***
Deciding to call it a day as far as work was concerned, Will reached for the box of pre-cut cigars in his desk drawer, made his selection and pulled out a Zippo to spark up. A fragrant cloud of smoke streamed from his lips as he took a long drag and exhaled slowly. He was not the most patient of men and some things were just taking too long for his liking.
He would keep biding his time though. He was good at that. Patience was no match for perseverance and he had plenty of the latter, no matter how in short supply the former may have been at times.
With a weary rub of his hand over his beard and a final drift of his gaze to the framed photo on his desk, the club president pushed himself out of his chair and strolled out of the office to head to the bar. No point drinking alone when he could join his boys or maybe even some of their female company – the same thought as had, by the look of it, passed through his sergeant’s mind.
But Will’s eyes narrowed when the sight in front of him registered properly. Only for a moment though, before he heaved a little sigh and let it go. He could guess what the logic was behind it, no matter how flawed. But even so ... He’d thought it would be a hell of a long time before he’d see Sam with a brunette, after all the shit that had gone down.
FLASHBACK
Sitting down heavily at the head of the near-sacred table, the president reached out a shaky hand and ran his fingers over the carved beak of the elaborate golden eagle. It was only then that he noticed the blood.
It wasn’t Taylor’s though. It was his own, drawn from where she’d dug her nails into the backs of his hands as she fought. The irony wasn’t lost on him, even as his fingers curled into a fist and crashed down painfully on the wood. It stilled there though as he laid his head on the table and struggled to keep his shit together.
He’d always been so resolute. He drew stark lines between right and wrong – admittedly, not the kind of lines the rest of the world would necessarily agree with, but his club’s own version of a moral code. However twisted.
But now ... Now, when the stakes had never been higher, he just didn’t know anymore.
The door of the clubhouse church opened slowly, but he never moved. Under normal circumstances, he’d never let his brothers see him like this, but things were far from normal and besides, he knew there was only one person who’d dare to intrude on him right now.
A glass of whiskey was set down just in his eye line without a word, heavy footsteps retreating towards the door.
“Sam,” Will said quietly, lifting his head as he caught the blonde’s attention and made him turn as he reached the door. Struggling through a long pause to find the words he wanted. The words to tell him he’d known all along.
That he’d come to think that one day, when they were both done with dancing around each other, his trusted sergeant would be the one to tame his wilful daughter and she’d be the one to wear his ink.
“I know you think you coulda loved her. Maybe already did,” he said, forcing a wry smile at the caught look he got in return. “Nah, don’t worry - it’s okay. I just wish things coulda been different. I ... I woulda been proud to have you as a son.”
For once, Sam seemed at a loss for something to say, no doubt knowing neither of them would thank him if this got too emotional. “Family ain’t always about blood,” he managed simply, bumping his closed fist against the door frame in a little gesture of farewell before walking away. He raked a shaky hand through the messy spikes of his hair as he went.
***
“What?” Callie was smiling at him across the table of the almost deserted diner, one side of the slouchy white top she had on over a simple tank slipping off her shoulder as she stole a couple of his fries with a mischievous little look. “I do it to keep fit, not so I can start beating on people – little bit of self defence, I guess, but that’s just a kinda bonus.”
Colton could feel the eyes of their waitress on them as he sat opposite the little blonde in a narrow booth by the window of Lou’s Place. It was far from fancy, winning out in their where-to-grab-dinner debate purely by way of being just a couple of blocks from the studio, but his cut still drew attention. Not that he gave a shit.
“Self defence,” he scoffed, returning his attention to the conversation about how she managed to stay in shape despite practically inhaling a huge burger with everything on it. Kick-boxing classes were apparently part of the answer. “This I gotta see.”
“You’re so on, mister,” Callie grinned. “I can just see the looks if you rocked up to my class of sixteen women.”
Not surprisingly, he grimaced and shook his shaved head firmly. “Hell, no. We got a gym at the clubhouse. Boxing ring too. Tomorrow morning – you and me, kid. Call it a master class.”
“Deal,” she agreed. “Now ... we splitting dessert or what?”
***
Stumbling out of the cab, Michael pushed a couple of twenties into the driver’s hand – the least he could do for stinking out his cab like some whiskey-soaked tramp – and fished in his pockets for his keys as he made his way unsteadily to Callie’s door. He’d never understood her need to have her own space rather than simply moving in with him.
Maybe he was about to get his real answer. Never mind that independence crap, maybe she just didn’t want him cramping her style. Her reluctance to give him his own key, returning in kind his gift to her, had been hidden. But badly.
He forced himself to push those thoughts out of his mind though. To remind himself that this was the girl he, despite his best efforts, had fallen for.
“Callie!” he called, trying to keep his tone light and failing miserably. “It’s me, darling ... Callie, you here?”
The apartment was in darkness, even though she should have been home from work an hour ago, and he cursed as he staggered into the corner of her coffee table, clutching his shin and almost toppling over.
She wasn’t in. Hadn’t called. But that was okay, it didn’t mean anything – they were busy people who didn’t have to live in each other’s pockets. That was all. And he could wait. Be there when she got in, to kiss her and confess how he really felt, instead of this ridiculous dancing around the issue because he was scared to seem like he was tying her down.
He could wait as long as it took.
***
CHAPTER 23
It was late as Colton walked the girl back to her car, the night air distinctly cooler than when they had left the studio and making her wrap her arms around herself as they walked. The oversized but flimsy sweater was obviously made for style over practicality. They didn’t pick up the pace though, content instead to stroll in companionable silence along the sidewalk.
In places, neon light flickered over them and, at the end of the block, the noise from a dive bar spilled out from behind the almost-hidden door every time it opened. A rowdy group of drinkers came pouring out along with the burst of music just as he and Callie passed. Catcalls rang out as they got separated in the sudden crush, only for a black look to send the revellers stumbling on their way as Colton reached through the scrum to pull the little blonde to his side.
He didn’t ask, just stole a glance to check she was okay and then kept walking. He ignored the bar’s worse-for-wear patrons as they disappeared, still laughing and shouting, down an alleyway. But somehow, Callie’s arm had tucked itself through his – a situation he let slide. It was better to keep her close, late as it was. That was all.
“I guess this is my stop,” she said, letting go when they reached the studio and then the near-deserted spot round the back where she had parked her car. She hesitated before she slid a hand to his shoulder for balance and rose up on tiptoe, intending to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Colt.”
But, as his own hand went in an instinctive move to her waist to steady her, he couldn’t seem to resist turning to meet those soft gray eyes - her lips missing their target and being sought out by his instead.
And for a few moments at least, he wasn’t a bik
er with a murder charge over his head and she wasn’t a tattooist with a boyfriend. They were just a guy and a girl, kissing in each other’s arms under the street lights.
Trying to deny they were anything more.
***
“... ‘Preciate it, brother. Later.”
Will snapped his cell phone shut and gritted his teeth in frustration. There was only one thing worse than feeling like your capabilities were being questioned and that was knowing you damn well deserved it. But of course he could hardly tell the mother charter’s president that, especially not in so many words and in front of the clubhouse in full swing.
For a lawless MC, they were pretty big on rank and respect.
So Gunn would get his way and a couple of his guys would be taking a little trip to check in on them. Were, in fact, already on their way - to check up on them more like, Will thought. Apparently the intel officer had run all the checks he could think of on their lawyer friend without coming up with anything immediately worrying. Whatever the hell that meant. But Gunn thought it’d be better if Chip talked them through it in person. Made sure every ‘t’ was crossed and every ‘i’ dotted.
Still, at least Gunn hadn’t decided the situation required the personal touch. Much as he and Will were old friends and get-togethers in either Haven or Reno were generally raucous affairs that probably did a hell of a lot for the cigar importing business, his presence now and under such circumstances couldn’t fail to reflect badly on Will’s leadership.
Stowing the cell back in an inside pocket of his cut, Will signalled for another drink from the young prospect playing bartender and then continued on his intended path. Despite the fact that his sergeant was still otherwise engaged with his nameless brunette companion, who seemed to be having difficulty keeping her clothes on.
“Mmm, someone’s enjoying the view ...” she was practically purring in what was presumably her best seductive voice. Rolling her hips against Sam’s mid-lap dance, her hands braced on his shoulders, she leaned forward to give him another eyeful of the ample contents of her skimpy bra. “Come on, Sam, what ya waiting for? Let’s finish this in your room.”
But he’d already spotted his president approaching, as he glanced over her shoulder, and any chance she had of getting what she wanted simply disintegrated into dust. “Not now, sweetheart.”
“But I thought ...” The confusion at his change of heart, when she’d worked hard to make in-roads with him, was written all over her face. Plain despite the make-up. “If you want me to just blow you here ...”
“Something’s come up ...” Sam started, before checking himself even as he pushed her nimble fingers away from his fly. Not because of the double entendre, inadvertent as it was – he just didn’t have to justify himself. “Just get lost, okay?”
She’d been around long enough to know not to argue with that tone of voice.
“Not interrupting, am I?” Will asked, knowing he was and watching the young woman glower as she made herself scarce. “Trust me, not a good idea anyway, man.”
“Pussy ain’t a good idea?” Sam cocked an eyebrow at that, as he threw an arm over the back of the couch he was sprawled on. “You’ve changed your tune.”
“After the shit we’ve been through, thought you might have too,” came the wry response. “But actually, I wasn’t talking about generalisations. More that gash specifically. What are you trying to do, brother?”
“I’d have thought that was pretty damn obvious ...”
“Cute, but cut the shit. I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Only thing you ain’t been picky about lately is real or bottle, but you been hitting nothing but blondes. I ain’t blind or stupid, Sam. If she’s still screwing with your head, screwing some cheap imitation ain’t the cure. Especially now the feds seem intent on digging a hole for us. I don’t need my sergeant damn well helping them shovel!”
“My head’s still in the fucking game, man - like it always is!” Sam growled angrily, obviously offended by any hint of an insinuation to the contrary. Even, or maybe especially, from his president. “When have I ever--”
“Oi,” Will didn’t even raise his voice, but it hardened in a way that did the same job. Perhaps even more effectively than if he’d started shouting the odds. “You know I respect the hell outta you, son, but you remember just who you’re talking too.” Heaving a sigh, he sank down on the battered couch beside the younger man and shook his head. “Dammit, Sam, this ain’t like you – you’re wound so fucking tight ...”
“Nothing like the prospect of serious jail time to chill ya the fuck out,” the blonde shrugged, grim-faced. “Or worse.”
“Ain’t gonna come to that.”
“No? ‘Cause you know what happened to Big Jay – sitting behind bars waiting to meet his maker.”
“What the hell do you want me to say, Sam?” Will demanded, knowing he was stuck for anything positive. “Look, you’re here, aren’t you? You really think if the cops could nail you and Colton they wouldn’t have done it already? Speaking of, where is Colt?”
Downing the last of the bottle of beer he’d been nursing, Sam shrugged. “Got himself a distraction. And if he’s got any sense, he’ll be making the most of her while he can.”
“Her?” But it dawned on Will even as he asked and he nodded, answering his own question. “Sketch’s pretty little friend. Should have seen that coming – save each other’s asses in a shoot-out and these things have a way of bringing you closer ... Maybe you and me shoulda hooked up years ago, brother.”
That at least drew a reluctant grin, then an actual laugh as Sam gave in to being hauled bodily out of the funk he’d somehow spiralled into through too much thinking. “Sorry, dude, you just ain’t my type.”
“Maybe I can provide a ... better distraction, shall we say?” Will offered, jerking his head in the direction of the bar and raising his voice. “Hey, Ashley – you got a second, sweetheart?”
“Hi, Will,” the attractive redhead, who’d enjoyed being the top dog’s favourite of late, smiled sweetly as she sidled up to him and duly obliged when he offered his cheek for a kiss. “You want me to get you boys some drinks?”
“Ain’t she a doll, Sam?” the president smiled, always pleased when the girls – even the ones he’d taken a shine to - knew their place. He got a playful little squeal when he smacked her ass and then pulled her down on his knee. “Got a special favour to ask, sweetheart.”
“Whatever you need, Will,” Ashley was plenty keen to oblige, trailing her nails lightly down his burly shirt-clad chest and already feeling the jealous eyes of the other girls on her. Only for him to shift her easily onto the unsuspecting lap of his sergeant, making her face fall at being passed over.
But only for a moment. Power was important around the MC and Will’s title was much more of a draw than his looks – though he had aged well for his years, like good Scotch as he’d been known to say – but Sam had rank too. And while it wasn’t president, the sergeant’s patch and that body were a pretty good compromise ...
“You show him a good time, sweetheart,” Will instructed, with a wink for them both as he got up. “Because next time I catch you moping, buddy-boy, trust me when I say the remedy ain’t gonna come in such a tight little package.”
***
“Jesus, girl ... what the hell you doin’ to me?” Colton muttered, as he dragged his mouth from Callie’s in the growing dusk beside her parked car. Both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other - just like the first time they’d found themselves like this. Only this time, there was no one to interrupt them. “Come back with me,” he managed gruffly, his thumb grazing her soft skin as he cupped her cheek in one work-roughened hand. His mind was already picturing her in his bed, the images made all the more vivid by the night they’d already spent together ...
“Colt ... I can’t.”
Already inwardly cursing the moment he’d let his guard down, the biker’s face hardened and he let go
of her abruptly. He should have known. A taste of danger was all well and good, but now shit was getting real ... No. He bit down hard on that thought, when once he’d have let it send him onto his bike and off in a shower of gravel without even a backward glance.
This wasn’t just any chick. This was the one girl he’d come to trust, who’d accepted him for what he was and stuck by him. The one who’d stepped up for him when not even his brothers had been able to do what was needed. The one who’d somehow gotten under his skin like no one else ever had and who’d ended up saving his life.
“Gotta run back to your little boyfriend?” he asked instead of simply taking off, feigning nonchalance and trying not to consider what it meant to have to feign something that was usually so routine for him.
“It’s not like that,” Callie said, sounding like she’d expected such a response. He’d always prided himself on being unreadable, but she seemed to see right through him. “And you know it.”
There was no response that in his mind didn’t threaten to make him look like a petulant kid, so he said nothing, though his dark eyes flashed with anger at being called out.
“You’re not the wronged party here, Colton,” she said, squaring her shoulders as she faced him from just inches away. “I haven’t been fair to him, I really haven’t. And it has to stop.”
“So you think you’re better off going back to whatever jumped-up little prick you’re fucking?” The heated response at the thought of her with another man was out of him before he could stop it. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he was used to and it was more than a little unsettling.
“Was. I was fucking him,” she sighed, looking him dead in the eye. “Colt, I know my handling of this hasn’t exactly been sparkling, but I can’t keep cheating on him. Just because I don’t love him ... that doesn’t mean he deserves this. We were never right for each other, but that’s not his fault any more than it’s mine. And I didn’t want to get into all this with you because I ... I don’t want you thinking this is some big game plan, because it’s really not ...”
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 15
