Ink (The Haven Series)

by Torrie McLean

  And when that skilled mouth first made its way between her legs, it was all she could do not to arch right off the bed.

  Callie whimpered at the loss when he finally pulled away and then stood up, but she forced her eyes open to watch him undress and admire every inch of toned muscle and tanned skin dark with ink – a helluva lot of which she had put there herself.

  His unzipped jeans were doing little to constrain his rapidly returning erection, even before they hit the floor along with his boxers and t-shirt and he crawled on top to join her again. His lips pressed a tiny kiss just below her stitches as he settled comfortably between her legs, braced on his hands to keep from crushing her. “You okay, doll?” he managed, having evidently forgotten until now about her concussion.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” she gasped, prompting him to simply balance his weight on one hand and use the other to grab one of hers, guiding it down between them until he was burying his face in the crook of her neck as her slim fingers wrapped around his cock and stroked him.

  But, despite their earlier activities, both of them still needed more.

  With Colton pressed thick and hard against her, Callie let her arms wind around his neck, lifting her mouth to meet his as he eased his way back inside her with a groan.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit, Callie,” Colton ground out, setting a slow pace even though it was driving him crazy. “So good, baby ... So damn good ...”

  ***

  It had been afterwards that he’d told her about the Friday night plans, Callie recalled, hoping the heat hadn’t flared in her cheeks at the memory of how he’d felt. Exhausted though they both were, he’d still shifted them easily so she could lay on his chest – his hands trailing up and down the length of her spine, occasionally reaching her ass.

  She’d initially mistaken what he was saying for a request to go ink someone from the club and when he’d clarified that he just wanted her there, she’d teased him about big bad bikers going on dates. In response, Colton had smacked her bare ass hard enough to make her yelp, although his hand did linger there to sooth away the sting.

  Then she’d smiled and kissed his jaw, told him she’d be there and thought nothing more of it. Until Friday rolled around and the strange, unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach had stopped her in her tracks as she pondered what to wear. Her mind flickering, however unwillingly, to her less-than-successful efforts to dress to impress for Michael ...

  It was too late for second thoughts now though. There he was, right across the yard - six feet of lean muscle and inked skin, stood with Sam and a few others waiting for their food, his dark eyes fixed firmly on her. He’d probably spotted her the minute she set foot in the place.

  For a split second, Callie wondered what the proper way to handle things was. Did she go to him? Did she wait for him to come to her? It was gone again in an instant though. She’d never been the type to try second guessing him. She’d always been comfortable in his company – surprising as that might seem, given his role in the club and her periphery knowledge of what that meant – and that wasn’t something she was prepared to lose just because they were ... whatever they were.

  But they were on his turf now and in front of his brothers, she respected that. She’d take her cues from him ...

  Excusing herself from her bubbly new acquaintance, Callie headed towards Colton figuring she’d know what to do when she got there. From the look already in his eyes, somehow she didn’t think there would be a problem.

  “Good to see ya, doll,” Sam grinned, making the first move to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek. “How’s the head?”

  “Bit better, thanks,” she smiled, her gaze already drifting to his brother. “Hi, Colt.”

  “You’re late,” he growled, taking a step towards her. “Problem?”

  “Only trying not to look like I went a coupla rounds with Tyson,” Callie shrugged, feeling the heat of his eyes on her as they raked from the leopard print heels, up her bare legs, over the black strapless mini dress she’d decided on and the ink that served as a flash of colour, before drifting to her temple and the hidden bruise.

  “Looking pretty damn good to me, little girl,” Colton shrugged, shooting her one of those rare grins that somehow seemed less and less rare around her and with that, despite the curious looks of his brothers – Sam’s more knowing than the others – he snaked an arm around her waist and leaned down for a firm kiss that spoke volumes to any onlookers. His way of marking his territory.

  While she had by no means been certain that he would acknowledge the change in their circumstances publically, she supposed he wouldn’t have invited her if he didn’t want her there. After all, he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to indulge in any niceties for the sheer hell of it. So Callie simply smiled against his lips and slid a hand over his t-shirt covered chest and up to his neck, letting his tongue sweep briefly into her mouth to wolf whistles from their audience.

  “And finally, the dancing around is over!” Sam crowed, slapping Colton on the back. “About fucking time, dude.”

  ***

  Blowing a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, the sergeant tapped one booted foot in time to the music as he waited by the pool table for his shot. Sharp blue eyes took in everything around them, relaxed though he was – force of habit, he guessed.

  It was either very late or very early, depending on how you wanted to look at it, and the party had gradually started to drift indoors. The barbecue and the fire pits had been left to burn themselves out, a few revellers still enjoying a smoke in the fresh air while others had found tables inside to sit around and shoot the shit or play cards. Or, like him, they’d decided on a few rounds of pool.

  Their Reno brothers had long since disappeared, each of them having been led off to a dormroom to enjoy the finest hospitality Haven had to offer. A few couples – Jake and his wife among them - were still dancing to the music, albeit with less energy than before, while Colton had taken advantage of commandeering the comfiest couch in the quietest corner of the clubhouse and had pulled his girl onto his lap.

  As far as Sam could tell, they were just talking and stealing the occasional kiss though. At least until Callie pushed herself up and headed across the room, probably going to get them both another drink. The pretty little tattoo artist had a big smile on her face and was just a little unsteady on her feet. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone had been knocking back the booze and more than a few joints had been smoked, so they were all feeling it. What did surprise him though was the girl who greeted Callie warmly, patting her arm and giggling over something as she joined her on the way to the bar.

  Leave it to Ashley to offer friendship to a girl that had actually succeeded where most chicks failed and bagged herself one of the Fallen. Not one of the women present had dared challenge the tattooist over having apparently taken Colton off the market, but there had been a few less-than-welcoming looks in her direction and a few muttered complaints. Not that she seemed to care. But that laidback redhead ...

  She not only knew her place, but she didn’t begrudge others theirs. Just took everything life threw at her in her stride. She was a good girl. Still just a club hangaround, but a good girl all the same.

  Just as he was wondering if stealing her away to his room was a good idea – he’d been hooking up with her more than anyone else lately and the last thing he wanted was to send out some sort of signal – Sam’s ears pricked up at the familiar sound of engines revving out front.

  It was like his mind shifted into overdrive, even as the rest of the world flipped into slow motion. The reality of it all flashing through his brain in an instant.

  They were all accounted for ... Not their bikes ... Visitors ... Unexpected visitors ... A threat ... One-eight-seven ...

  The gunfire that sprayed the clubhouse kicked in before the screams. But only just.

  ***

  CHAPTER 35

  Glass shattered as bullets tore through the clubhouse windows, tables and chairs
crashing to the floor as they were over-turned by bodies trying to dive to safety, screams of terror and howls of pain ripping the night air.

  She was among the first to fall, right in front of his eyes. With no time no register what was going on, one minute she’d turned to laugh with her new friend over her shoulder and the next ... she’d turned back, her gaze meeting his and the smile it drew dying on her lips.

  The night had been about family and friends, pulling those closest to them even closer and just making the most of their company. Unlike some, he was still carrying though. And he knew a few who would be too – Will probably, Colton definitely, the guys who’d been charged with sentry duty at the gates. But there were too many others. Defenceless brothers, innocent women ...

  For him, there was no civilian moment of confusion when the mind had to fight to rationalise the foreign sound of gunshots ringing out. Even without his sergeant’s patch, without all his years as one of the Fallen, he’d been a marine in another time and place.

  Sam recognised what was happening in an instant and reached for his own gun barely a split second after that.

  It was still too late.

  He saw the force hit her, making her stumble backwards in those too-high heels. Her hands flew to her stomach and came away red, confusion rather than fear or even pain on her face. She didn’t understand, didn’t get time to work it out either – not before the second shot, one that caught her in the chest as she dropped heavily to her knees with a strangled cry.

  Those eyes kept him rooted to the spot, even as the light left them. The third of the rapid-fire shots was needless, yet still hit her in the shoulder and sent her backwards. The stricken girl behind her was caught off-guard and knocked to the ground with the body in her arms and a spray of blood across her face.

  The mere seconds it took felt like an eternity.

  “Get down!” he bellowed, forcing himself into action and ignoring his own advice in favour of trying to shoulder his way to a vantage point, in a bid to make himself heard amid the madness. “Get down – get the fuck DOWN!” Spinning on his heel only served to heighten the sense of desperation, with nothing but devastation on all sides.

  And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Leaving him to sink to his knees beside the ashen-faced tattooist, in something dangerously close to defeat. “You can let go, doll,” Sam managed, his voice hoarse. “She’s dead.”

  ***

  Stripping off the t-shirt that had once been white and was now stained with the blood of two of his dead brothers, gunned down as they manned the gates of the compound, Colton could feel every fibre of his being tense and straining against the urge to head out and exact brutal revenge for them. Johnny had a deep bullet graze in one arm and their newest patch Pauley was on the critical list after taking a bullet in the chest trying to protect his old lady.

  It had taken every ounce of Will’s authority to hold back his men, with his sergeant and enforcer intent on leading the charge. They’d seen the truth in their president’s impassioned words in the end though. Justice would be served – and soon at that. Just not now.

  Not when they had to put the pieces of their fractured family back together first. Get help for the wounded, bury their dead. Brains before bullets, if they wanted to ensure no other lives were lost – on their side anyway. And not when he’d found the girl who’d simply gone to get them both a drink, covered in blood and cradling the lifeless form of the chick Sam had developed a soft spot for in her arms.

  The broad didn’t deserve to die and she should have been safe inside their walls, but - to Colton anyway - she was just another nameless hangaround.

  She didn’t matter like Callie did.

  He’d been just in time to hear Sam pronounce the redhead dead and watch as he reached out a hand to gently close those staring eyes. The sergeant’s head bent in a moment’s ... regret? But Colton had quickly turned his own attention to assessing the one girl he’d come to care about, cursing himself for allowing those feelings to take root if this unfamiliar twisting of his gut was what it had cost him.

  While he’d long since reconciled himself to the dangers that came with being one of the Fallen - especially given his particular role - being responsible for someone outside the club, someone like Callie, was a new experience.

  He’d pulled her to her feet though, made sure none of the blood was her own, kept her anchored to his side while they endured the wait for the cops’ inevitable arrival. Not that it took long, given the gunfire. And he’d flat-out refused to let her out of his sight while they were asked the usual predictable questions, waiting only to watch the bodies be taken away and then excusing them both with a curt, quickly understood nod in Will’s direction.

  He knew Callie would want to get cleaned up and, sure enough, she’d headed straight for the shower in the tiny bathroom off his dormroom. But now, seeing her simply stood there under the heat of the spray, head down and hands braced against the wall, Colton knew the girl had to be damn near shell-shocked by what had happened.

  She wasn’t used to this life, she wasn’t like him.

  She’d already been through a hell of a lot, but not even pulling a bullet out of his side or getting her own head split open came close to having someone die in her arms. Someone younger than even her, who’d been laughing one minute and riddled with bullets the next. Someone whose blood was still spattered over her pale face.

  Neither of them spoke.

  He simply got into the shower behind her and moved in close until his much larger body was practically cradling hers, his hands rubbing up and down her arms as he pressed a tiny kiss to the top of her head, letting her lean back against him. He held his fingers under the spray before using them to carefully start wiping away the blood and watched her eyes drift closed, as if to block out the memory of it all.

  He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he could make her any promises. Sure, he could kill any fucker who tried to hurt her - but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t try. That was the kind of life he led.

  One she hadn’t signed up for.

  Just as he was wondering if she was in shock or simply trying to be brave in front of him, a stifled little sob escaped despite Callie’s best efforts and Colton’s response was pure instinct – turning her around and holding her close, his hands buried in her hair, as she finally broke down and cried hot tears into his chest.

  ***

  Sinking down heavily on the edge of his unmade bed with his head in his hands, Sam raked his fingers through the messy spikes of his hair before casting a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. Its little red numbers flashed 03:26 and he heaved a sigh.

  Four years to make it in Hollywood ...

  What had once been nothing but a pipe-dream was no longer even that, he thought as he fished in his cut for his smokes and then patted down his jeans in the usual hunt for a lighter. But a glimmer of pink among the rumpled sheets caught his gaze and he reached instead to investigate, his hand closing around a lighter that could only belong to one person.

  The sergeant sparked it and stared into the tiny flickering flame, finally releasing his thumb and letting it extinguish after a long moment. There one second, gone the next.

  “Dammit, Ashley ...” he muttered, quickly lighting the cigarette dangling from his lips and then tucking the lighter safely into an inner pocket of his cut. A long drag gave him the nicotine hit he needed, but no other comfort.

  Barely twenty-six and that was the only proof she’d ever graced their clubhouse – unless you counted the bloodstains on the floor out by the bar, and the prospects would soon get to work on getting rid of those. Give it a couple of weeks and he’d probably be the only one to remember her name.

  “We’ll get the bastards, darlin’ ...” he vowed, exhaling a long stream of smoke. His jaw clenched as the fingers of his free hand curled into a tense fist. “Every last fucking one.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 36

  Emerging fro
m the clubhouse into the cool morning air, Callie squinted against the light at first and ran a hand through her sleep-tangled hair. She’d slipped out of bed after just a few hours respite from racing thoughts of how the night had escalated into the worst kind of violence. Her head was still fuzzy from lack of sleep and she hoped being outside might help. It seemed she wasn’t the only one to think so.

  She thought twice about joining him, not wanting to impose. But something in the dejected slump of his broad shoulders sent her crossing the yard anyway, knowing the worst she could expect was to be sent packing.

  “Hey,” she tried, just a little hesitant in her approach. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Free country, doll,” Sam said with a shrug, taking another drag of his cigarette.

  Perched on the edge of the bench beside the grim-faced sergeant, Callie snuck little glances at him out of the corner of her eye and inwardly sighed. His eyes were dull with dark circles below them, heavy stubble shading his jaw and his hair raked into messy spikes by his fingers. He smelt like he’d crawled inside a whiskey bottle and looked like he hadn’t even tried to sleep. Not that she could blame him for that.

  “I’d ask how you’re doing, but it seems like one of those stupid questions ...”

  “I’ll deal. We always fucking deal.”

  “Right,” she said wryly, shooting a pointed look at his bruised and bloody knuckles and making him flex his fingers under the scrutiny with a humourless grin.

  “You got your ways of dealin’, sugar, and I got mine. Punchbag,” he added, by way of an explanation. “And maybe a wall.”

  “Sam ...” Callie started, unsure as to whether she should even say anything. She knew it wasn’t her place. But she also knew what it was like to deal with shit on your own. And to have feelings you knew you probably shouldn’t. “Don’t feel like you’re not allowed to care about shit just because you don’t have a label for it. Ashley--”

  “Ashley ain’t mine to worry about,” he said. He’d cut her off bluntly, but judging by the way he diverted his gaze, he seemed to know that he wasn’t fooling anyone with the hard, detached riff.