Ink (The Haven Series)

by Torrie McLean

  “That jumped-up prick don’t know shit about you,” Colton said firmly. “And he don’t matter to me. You do.”

  “If it helps, Larry didn’t get to ... you know. I stabbed him in the side with a penknife,” Callie confessed, her head tucked underneath his chin as she cuddled up to him. “It was only a little thing, but I left him howling on the bed with the blade stuck in him and I got the hell out. Ran all the way to Casey’s place ...”

  Colton pressed a kiss into her hair as he held her close. He only wished it had been the fucker’s throat, but oh yeah, still proud as hell. “Good girl.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 45

  She was fast becoming an addiction, he knew that. More so than even the ink that lay beneath his skin. The thought of having to give her up ... He didn’t know what he disliked more – that thought itself or the power it had to set him on edge.

  If he could believe, or even suspect for a second, that she was a threat to his club, then it wouldn’t even be an issue. He wouldn’t stomach that kind of betrayal from anyone. Not even a beautiful little bitch who brought something to his life he hadn’t even really realised was missing. A warmth that allowed him to be who he had to be without giving himself over to it, without losing himself to the darkness.

  If anything, she made him more dangerous. He knew now that he could be the enforcer his brothers needed without becoming the man his ma never wanted him to be. Cold, callous, alone.

  Without her, that had been by no means certain.

  But if his president couldn’t trust the girl ... Colton didn’t know where that left them. He didn’t like thinking that the trust he’d earned from Will wasn’t a two-way thing. That he’d have to watch his back and Callie’s too. The club was family; Will was his brother.

  But that only meant he knew better than most what the older man was capable of. And if he could give the order against his own flesh and blood ...

  “That table insult your mom or something?”

  Looking up at Sam’s voice, Colton realised he’d unconsciously been twisting the tip of his knife deeper and deeper into the wood and threw the weapon down with an exasperated growl. “I don’t do this bullshit!”

  The sergeant spun the chair opposite around and straddled it, before raising an expectant eyebrow. “Being with Callie?”

  For a long moment, Colton just looked at him. He didn’t do this either, talking shit out. But if there was one person in the world who would get this, who would know where he was coming from, it was Sam. “Second-guessing everything over a bitch,” he ground out eventually. “Everyone.”

  “Or more specifically, Will,” Sam sighed, his voice low enough not to carry. It wasn’t a guess. "You think his loyalty to you ain’t gonna be enough to stop him hurting her.”

  Colton shrugged, though he knew the expression he couldn’t keep from his face was bound to give him away. He was anything but nonchalant when it came to this. “Dunno what to think. Shit, man, if she deserved it, I wouldn’t defend her. But ... You said it yourself, she ain’t Taylor.”

  Wiping his hands over his face, Sam shook his head almost wearily. “Fuck. Colt, I wanna say that he gets it. That he’ll come round, but ... we both know he’s changed a helluva lot since then.”

  “I was the one to get in the way last time,” Colton said bluntly. “You think that’s what this is really about? Maybe it’s been brewing ever since.”

  Reluctant though he seemed, Sam nodded slowly. “The thought had crossed my mind ...”

  FLASHBACK

  Her fate apparently sealed, Taylor’s terrified brown eyes stared up at him as the blade pressed down over her heart. She was trembling, her breathing hitching in her chest, but she’d given up on pleas or tears knowing they held no sway with any of them.

  One by one, the circle of bikers had slowly turned their backs. None of them needed to see the job done and it was a sign both of trust in their sergeant to do what was needed and that they would make no move to intervene.

  It was like it was just the two of them in the deepening darkness, trapped in a perverse kind of intimacy.

  At the sound of a cell phone ringing, his hand almost slipped and a curse was torn from his throat – one much more venomous than Johnny’s quiet, but irritated shit. What the fuck was happening? If they wanted this done, he needed it over ...

  “Wait!”

  Turning on the vice-president, Sam felt like he was the one being tortured. “Jesus fucking Christ, what is this shit?” he roared. “It ain’t the time!”

  “Colt’s back on the grid. His cell was down,” Johnny explained hastily. “I’ve got his proxy.”

  “Vote’s done,” Will shrugged from the sidelines. “Don’t matter.”

  Sam figured he was right. The club’s usual executioner wouldn’t shy from bloodshed, regardless of its source.

  “We gotta let him have his say,” Jake argued, having stepped forward to listen. “Every patch gets a vote. That’s how we do this shit. You saw the numbers – if he’s a nay ...”

  “He ain’t gonna be a nay,” Will barked. “And even if he is, that leaves us square and my vote carries more weight to break the deadlock.”

  “Wait, what? That ain’t how it works--”

  Sam’s fist clenched around his knife and he fought to stay calm, relatively speaking at least. “Tell us what the fuck Colt’s vote is, Johnny?”

  And with an unsure glance towards the president, Johnny shook his head. “He’s a nay.”

  No one had seen it coming, but when he really thought about it, it actually made sense to Sam. He knew Colton never allowed himself to be swayed by anything or anyone. No one was bigger than the club, not even its president. And allowing Will to be the one behind his own daughter’s execution would have pulled the whole MC down into the abyss that would have waited for him.

  Those who didn’t know him thought killing came easy to Colton. The few who knew him best knew the truth – that no one understood the enormity of taking a life like he did.

  Still, uproar followed.

  ***

  “Sitting here ain’t gonna fix shit,” Colton said finally. “No point worrying about what ifs, right?”

  “Right,” Sam smiled, realising his brother had inadvertently admitted he was actually worried about the girl – however cool he might try to play it. “Gotta live for the moment, dude. The hell you doin’ here with me when you got a hot blonde more to your taste waiting for your sorry ass--”

  “You heading out?”

  Both Sam and Colton looked round at the interruption – the latter pausing in the act of pulling on his cut, but only for a second. It was obvious that he was, so a simple yeah probably wasn’t going to cut it. “Gonna spin by Sketch,” Colton said, shrugging his leather into place.

  “Ink or pussy?” Will asked dryly, cocking a shoulder against the wall and flooding his arms across his broad chest. “Although, gotta be damn near closing time, so I’m guessing it ain’t the first ...”

  That flat black stare never flinched as the enforcer regarded his president coolly from the other side of the clubhouse. “Thought I’d pick Callie up, take her for dinner.”

  “And dessert?”

  “Didn’t realise my sex life was on the disclosure list.”

  “Just taking a friendly interest, brother,” Will said, hands raised in an appeasing gesture. “That a problem?”

  “You tell me.”

  ***

  Humming along to the radio as she worked, Callie had caught herself smiling for no reason more than a few times throughout her shift and she knew that Sketch – and even the customers – hadn’t been oblivious to her good mood. Not that she minded.

  Waking up that morning, tucked in to Colton’s side, had been something of a revelation. With the biker still sleeping, it had been a rare opportunity to see him at his least guarded and she’d found herself more than content to just lay there and watch him.

  Propped on one elbow and with her other hand resti
ng on his stomach, she’d slowly slid her fingers upwards over his warm, tan skin until she could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath the rise and fall of his chest. And even in his sleep, he’d muttered something inaudible and tightened the protective arm he had curled around her.

  Just the simple, unconscious gesture had flooded her with warmth and it was like the soft early light had cast its glow on everything she’d already suspected ...

  “Jeez, girl, you ever coming down off that cloud?” Sketch pretended to grumble, pausing to lean on the broom he’d been using on the floor as closing time approached and he clocked the look on her face.

  “Would you rather I was miserable?” she shot back, arching an eyebrow on being pulled from her daydream. But letting her pencil drop onto her pad, she stretched her arms out above her head with a little sigh and then reached towards him with one hand. “Here, let me finish up. You get outta here.”

  “You sure? You ain’t got Colt tied to a bed somewhere waiting for your ass?”

  “Ha, cute - but no. And besides, between injuries and angst, I reckon I’ve been imposing on your good nature lately when it comes to time served. I owe you.”

  The pseudo-scowl softened into a fond smile and Sketch shook his head as he surveyed the quiet studio – just one Latino guy still perusing the scrapbooks they kept, looking for inspiration apparently. “Nah, babe, you don’t. But I will let you close up if you’re gonna twist my arm.”

  “Consider it twisted,” Callie nodded, getting up to take the broom from him and wrapping her free arm round his neck. “You know I love you, right?”

  “You getting soppy on me, kid?” he grinned, but the warmth of his hug and the kiss he pressed to her cheek said everything he didn’t. And she was used to reading between the lines.

  That was how she knew there was something else on his mind.

  “If he gives you any trouble, just kick him out,” Sketch murmured on his way out the door, with a discrete jerk of his head in the direction of their final indecisive customer of the day. “Starting to think he’s just killing time ...”

  “Go on, get outta here,” Callie smiled. “I can handle one guy who can’t make up his mind. See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Sketch echoed, casting a last dubious look at Mr Time Waster. And then, with a shrug and tugging his beanie hat down over his ears, he was disappearing out the door to the soft tinkling of the chimes.

  ***

  CHAPTER 46

  With a wry smile tugging at her lips, Callie realised she hadn’t actually made as much as a doodle in her sketchpad in at least twenty minutes. Instead, she’d been simply gazing into space and drumming the eraser top of her freshly sharpened pencil against the table as she let her mind drift. Not exactly productive stuff.

  And too much thinking could be a bad thing, she knew that from experience.

  Any kind of connection to the Fallen tended to negate leaning towards positivity, she knew that too. Shit followed them around – that was the life. And yet, when you were used to teetering on the dangerous edge of society’s rules like they were, you learned to adopt a kind of fuck it attitude. Maybe that was starting to rub off on her.

  Because Callie had finally decided to allow herself the happiness that came with knowing that, whatever kind of connection she had inadvertently cultivated with Colton, it was – at the very least – real and, perhaps more importantly, reciprocated. There were no convenient labels for what was going on between them, but that was okay too. Neither of them needed that.

  Whatever they were, for however long it was meant to last, she would embrace it.

  That didn’t mean that the thought of being a source of conflict within the club wouldn’t sit heavily on her mind, if she let it. But as long as Colton knew she wasn’t out to rock the boat ... Well, that would have to be enough for now. It wasn’t within her power to change anyone else’s opinion of her and anyway, that was only something she was concerned with in so far as it threatened to blow back on the one man whose opinion did matter.

  Besides, it wasn’t like over-thinking was really getting her anywhere ...

  Mentally giving herself a little shake, she dropped her pencil and headed for the still dawdling customer she’d been all but ignoring, finally offering him a bright smile.

  “Can I maybe help at all?” she offered, eyeing him as he just kept flipping through page after page of sketches and photos. Something about him - the air of near desperation as he kept looking - was quickly unsettling. “If you don’t see what you’re after, almost all our stuff is custom designed …”

  “You do that? Or do you just ... I dunno, run the place?”

  “I’m one of the resident tattooists,” Callie said. “I’m--”

  “It has to be right,” the man continued, almost like she hadn’t spoken. His tone was sharp, too sharp. “If it’s ... If it’s all I can do, it’s gotta be exactly right.”

  Taking in the shake of his hands, the pain etched on his haggard face, the pieces slowly started to slip into place and Callie wondered how she hadn’t noticed sooner, kicking herself for being so wrapped up in her own world. She’d seen it before. Someone struggling to cope with a loss running to an ink joint while the pain was still raw, feeling like they needed that reminder. As if they were terrified they’d start to forget, even when they hadn’t yet had a second’s respite from the crushing grief.

  She didn’t know who, but she didn’t have to – the feelings were the same. And she understood the pressure of trying to find that perfect tribute, when every inch of you must wish you didn’t have to be making a decision like that in the first place.

  Gently, Callie took the scrapbook from his hands and set it aside with a shake of her head. “Your tatt isn’t in here,” she said softly when he moved to protest, tapping a gentle finger on his chest. “It’s in there and we just have to find it, that’s all.”

  For a long moment, he just stood in front of her with his head bowed and obviously struggling to get a hold on his emotions. She didn’t push him, just waited.

  “You ... You must be wanting to close up,” he said finally, not looking at her.

  “Nah,” she said, managing a little smile. “I owe the boss some over-time. Come on, grab a seat and I’ll make coffee. Tea, if you prefer.”

  “I ... Thank you,” he mumbled. “It’s for my ... my son ...”

  Something twisted in Callie’s stomach. The guy himself couldn’t have been much older than her and the realisation of just what he must have lost pained her. Not that any loss was easy, but still ...

  “Okay,” she said simply. “We’ll get it right.”

  ***

  Get it right. Don’t fuck this up.

  His boss’s last words to him echoed in his head as he’d headed to the ink joint where the girl worked. His orders were very explicit. Put the fear of God in the little blonde gash. Hurt her if that’s what it takes, but keep the bloodshed to a minimum. For now at least.

  They still weren’t certain of the depth of the connection between her and the Fallen's hitman, but sending a message was one thing. They didn’t want to risk finding out the hard way what he might do if they killed the bitch. Not yet.

  But he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The girl was, at the very least, used to the company of known killers. Ruthless ones at that. He couldn’t imagine she scared too easy.

  Let her know you fucking mean it.

  That was all well and good for his boss to say, when he wasn’t the one putting himself on the line. But he wouldn’t fuck up. That would be more than his life was worth. So he’d ditched his gun and traded it for a lethal Bowie knife. Surely even the toughest of bitches would crumble with that razor-sharp blade pressed to their throat. As he pulled a ski mask from the back pocket of his jeans, he sure hoped it would be more than enough.

  Because that was all the leverage he had.

  ***

  “He’s just giving you shit ‘cause he ain’t keen on being seen to back down.
You know this, bro,” Sam insisted, steering a grim-faced Colton across the SAMTAC yard towards his bike. “Get outta here, clear your head if you have to, then go be with Callie. Life’s too fucking short for this unnecessary bullshit.”

  “You pulling rank – giving me orders, man?”

  “If it gets your ass gone without starting shit you’ll regret, then hell yeah,” the blonde sergeant nodded. “Just give Will a wide berth for a while. Let him cool down and this’ll all be forgotten. He’s still the top dog and you know I ain’t gonna disrespect that, but I got your back, Colt. You better know that too.”

  And because he did know, Colton pulled him into a brief brotherly hug, slapped him on the back and got on his bike. Talk was cheap and Sam was right – it was fucking pointless when Will really got an idea in his head. So, roaring his Harley to life, he decided he was actually going to do the smart thing.

  Yeah, he’d skip the inevitable row that would probably end in the fucking ring, given the mood the president had been stewing in lately, and head straight to the studio to damn well get his girl. Maybe even see how she felt about some more ink …

  ***

  Left to take in the fresh ink etched over his heart, in a considerate move by the young tattooist who had seemed to understand his reluctance to break down in front of anyone, Dante Zavala took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the recliner before finally summoning the strength to take a proper look.

  And even through the tears that burned fiercely, he could see the girl had done a good job. Better than good.

  The large hand reaching down to hold a tiny one was better than anything he could have come up with, even if he’d had all the time in the world. But she’d just let him talk, faltering at first and then the whole story coming tumbling out, listening intently despite the pencil moving lightly across a sketch pad. And when there was nothing more to say, there it was. Her idea, somehow inspired by his words and brought to life by her hand. He hadn’t even considered the process, just the end result, and yet he knew now that it had helped. Just talking to someone he didn’t have to be strong for. To a stranger.