Hell's Ink

by Nicole Reed

  He tamped down the anger he felt, knowing it did him no good to show his emotions. It wasn’t time for retribution. But it was coming. The knowledge fed his soul and allowed him to get through each day, one second at a time.

  “Hey, baby boy, you comin’ to dinner tonight?” Sage asked, standing somewhere behind him.

  Hold had continued to work in the garage all morning long on a bloody bitch of a motorcycle, his thoughts not centering on anything but the mind-numbing manual labor. He’d finally taken a break late in the afternoon to see about fixing one of the wreckers that had some engine problems. It was parked right outside the garage, giving him a chance to get some fresh air.

  He silently sighed at the sound of his ma’s voice. “I got plans,” Hold said, stepping back before turning his head to stare at her. He reached for a rag to wipe off his gritty hands.

  Sage didn’t look her age and she’d always been beautiful to Hold. He’d fought more brawls as a teenager because of salacious comments made by his own friends about his ma. Hold inherited his jet-black hair from her, which she must now color to keep the gray out. His blue eyes also mirrored Sage’s. In fact, he looked nothing like Ward, with his brown hair and eyes.

  “Well, plans are meant to be broken. You haven’t been over to the house in almost a month, Hold. This shit’s got to stop,” Sage said, moving to stand in front of Hold.

  “What shit, Ma?” he asked, widening his eyes in false ignorance.

  “Don’t play with me, Holden Lee Dawson. You’ve had a bee stuck up your ass this last year. I don’t know what went down between you and your daddy, but I haven’t fought to keep this family together only to have it fall apart now since she’s finally…” Sage’s words were left unanswered.

  “Since who’s finally what?” he asked, scoffing at her tirade. Hold was tired of his mother’s shit. “If you mean Hels then you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

  “Hold, I’m tryin’ here,” she whispered, grasping his arm like a lifeline. “It’s gettin’ to be a hard job trying to keep this family together. Ward says everything is all good, but the empty smiles you both keep plastered on your faces say otherwise. I know my boy. I know when he’s hurtin’ and when somethin’ is eatin’ him up on the inside. I know what that bitch did to you, but I also know whatever this is now has nothin’ to do with her leavin’. Tell me I’m wrong, Hold. Goddamn it! Give me somethin’,” Sage begged, reaching out to grasp her fingers tightly around his arm.

  He saw the desperation in her eyes to understand the workings of his mind. How could he explain anything to her when he didn’t understand everything himself? Hold tried to keep on keeping on, but it was hard when he felt pushed around and played. When he knew for a fact that Ward didn’t trust him, that his own father might even want him dead. Sandman and a few others felt his status inside the MC was a concession to his birthright instead of a hard-earned sacrifice.

  It ate at Hold, increasing the bitter taste in his mouth of a false pardon. It was not something he wanted to explain to anyone, especially Sage.

  “Just let it be for now, Ma. You can’t change him or me, so let it be,” he said, swiftly bending down to kiss her cheek. The smell of jasmine scented the air around her. Hold gently removed his arm from where she held onto him.

  She nodded and turned away from Hold, but not before he saw the unshed tears glistening in the depths of her pained gaze. Hold watched her slowly amble back into the garage’s office where she worked, head held high. That was Sage for you. He knew all the other old ladies and sheep thought she was a bitch. But Hold knew from experience what this life did to the women inside of it. You either hardened your heart or let it eat your soul.

  Hold’s heart had been stone-cold frozen in his chest and his soul already forfeited to the devil himself. Sage’s tears didn’t even affect him. He slowly rounded back to the truck’s engine to lose himself once again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! Motherfu—” Shyla yelled, rearing her foot back to let it fly forward directly toward the flattened car tire.

  She groaned at the impact. Her words cut off by a tremor of pain that flared up the length of her right leg. It spiraled underneath the pair of her sheared denim shorts, aching all the way to her groin. Shyla hopped around on her uninjured foot. The single car that drove by on the deserted Interstate honked at the crazed dance she unknowingly performed in her well-worn cowboy boots. “Son of a biscuit eater,” she muttered to herself.

  Her jumping around brought her to the back of the beat-up compact white Ford Focus that had seen better days. She popped the trunk open, looking for the spare that she’d no idea how to change, and stared at the entire sparse contents of her life sitting in the trunk. One cardboard box laden to the top with secondhand clothes, a T.J. Maxx bag full of shoes, a pink plastic crate of her favorite books, a twenty-inch plasma T.V., and a grocery bag of toiletries and cosmetics. A pathetic array of nothing special that brought a deluge of tears to align along the sooty fringe of her pale blue eyes.

  Had it only been three days ago that she’d watched her ex-boyfriend chase the beaten-up piece of shit car, loaded with all her worldly goods, down the street from their apartment? Shyla had to admit to herself that he was probably more pissed at the loss of the ride than her. Josh’s own fault that he was tweaking too bad to do a damn thing about it at the time.

  Shyla raised her head when a stray wind wafted a single highlighted strand of blonde hair across her face. It wasn’t long enough to pull back, having been cut by herself just below her chin, several days ago. She lifted her hand, brushing away the tears before sliding it through the silky locks to push them back. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a newer black pickup truck with dark tinted windows drive by slowly. It came to a complete halt then pulled over in front of her broken-down, sorry excuse of a vehicle.

  The ache in her heart quickly turned to fear: this is how horror movies start out was the first thought that came to her mind. A young twenty-something female with car trouble stranded on the side of a lonely road. Oh shit! She had no earthly idea where in the world she was located. Last time she checked the map hours ago it said she should be driving into Florida soon. The coastal lowlands and swampy vegetation she’d passed for miles attested to this fact.

  This was a bad, bad idea. Driving cross-country to surprise her only living relative sounded like a good time right up until this moment. She’d thought she was close to her destination so she hadn’t checked her directions. Idiot! Now, not only did she not know where she was, no other living person did either. Great.

  Her heart pounded like a steel drum inside of her chest. Shyla imagined that every beat sounded more like a bang than a tick in her mind. It increased even more when the door to the truck opened and one solid jean-clad thigh swung from the cab. Another joined it, two tree trunks it seemed, since they looked thick and long. Shyla surprisingly admired the body and the face that followed.

  The guy appeared to be in his mid-twenties, the same as her. He had a muscular chest that was hidden by a black t-shirt stretching firmly across it. His blond hair, cut short, stuck up in tufts on the top of his head, probably making him seem younger than he actually was. A pair of dark sunglasses covered his eyes while he sported a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. Sexily scruffy, she thought.

  “Flat tire,” he said, stating the obvious while crossing his massive tattooed arms.

  The stranger stopped at the back of his truck, not coming too close. He stood several feet away from where she cautiously watched him. His voice was deep and friendly sounding to her ears. “I bet so was Ted Bundy’s before he murdered his next victim, you stupid girl,” Shyla whispered under her breath. She shook her head, scattering her thoughts further. What the hell? Fear and appreciation of the male form were feelings she was familiar with, but not at the same time.

  “Yeah… but I can handle it,” Shyla answered him, her cheeks feeling grossly overheated.

  She didn’t dare turn her back to look
for some type of weapon in her trunk. What was she going to do? Shoe him to death with a pair of her six-inch heels or book him to death with the assortment of art design textbooks? He didn’t move closer, probably sensing her unease at the situation. She’d almost bought a gun before the trip. She should’ve purchased one. Should’ve. Would’ve. Could’ve. Her life’s motto.

  “I’m fine. I’m just going to change it and be on my way,” she explained nervously. The balmy heat coated her body in perspiration, making her palms uncomfortably sweaty so she wiped them against her white tank top. Thank God she’d left her bra on even though the underwire had been digging into the sides of her boobs for at least two states.

  “I don’t mind changing it for you. It might not take me as long and you can be on your way before it gets dark,” he said, raising his handsome face to the late afternoon sun.

  Driving almost nonstop for the last three days had left Shyla vaguely unaware of not only her location, but also the time. She glanced up, shielding her eyes at the fading rays of light. He was right. It wouldn’t be long before the sun set. And she luckily hadn’t had to change a tire, well, ever. But no way was she giving this stranger a tire iron or anything resembling a weapon.

  “Thank you, but I’m good. I can call the local towing service to come out.” Shyla noted a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “No need to bother you,” she said, becoming slightly annoyed at his smooth demeanor.

  He gave a quick, muffled laugh. “Well, if you call the local garage, I will be bothered considerin’ that’s where I work. So let’s just save you the call and money. I’ll do it for free.”

  She felt her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion. He could be lying. It’s way too convenient to say that he works for a garage.

  “Listen,” he said, taking a step closer to her, “there be alligators in the swamps that line this road beyond the brush there. I’m not sayin’ that to scare you, but to let you know that come dark this isn’t a place you want to be standin’.” Mikey pointed to either side where they both stood.

  Her gaze immediately swung to the edges of the road and what hid waiting beyond. Better the monster you don’t know versus the ones you do with giant-ass mouths and rows of sharp teeth.

  Shyla nodded her head, instantly changing her mind. She turned to answer him. “Yep. Okay. If you don’t mind that would be great.”

  “The name’s Mike Donaldson, but my friends call me Mikey. What’s yours?” he said, leaning forward with an open, outstretched hand.

  She wiped her sweaty hand on her shorts once more before joining it to his. “Shyla Pass.”

  Their hands parted ways. Mikey removed his sunglasses and placed them backward on his head. A clear set of green eyes seemed to twinkle with the insight that he was picked because in her mind he was the lesser threat.

  “Why don’t you move everything from your trunk to your backseat so that I can reach the spare tire,” Mikey said, nodding toward her car.

  “Sure,” she replied, still leery, but turned to move her bags of stuff.

  It took only minutes to maneuver all her worldly goods to the backseat. As soon as she was finished, Mikey lifted the covering over the base of the spare to reveal an empty spot where the tire should’ve been.

  “Houston, we have a problem,” he joked, giving a slight shrug of his wide-set shoulders. “Did you not realize you didn’t have an extra?”

  Shyla blew at the wayward fringe of bangs covering the top half of her vision. “It was a last-minute trip.” She placed her hands on her waist. Well, this sucks monkey balls!

  Mikey took out a cellphone from his pocket and dialed a number. She listened intently to his call.

  “Hey, I’m out on Route 6 with a stranded motorist. Yeah, they didn’t have the part in after I drove over an hour one way. Trust me, brother, I was pissed, but it is what it is. Can you send out one of the wreckers? Really. About how long? Shit. Okay, I’ll let her know and see what she wants to do. Thanks, man.”

  His finger punched one last button before his eyes glanced over to where she stood. Shyla watched him wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Seems as if one of our wreckers is down and the other is out on a call. It’ll be at least an hour before they can get someone out here. Maybe longer. I can drive you back to the shop to wait for your car. I’m headed that way anyhow,” Mikey stated, turning to shut her car trunk. He glanced directly into her eyes.

  The feeling of unease seemed to flare up once again. Go with him? Not a chance. She’d wait for the tow truck, but at the thought, she glanced again at her creepy surroundings. Shyla had to be close to her aunt’s. Maybe now was a good time as any to call her to say she was coming. And that she might need a ride.

  “Hey, how close to Harmony are we?” she asked, noting the surprise in his eyes at the mention of the town’s name.

  “About sixty miles out. I actually live there. You visiting Harmony?” Mikey asked, tilting his head.

  “Yeah. I’ve been on the road for a couple of days.”

  “Where from?” he asked.

  “California. I’m surprising my aunt with a visit,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “Who’s your aunt?” he asked, leaning in, obviously interested in her answer.

  Shyla nodded toward his tattoos. “You may know her. She works at Hard Ink. Diamond Pass. Well, Pass was her maiden name. She’s married to Badger who owns the shop.”

  “Holy shit! No way. You’re Big D’s niece?” Mikey smiled widely. “Hell, I didn’t even know she had one. C’mon, let me give you a ride into town.”

  Shyla still wasn’t crazy enough to jump into his truck. He must’ve noticed the scared concern in her eyes.

  “Hold up,” Mikey said, walking over to the cab of his vehicle to open the passenger door. He pulled out what looked like something black and leather, sliding it on before turning to stroll back to her.

  “Nice vest,” she sarcastically muttered, more weary of Mikey now than ever. Didn’t psycho perverts wear leather vests?

  “It’s not a vest. It’s a biker cut. Badger and I are in the same MC,” he said, looking at her like it made all the difference in the world.

  Now that she really examined it, she knew it to be a cut. Shyla grew up with her father being in a club back west, though his cut had been denim. When she was younger, she’d heard her grandmother talking to Aunt Diamond about the Hell’s Highwaymen Motorcycle Club that her husband, Badger, belonged to. Shyla knew Diamond was an old lady and was proud of the fact. She’d hung around Shyla’s dad’s MC before she left town.

  She glanced again at Mikey’s cut, but really, it made no difference to her. However, the sun setting did, and it was starting to dip dangerously toward the horizon.

  “Call Big D and she’ll vouch me for me if you’re scared. Damn!” Mikey raised his hands in annoyance.

  Taking a deep breath, she expelled it out loudly. Shyla had made her decision. “Can you drop me off at Hard Ink? I’m sure I can get my aunt to bring me to the garage to pick up my car later.”

  He nodded and after Shyla locked up her car, they were on their way. Shyla kept quietly to herself on the passenger side of the truck. Secretly, she gave Mikey sideway glances, just in case he went psycho on her. Her hand palmed the small can of mace she’d snuck out of her purse. She didn’t come this far to end up on the six o’clock news or to turn back and return to the land of nothing and no one special.

  They passed a sign that read Harmony 50 miles. Seeing it made Shyla relax to a certain point. He definitely wasn’t taking her away from town. Now she needed to concentrate on what she planned to say to her aunt.

  Mike couldn’t help the quick sideway glances that took his mind from the road. The beautiful chick beside him had his head spinning. Big D never mentioned a niece, especially one that looked like the hot piece of ass sitting in his truck. When she bent over the trunk of her car and inadvertently showed him a sexy, low-back tattoo he knew
he was in fucking trouble.

  He thought he was going to bust a gut when Shyla reluctantly chose him over waiting with her car for the wrecker. There were alligators in the swamps—he didn’t lie about that—but he might have exaggerated the danger a bit on the off chance he could get some time with her. He smiled to himself when he noticed the can of mace the little hellion thought she slickly hid in her hand.

  “You have more family back in California?” Mike asked, needing to kill the silence between them.

  “No. My parents died when I was eleven and my grandmother passed last year. Aunt Diamond is the only family I’ve left,” she answered, glaring out the window, not sparing him a glance.

  “Sorry,” he uttered quietly beside her. Damn! He didn’t have a soft heart, but hearing the pain in her answer actually gave him pause. So she came to Harmony to be with the only family she had left. Mike couldn’t help but think this was a good sign, that if she liked it here, she’d stay for good. It was slim pickins’ around this part for a decent girl, and he’d been looking for months.

  “Thanks,” she answered, still not paying him much attention.

  He could tell she didn’t want to talk—a definite change from the chicks he hung out with, well, unless they were stoned. Mikey thought about asking if she wanted the radio on, but stopped when he realized it would definitely end any conversation between them. This situation sucked.

  The ride to Hard Ink was taking longer than Shyla expected. Mikey tried to make small talk, but she didn’t feel up to answering his many questions. The long drive was finally wearing on her. He finally gave it a rest, halleluiah, giving Shyla an ample amount of time to decide what reason she would give Diamond for moving cross-country to be with her.

  She’d never driven too far from the West Coast. Shyla was born just outside of Pasadena, California, and raised as an only child by her father who owned his towing company and her mother who was a stay-at-home mom. Shyla remembered a happy childhood, surrounded by friends who considered themselves family.