Ink (The Haven Series)

by Torrie McLean

  ***

  Colton could hardly blame the girl for her reaction to his declaration, given that he’d preceded it by barging into her home and barking at her like she was some damn prospect he was hazing. One of those half-hearted little smiles tugged at her lips, suggesting a serious dose of scepticism at his growled words as she dropped her gaze back towards the floor.

  But he wasn’t having that. And with one strong hand, he simply forced her face back up to his and claimed her mouth with his. Banding an arm around her slim waist, the biker pulled her flush up against his chest as her lips parted under the pressure of his to allow his tongue entrance - something in the contrast of his tough leather against her delicate lace urging him on. That and the eventual feel of her small hands at his waist as she gave into him, kissing him back tentatively at first.

  A rough hand tangled in her hair as a fresh spark fuelled their kisses, her arms going around his neck to leave her dress held up solely by the way her body pressed tight against him. Before he did what any man in his position would have done – leant back just enough to send the lace slipping to pool at her feet, leaving her bare skin his to caress.

  If the cops burst in this time, he’d have to think seriously about shooting them.

  Her body actually trembled under his touch as he forced himself to slow down, turning her in his arms so her back was pressed against his chest. One palm pressed over the flat of her stomach, holding her tight to him again as he dropped his mouth to her shoulder. Eyes dark with lust met hers in the mirror again. His fingers grazed her ink before slipping under the thin strap of her bra to slowly ease it down, the kisses that followed hot on her skin.

  “Fuckin’ beautiful ...” Colton muttered huskily, filling his hand with the firm curve of her breast and letting the pad of his thumb coax her nipple into a tiny hard bud. His mouth continued on its journey over her body until he was finally on his knees, trailing kisses right down her belly to the low waistband of her panties.

  Callie’s head fell back on her shoulders, a soft groan falling from her lips and he knew in a second that she wanted this just as bad as he did. That was more than enough to send him to his feet, sweeping the almost naked little blonde off hers.

  He didn’t give a shit if she was someone else’s.

  ***

  CHAPTER 18

  He didn’t do this.

  He’d earned a place at the table in every Fallen Brothers clubhouse up and down the country – a debt he’d paid for in blood, his and others. With interest. His brothers welcomed him with open arms, women with open legs.

  And with no old lady to come home to or to keep sweet, he took full advantage.

  His brothers were the same, he knew that. If Sam kept actual notches on his bedpost, got wood would take on a whole new meaning ... But while women threw themselves at the charismatic sergeant when they were looking for a bad boy with a big heart, he was a different story.

  Girls came to him when they wanted their bad boy just that. Bad.

  He didn’t get attached, wasn’t interested in their life outside the clubhouse walls and certainly wasn’t sharing his. Skanks damn sure weren’t there for their sparkling conversation skills and he wasn’t having some bitch knowing his business. Club shit, his family, feelings – it was all strictly off limits.

  Most of the veterans of club life knew by now that they were never going to get anywhere with him, but there still seemed to be boasting privileges attached to bagging the club’s killer even for a night and there was a certain male pride to be had in keeping them coming back to his bed.

  But letting them leave satisfied was one thing, letting them get too comfortable was another.

  The sex might be good but, for such an intimate act, it was always decidedly distant. No lingering kisses, no cuddles, no lingering gazes into drunken, make-up caked eyes. And the occasional passing-out-too-drunk-to-move episode aside, he otherwise made sure the chicks were long gone by morning.

  He needed to be committed to one thing and one thing only - and that was his club.

  So why the hell had he just broken every rule in his goddamn book with the little blonde currently curled up in his arms?

  He couldn’t deny it, not to himself. He lov-- Scratch that, he enjoyed the warmth of her body against his. The feel of one silky smooth leg hooked over his thigh and her perfect little tits pushing against his chest, her head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder.

  It only made him want to push her onto her back and take her all over again.

  He knew he probably wouldn’t have gone there in the first place if he’d had a hint that she’d just lay back and let him take advantage of the situation. He may have been used to taking what he wanted, but he’d never been interested in fucking some teary-eyed vulnerable chick.

  And besides, this was Callie.

  He recognised that as the dangerous thought it was though. Acceptance that she was different, not just some face in the crowd to be passed around his brothers. A suggestion that she in some way mattered ...

  But in the end, she’d made it fucking impossible for him to walk away. He could see in her eyes that she’d made up her mind not to back out, but it was more than resignation. She’d been the one to reach for him, a new fire crackling to life and sparking something in him as she pulled him into a fierce kiss on her bed.

  He may have been able to hide it well when he needed to, but he was still only human.

  And that breathless little moan she made the first time he thrust deep inside her was hotter than hell. Their bodies seemed to fit together like she’d been made just for him and the look in her hazy gray eyes, coupled with the way she responded to every move of his, had only encouraged him. Making him lean down for long hungry kisses, tiny beads of sweat breaking out on their skin as they lost themselves in each other ...

  But now, even as he ran a strangely gentle hand over the enticing tumble of loose curls spilling down her bare back, there was only one thought foremost in his mind.

  He didn’t do this.

  ***

  Will knew he was spending more and more of his time cooped up in the sanctuary of his office, rather than out by the bar with his boys, but he just couldn’t face the inevitable raucousness of the clubhouse. It never seemed to matter what shit they were dealing with, the Fallen Brothers didn’t believe in letting the bastards grind you down.

  Even for the very guys facing a serious stretch inside, it was simply business as usual. But that said, his sergeant was uncharacteristically quiet as he slouched back in the chair opposite him – obviously having decided just to wait for his president to tell him what he wanted in his own time. Sam always had been good at reading people.

  The subtle drift of the blonde’s gaze wasn’t lost on Will though, even if his eyes only flitted to the framed photograph for a second before the elder of the two men cleared his throat as he stood up. It broke the moment and sent Sam’s eyes snapping back to his.

  “Drink?” Will asked gruffly, already grabbing a couple of glasses from one of the shelves behind him and fishing a bottle of whisky out of his desk drawer. He got a shrug of acceptance from his brother and sloshed out generous measures, handing one to Sam and then sitting back down heavily go stare at the amber liquid in his glass and throw back a gulp.

  “Listen, Will ...”

  “I’ve asked Reno to look into Corsada,” Will interrupted, pressing ahead now he’d started. “Jesus, Sam, you know this club’s track record with lawyers – we can’t take any chances. And we may do all right with all the day-to-day intel shit, but Chip’s the one you really want doing your digging, ain’t he?”

  “True that,” came the nod. “Dude may be a doofus in the real world, but give him a computer and he’s a goddamn genius. Nah, I get it, man. So ... he find anything?”

  “Ain’t heard back yet. I want him going deep. Corsada takes a shit I don’t like the smell of, I wanna know about it. But I also want to know what you think.”

  “Not following
ya, boss.”

  “You earned those patches, man, and I trust your judgement,” Will sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his beard. “You make tough decisions all the time, Sam. You go with your gut and your instinct’s pretty damn good. So what’s your feeling on trusting this guy? You sure you got it right about him and Hunt for a start?”

  “Oh, I got that one loud and clear,” Sam nodded grimly. “He’s definitely nailed the bitch. But whatever the hell they had going, I wasn’t exactly feeling the love in the room. So I don’t think he’s in bed with the feds, literally or otherwise. But as far as trusting him goes? Hard to say. I mean, he ain’t one of us – but ...”

  “But?” his president pushed.

  Sam took a long drink before answering, shrugging his shoulders as he looked up with understanding in his clear blue eyes. “This ain’t gonna play out like with Taylor, man,” he said, with sympathy and certainty in his statement, but alongside reluctance to even say the name. “This guy ain’t Walker and--”

  “And I ain’t got another daughter to screw information out of,” Will said roughly, reaching for the photo frame. This time the pain was laid bare on his face. “Just a club full of sons I ain’t gonna see fucked over. Not again.”

  FLASHBACK

  “You gonna let him ask you to do this?” Sam heard Jake hiss in his ear as he stood grim-faced by the roadside. Dusk was falling fast over Haven and a strange peace seemed to have fallen over the deserted hills surrounding the city. “He ain’t thinking straight, brother ...”

  “Gotta do my job, man,” the blonde shrugged. But his shoulders felt like lead and there was worry etched on his brow.

  “I’m just sayin’, Sam. Who knows where his fucking mind’s at? He gonna hold you responsible if he changes it too late?”

  “You think I ain’t thought of that, Jake?” he snapped. But he shook his head with a sigh. There was no point them turning on each other – they had enough shit to deal with without creating any more. “Seen Colt?”

  “Not yet. Probably still clearing up after Walker. Christ, I can still hear that god-awful screaming in my head,” the biker muttered. He gave himself a little shake, no doubt against a shiver coursing down his spine, before glancing up at the sound of a van pulling over close by. “Shit, here we go.”

  All the assembled Fallen could do was watch as a pale-faced prospect climbed slowly out of the driver’s seat, shooting them almost pleading looks as he stumbled round the back and opened the door. He stepped out of the way as their president emerged, one large hand fisted in the hair of the young woman he dragged with him.

  The woman who had once been her father’s little brown-eyed girl, curled up on his lap as he read her bedtime stories in the clubhouse before church. The woman who had once been the teenager who’d harboured a crush on Sam himself since she was about twelve, spending hours playing with the ends of her long dark hair as she watched from a window when he'd pull into the yard.

  The woman who - with the kind of deviousness they would only have expected of her estranged mother - had grown up to turn on the only family she had ever known, spilling their secrets to the club’s own lawyer between his sheets. Enough to tear them all apart.

  “Daddy, please!” Taylor sobbed. The sheer terror in the cry made even the battle-hardened sergeant wince.

  “What the fuck was that twisted little bitch thinking?” Jake ground out. His voice low, lacking the strength to sound as harsh as it might have. This was infinitely harder on Will, but it was a blow to them all.

  ***

  CHAPTER 19

  She had no delusions about what to expect from the dark-eyed biker who had somehow ended up in her bed. More or less resigned to waking up alone, it came as no real surprise to Callie when the hand that tentatively reached out grazed empty pillow.

  And yet some small shred of hope flickered and died inside her, as her eyes drifted open and she shifted beneath the tangled covers to gaze up with a sigh at the ceiling in the early morning light. Maybe this was all she deserved after using Michael all this time. For living a lie.

  If she hadn’t already screwed Sketch around enough for one lifetime, she’d have been happy enough to just relocate to the couch and spend the rest of the day curled under her duvet. Get teary-eyed over old movies and comfort-eat her way through a huge bar of chocolate. But, as it was, she forced herself out of bed and into the routine of freshening up before heading to the kitchen.

  At the smell of coffee, she frowned in confusion.

  “She’ll be there, man. And don’t give her any of your shit,” the distinctive growl, still rusty with sleep and low as it was, carried towards her as she stood frozen in the doorway. Colton’s shirtless form looted her cupboards with a cell phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear, found two mugs and started pouring freshly brewed coffee from the pot waiting on the breakfast bar.

  His jeans rode low on his lean hips and ... damn. Guys half his age would have to kill themselves in the gym for those hard planes of toned muscle. Tiny flecks of gray in the barely-there scruff on his head and jaw were the only clue to his actual age.

  Shaking off the distraction and taking in his shirt and cut over the back of a bar stool, the phone joining his holster and gun on the counter as he ended the call, Callie could only guess it had been Sketch on the line.

  “Never had you down as the domestic type,” the blonde managed, once she’d found her voice. It made him turn to her, no trace of being caught off-guard. He’d probably heard her the minute her feet had hit the floor of her bedroom.

  “Mama Greene didn’t raise no fool.”

  She processed that – didn’t doubt it for a second - and took the mug he held out to her, curling up on the nearest bar stool with one leg under her. Her eyes dropped to focus on the dark, gently steaming coffee as she realised she had absolutely no idea where this was going.

  “You ... okay?” Colton asked, under the distracting cover of adding a spoonful of sugar and splash of milk for her – a gesture that might have been surprising if she wasn’t already used to his attention to detail.

  It was the first time she’d heard anything like uncertainty from him and guessed he wasn’t big on mornings-after, her little nod not exactly doing wonders to convince him as he stood there, one hip cocked against her counter. She could feel those knowing eyes on her.

  “If you’re thinking about him, he ain’t gonna hear it from me.”

  Him. The man who loved her and who had never so much as crossed her mind until it was too late. And had he not been brought up, he still wouldn’t have really cost her a thought while she was preoccupied with considering just where she now stood with the man in front of her.

  She might not be under any illusions about what had happened between them, but neither of them could deny they’d already established a connection. And that wasn’t something she wanted to lose.

  “You’re not going to start asking Sketch to do your ink, are you?” she blurted out without meaning to, before hastily trying to explain. “I mean, you don’t have to worry about me turning into some needy little bitch. I just ... I just don’t want things to be weird. With us. Not that I’m saying there is an us exactly ...”

  He considered her in silence for a long moment. Looking like he’d known the question, or at least something like it, was coming. But like he had no idea how he’d react until it happened.

  “Sketch ain’t nearly as cute as you.”

  The gruff words were enough to send her head back up, surprise in the gray eyes that met his in the seconds before his mouth captured hers again. The biker took her coffee from her, setting the mug on the counter out of the way, and cupped the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

  “You need a shower before work?” Colton ground out, barely waiting for her nod before scooping her easily off her seat and into his arms. “Good. Me too.”

  ***

  The pneumatic drills pounding in his head threatened to split his skull as Michael slowly came to on his o
wn couch, still in his suit from the night before. Shoes still on, jacket missing, tie loosened.

  Painkillers. He seriously needed painkillers. Or maybe a shotgun to just finish the damn job.

  With his mouthed parched and full of the taste of stale whiskey, he fought to his feet and cursed as he immediately kicked over a more than half empty bottle of Jack. He grabbed for it as it spilled over the plush carpet and managed to save the last of the dark liquid. Better than nothing.

  Wiping a hand over his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair, he stumbled to the bathroom intent on raiding the cabinet for whatever might restore peace in his thumping head. Flinching at the sight in the mirror, he wasted no time grabbing the little bottle he was after and heading back to the living room.

  Once slumped back down against the cushions of his luxurious couch, he washed a handful of the painkillers down with a generous slug of what was left of the Jack. Probably not the smartest move, but since it turned out his lawyer brain wasn’t so damn smart after all, why the hell not ...

  FLASHBACK

  Forced to endure sitting at a table near the bar with Stefan and Veronica, as she continued to make a show of not-so-coyly running a hand over her date’s thigh, Michael thought his face was going to crack from the fake smile he’d plastered on.

  “So, who wants another drink? Veronica?” Stefan asked, moving to get up. “Mike, you’ll take a beer, won’t you?”

  “Let me get these,” he protested, reaching in the pocket of his jacket for his wallet. Anything to get away from that damn table. “It must be my round ...”

  “Nah, stay where you are, buddy. These are on me. Gotta visit the little boys’ room anyway,” Stefan grinned. “Back in five – although it looks like they’re five deep at the bar. Can’t blame them. Drinking’s the only way to get through these bloody things.”