, you’re a piss-poor liar,” the disgruntled president noted.

  “Well, this would all go a helluva lot easier if we had any proper kinda disclosure going here – I’m starting to feel like maybe you don’t trust me, Will.”

  “I don’t. And you got any idea what it takes to get your proper disclosure round here? We got chicks sucking dick who don’t got it, buddy-boy. You really wanna get that close?”

  Michael rolled his eyes at that, fighting the urge to drop his head on the table in defeat. Sometimes he had to wonder why the hell he bothered tying himself up in knots like this, but somehow he always remembered how he liked a challenge. And not just when it came to work ... Thought he did anyway.

  “I’m just trying to understand how we got to this point, man,” he said, his tone strained but reasonable and the words ringing true of both the case and his own increasingly complicated personal life. “Look, in theory I don’t gotta prove jack – burden of proof’s on them. But they seem mighty convinced they got the evidence stacked up, complete with a witness, so either I go ahead and just call their bluff or ...”

  “Or?” Will prompted.

  “Or I gotta start untangling this whole thread. Are you saying there’s a reason I shouldn’t call the feds’ bluff?”