Mason: Inked Reapers MC

by West, Heather

  “He needs to be gone,” Smith noted wisely. “I heard there was trouble in Colridge last night. Were you any part of it?”

  Smith looked hurt as he asked the question. If there had been any trouble involving Sylar, he’d have wanted to have been a part of it.

  “No,” Sylar clarified. “What happened?”

  “Some dive bar got turned over,” Smith drained the last of the beer from the bottle he was holding and wiped his mouth. “No big deal, except Colridge is our territory. If anyone is starting shit there, it should be us.”

  “Then who was it?” Sylar feared that he already knew the answer.

  “Who do you think?” Smith scoffed. “Your sister’s boy toy, that’s who. Him and some of his cronies. They’re making a move, Sylar. They’re taunting us.”

  “Dammit,” Sylar gripped the bar so tight that his knuckles blanched of color. “We need to stop them.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Smith was unusually calm about it all. Normally he’d be filled with rage and eager to break some bones.

  “I’m surprised you’re not already over there with a crowbar,” Sylar noted.

  “Ha,” Smith grinned widely, appreciating the comment. “I wish I was, truly. But I’m holding back. We all are,” he leaned back in his chair to glance around the quiet bar. A few rugged men remained in their chairs from the night before, their eyes glazed over.

  “But the Blood Pact aren’t about to go charging in when your sister might get caught up in it all.”

  Sylar swallowed nervously. “Does everyone know?”

  He felt shamed by his lack of action. And now the entire pack knew that his little sister was sleeping with the enemy. He was lucky that he hadn’t received a beating for her treachery.

  “I talked,” Smith explained without a hint of regret. “Last night, when word reached us about that bar being turned over everyone here was ready to leave and reclaim our territory. I had to hold them off and the only way I could do that was to tell them the truth.”

  “Shit,” Sylar released an exasperated sigh. His name was now surely mud among the pack. Tears of frustration burned behind his eyes. Why hadn’t he been more strict with Brea? He should never have let her go and work in Colridge. This was all his fault.

  “Relax,” Smith reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Everyone was cool about it. They understood. Bitches be so headstrong these days, it’s hard to keep them on any kind of leash.”

  Sylar smiled thinly, not relishing having his sister referred to as a bitch. She was a fool, yes, but no more foolish than any other young person in love. She’d just fallen for the wrong guy, it was an easy mistake to make.

  “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get her out of there,” Smith raised a fresh bottle of beer to his lips. “Or so I reckon.”

  “Twenty-four hours?” Sylar repeated, feeling panic rise in his chest. He’d only just been to Colridge. He couldn’t very well go back. And how was he expected to get Brea out of there? He knew she wouldn’t listen to reason, he couldn’t very well drag her home kicking and screaming. Could he?

  “Yep,” Smith nodded. “Tonight when the bar is buzzing again the pack is going to be like a bunch of mad dogs. Put a couple of drinks in them and they’ll be baying for blood and payback. I suggest you remove your sister from Colridge as fast as you can unless you want her getting caught up in it all.”

  “No,” Sylar’s chest felt tight. “I don’t want that at all. I’ve never wanted her caught up in any of this.”

  “Secrets have a way of getting found out,” Smith mused. “You can try as much as you want to keep them hidden but eventually they come bubbling up to the surface.”

  “She won’t leave willingly.” Sylar could already imagine the conversation with his sister, how she’d stubbornly defy him, calling Colridge her home.

  “Tell her the truth, tell her she’s in danger,” Smith suggested logically.

  “I can’t.”

  “Because then she’d know the truth about you?” Smith arched an eyebrow.

  “Exactly.”

  “Better she hears the truth from you then her thug lover though.”

  Sylar groaned. He knew that his friend was right. It was finally time for his sister to learn the truth about him, no matter how dark it was. He just had to hope that she’d still love him once she knew. But he was certain that he wasn’t the only man in her life keeping secrets – Miles was too, and for the same reasons as Sylar. And now the web of lies which had been weaved around Brea was closing in on her, threatening to strangle the life out of her.

  “I need to get her out of there,” Sylar slapped his hand down on the bar decisively.

  “That’s the spirit,” Smith toasted him with his bottle of beer. “And I’m coming too.”

  “What?” Sylar looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion.

  “Relax,” Smith slapped him on the back as he dropped down from his bar stool, nut shells crunching beneath his heavy boots. “It’s not like I’m going to hit on her or anything. Although I’m blatantly her type,” he added with a wink.

  “I don’t need your help,” Sylar objected curtly.

  “Yes, you do,” Smith assured him, gesturing to his face. “I can tell her the truth about that little boyfriend of hers and the kind of real danger she’s in.”

  Sylar was speechless. He knew that Smith was right. While Brea might not believe him, she couldn’t deny the physical evidence etched into Smith’s face. He felt humbled that his friend was willing to help him. He placed a hand on Smith’s shoulder in gratitude.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Though I refuse to be responsible if she falls for this pretty face,” Smith joked as they began walking through the bar.

  “Very funny.”

  It was bright outside. Both men squinted against the light as they approached their parked bikes.

  “In all seriousness though, you’ve got to get her out of there,” Smith stated as he hauled himself onto his bike. He’d been drinking solidly through the night but he was still prepared to ride and there wasn’t a cop in the state brave enough to pull him over.

  “There’s a storm brewing between the Blood Pact and us Reapers. It’s been brewing for years but suddenly, it feels like it’s coming to a head. Can’t you feel the electricity in the air?”

  Sylar nodded as he could. Even though the sun was shining and the sky was clear, the air felt heavy with the ominous knowledge that something bad was going to happen. Something which would leave the streets of Colridge painted with blood.

  “Let’s ride,” Smith revved his bike and then roared off towards the highway, leaving a plume of exhaust smoke in his wake. Sylar swiftly followed, ignoring how tired he was. All that mattered was getting Brea out of Colridge before it was too late.

  Chapter 63

  “Morning,” Gina was grinning as she greeted Brea. Her whole body still felt flushed from Sylar’s touch. But seeing her young apprentice in the light of day reminded her of Sylar’s dark warnings and her smile slipped.

  “How’s things?” she asked briskly.

  “Good,” Brea gave a light shrug. She was wearing a navy sundress and black ballet pumps. She looked beautiful in an understated way. But her bare arms and pristine skin looked out of place in the parlor.

  “We need to get you inked up sometime soon,” Gina noted, tilting her head at her. “That’s if you’re up for it?”

  She watched Brea glance down her lean arms and then smile. “I’d like that.”

  “Hey, did you guys hear what happened last night?” Oscar, the weekday receptionist, blurted as he came through the front door. He always smelt of a strange combination of vanilla and petrol.

  “What happened?” Gina asked, one hand on her hip. For one awful moment she thought he was going to say that he saw her having sex in the parlor. The tips of her ears started to burn and she felt a blush creeping up her chest.

  “That little bar down the street, O-Hannigans got to
tally trashed. There’s like seven people in the hospital this morning,” Oscar was talking fast, his chubby face bright with excitement.

  “O-Hannigans?” Brea repeated slowly, her hands twisting in a nervous ball in front of her. “I worked on a girl yesterday who works there.”

  “Poor her,” Oscar rolled his eyes. “About working there, not being worked on by you,” he quickly clarified. “But from what I can hear it was pretty bad. Some broken bones, people needing multiple stitches.”

  “Why…” Gina swallowed nervously. Was this the kind of trouble Sylar was so concerned about? Was her tattoo parlor going to be targeted next? “Why did it happen?”

  “Thugs,” Oscar’s eyes widened. “Although my friend at the police station mentioned it might be gang related.”

  Gina felt light headed. She leaned against the reception counter for support. Just a few hours earlier it had been the sight of an erotic encounter but in the harsh light of day everything seemed dulled. Gina wanted to pull down the shutters over her store and just close up for the day.

  The blonde haired gang member was due in again that afternoon, the one Brea had been working on. What if he was all beaten up because of last night? Because it had to be him and his friends, right? It couldn’t have been Sylar because he was with her.

  “Colridge is feeling less and less safe these days,” Oscar declared, moving past his colleagues towards the staff room at the back of the building, his designer satchel flapping at his side.

  “It is,” Brea agreed quietly, folding her arms across her chest and fearfully bowing her head. Gina didn’t know what to say to comfort the young woman. Brea was sleeping with one of the guys who’d probably caused the trouble at the bar. Gina shivered at the thought.

  “I hope that the girl I worked on yesterday is…is okay,” Brea whispered, casting a concerned glance out towards the street.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Gina lied. She knew from past stories of gang-related violence that members didn’t discern between men and women, in their twisted minds everyone was fair game. They’d crack a woman’s skull just as swiftly as they’d crack a man’s.

  “Maybe I should close up early today,” Gina pursed her lips and imagined spending the day tucked up safely in her apartment with the dead bolt on. She sensed that it was no longer safe to be out and about in Colridge, not when a gang war was brewing.

  “But I’ve got a client coming in this afternoon,” Brea gently objected. “I’d hate to let him down.”

  Gina bit her tongue. She wanted to point out that Brea might feel very differently if he did show up all beaten and bruised. She’d surely put two and two together. Gina nervously scratched at her forearms. It wasn’t safe to have gang members in her store. If she closed up and lowered the shutters, then the blonde would have no choice but to walk away. He couldn’t harass them into working on him if they weren’t there.

  “No, I’m definitely closing up,” Gina insisted, trying to sound less panicked than she was. “It’s the right thing to do considering what happened at the bar last night.”

  “But surely we shouldn’t give into acts of intimidation,” Brea countered, the fear in her face replaced by a look of indignation.

  “When it comes to gangs, we need to keep ourselves safe,” Gina told the younger woman sternly. “I’ll call your client and have his appointment rearranged.” This was a lie, but it seemed to have been told convincingly enough to placate Brea. She gave a shrug and then a nod of consent.

  “Okay, if you’re sure it’s the right thing to do. It’s your call.”

  “Yes,” Gina felt a little bit relieved to have made her decision. “Go home, Brea,” she ordered. “And stay safe.”

  Chapter 64

  Brea felt strange being back in her apartment so early in the day, but Gina had insisted on closing up the store, leaving her little choice. She paced back and forth, buzzing with unspent energy. She kept thinking about the woman she’d tattooed the day before who worked at the bar. Was she okay? Did she get caught up in the fray that had happened there the night before? Brea had no way of knowing and that frustrated her.

  She checked the online news stories about the fight on her phone, but they were frustratingly vague. It was as if Colridge didn’t want to know about it; Or was scared to. Gina had seemed so scared by the news. She usually loved to gossip with Oscar first thing in the morning. Over a fresh cup of coffee, the pair of them would put the world to rights. But this morning the daily news had shaken her so badly that she’d closed the tattoo parlor.

  “Weird,” Brea shrugged to herself before calling up Miles. If she had a day at home, she might as well spend it with him.

  Holding her phone to her ear, she listened to each ring drag out. She was starting to think that he wouldn’t answer when on the seventh ring he picked up.

  “Hey.” His voice sounded cracked, broken.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Brea declared brightly. “Gina randomly decided to close the store today so I’ve got some free time and was thinking…” she twirled a strand of hair around her fingers as she smiled flirtatiously. She was about to describe exactly how she’d like to spend that free time when Miles interrupted her.

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  The response was so abrupt that Brea straightened in surprise, releasing the strand of hair she’d been holding.

  “You can’t?”

  Panic began to roll around inside her, making her feel nauseous. Last night Miles had cancelled on her because he had to work and now he was bypassing another chance to see her. What was going on? Brea inhaled sharply as she waited for his excuse, praying that it would at least sound plausible.

  “Babe, I’m so sorry.” Each of his words was strained as though he were having difficulty saying them. Brea sighed in frustration, releasing the breath she’d been holding.

  “You cancelled on me last night.” She sounded so plaintive and needy, which she hated, but she couldn’t help it. She was desperate to see Miles, didn’t he feel the same way about her? Hadn’t he said that he loved her?

  “I know,” Miles croaked. “And I’m sorry.”

  “So what is it this time? You can’t be working again.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Brea could almost hear the cogs in Miles’ brain whirring as he frantically tried to think up an excuse.

  “You know what? Forget it!” she declared sharply, ending the call and breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Somehow she’d managed to do just as Sylar had wanted. She’d pushed Miles away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Brea willed herself to remain calm, to be rational, but the hurt in her chest was too much. She dropped against her small sofa and buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

  Chapter 65

  Miles winced as he dropped his cell phone back onto the nightstand beside the bed. Everything hurt. Each breath he took felt brittle and sore. With a groan, he managed to hoist himself up so that he was sitting up in bed. In the dim light offered through the closed drapes, he could see Hank and Colin sprawled out around him. The sheets beneath them were dark with blood.

  “Urgh,” Miles massaged his neck, all of his muscles protesting at the movement. Using all the energy he had, he slowly got up and made his way towards the small bathroom, needing to access the damage.

  When he looked in the mirror above the sink, he was greeted with a grim sight. Both of his eyes were bloodshot and bordered in darkening shadows. A deep cut ran down from his left ear and dried blood had collected down his neck like a dark, inky stain. Turning on the faucets, he began running the water to clean his hands. As he did, he noticed that his knuckles were red raw and when he put them under the warm water it stung. Grimacing he pulled his hands back from the sink. There was no way he could let Brea see him like this.

  He needed pain relief and fast. But first he had to make himself presentable. Wincing he undressed and climbed into the shower. He stood beneath the hot water for a good twenty minutes. It felt good and eased some of the pain. W
hen the water around him was finally running clear, he came out and dried off, steam surrounding him like a foggy cloud.

  He pulled his jeans back on but grabbed a clean shirt from his duffel bag in the motel room. Hank and Colin still hadn’t stirred. Miles felt better for showering, but his temple was starting to throb. Shrugging on his jacket, he prepared to go outside, but as he placed his hand on the door handle something stirred behind him.

  “Hey, Miles,” Hank called out groggily, raking his hands through his long blonde hair and managing to sit up with some effort.

  “Hey, man,” Miles turned around and took in how terrible his companion looked. Hank’s right cheek was red and swollen up like a balloon about to pop. It was painful just to look at.