“Just because you weren’t together doesn’t mean you weren’t connected,” she said gently. “I know I didn’t really know her, but I talked to her, Sam, and I know there was something there. I’m not saying she was in love with you, but she loved being with you. Girl like that, hanging round here ... it’d be easy for that to turn into a bad time. But it didn’t for her, because of you.”
“It got her killed. Seems like a bad fucking time to me.”
“So be angry. For her, for your brothers. Be sad they’re gone,” she said. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t give a damn about her. I know you guys don’t exactly run around with your hearts on your sleeves, but don’t let this eat you up inside, Sam. Don’t bottle it up like this.”
He pitched his cigarette butt to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot, turning to Callie as he exhaled a long stream of smoke and let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re a good girl, Cal. But trust me, babe, some things are better left that way.”
***
Left to her own thoughts, Callie tucked her feet up on the bench and laid her head on her knees. It seemed so quiet, so unreal that this could be the same place she’d been left with a girl’s dying body in her arms.
She’d been on the periphery of this world for so long, she’d thought she could handle it. It was only now she realised just how different flitting round the edges was to being at the heart of the club and all that entailed.
And on top of that, she’d half expected Colton to start pulling away already. After all, she’d never quite expected to be allowed so close in the first place.
Even as she’d broken down in his arms, Callie had felt the latent fury at the wrong that had been done to his club coursing through his tense muscles. There had been no whispered words of meaningless comfort, no gentle caresses. But he had held her until the tears subsided and the water of the shower ran just shy of luke-warm.
She’d offered to go home, to get out of the way and let the bikers deal with their losses as they best saw fit. Even though she couldn’t help but wonder how raw anger and grief for fallen brothers might manifest – and couldn’t help but suspect alcohol and nameless women might feature pretty heavily.
It was a thought that made her stomach flip-flop, no matter how much she tried to pretend it didn’t.
But instead, he’d ordered her to stay put.
And even though the night had somehow already stretched towards dawn and he’d left her to go chain-smoke his way through an emergency session with his brothers and down shots in memory of their comrades, it had been her he’d come back to in the end. The sex, when they reached for each other under the covers, was hard and intense – like they both needed proof, reassurance that the other was really there and still in one piece.
“You thinking it could have been you?” Colton had asked, out of nowhere, when they were both collapsed back against the pillows and still getting their breath back. He never had believed in sugar-coating anything and it seemed he wasn’t about to start any time soon either. “Instead of that redhead?”
“Not point in what ifs,” Callie had said softly, knowing that wasn’t her first concern.
“Hey ...” He’d reached out to turn her head towards his and steal a firm kiss. “What’s going on in that head, girl?”
She’d let him pull her closer, slid a hand over his chest to settle just over his heart and gave a contented little sigh when his arm wrapped around her waist. “Never woulda had you pegged as the snuggling type, Greene.”
“You think I’m gonna complain about those perfect tits pushing up on me?” he’d growled, lips grazing her ear. “And quit changing the subject.”
“I’m ... sorry, Colt.”
“Don’t need to be.”
“Not about that,” Callie had said quietly, shifting so she could look down into his dark eyes. “About your brothers. They’re your family. It must be hard. I ... I don’t know what I’d have done if it had been Sketch. Or you.”
The admission had been as close as she’d come to an acceptance of exactly how she felt about him, but she didn’t know if he was ready to hear that. Didn’t know if she was ready to say it either.
“No what ifs, you said.” But he’d reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin. The almost tender gesture at odds with the hard set of his jaw though. “Welcome to the life, baby. Had enough yet?”
She’d shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
***
CHAPTER 37
She looked so peaceful as she slept, the covers pooled around her waist and exposing the tan silk of her bare back and shoulders. Her arms were folded below the pillows, one cheek pressed into their softness and that mass of sun-kissed blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder. Badass tattoo or not, she looked too young and somehow too pure to be sharing his bed.
He thought about the tiny, intricate wings he’d put on her and imagined inking them full-size on that most perfect of canvases, from shoulder to hip – turning her into the only angel that could ever hope to redeem the killer he’d long since become.
Reaching across her still sleeping form, he took his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and sat propped against the headboard of the bed as he lit up. A long drag, the first of the day, hit his throat and he tilted his head back to exhale a stream of smoke into the morning air.
A thunderstorm was brewing, he could feel it. Heavy, ominous. The room was darker than it should have been and he could picture the dark clouds rolling outside the window, though the curtains were still closed. It was early, even for him, but sleep somehow felt like a distant memory. The first flash of lightening was quickly followed by a rumble of thunder and he glanced to see if the girl would wake.
It seemed nothing could disturb the worn-out little blonde though, who just hours earlier had wrapped her legs around his hips as he buried himself inside her, and he reached out almost curiously. With the hand that still held his lit cigarette, he let his fingertips drift down her spine, barely touching the soft skin and watching the tiny glow move slowly over her.
Just as slowly, deliberately, he turned his hand knuckles down and let the red-hot ash sear into delicate skin.
The same big gray eyes that had looked up at him hazy with lust flew open, full of shock and pain and confusion. She tried to get up but, all at once, he had her pinned down with his weight and his breath was hot on her ear.
“Welcome to the life, baby. Had enough yet?”
***
Callie woke with a gasp, struggling to breathe and trembling, as sweat cooled on her almost feverish skin. Her eyes darted to the other side of the bed, but found it empty and the covers tugged messily back into place.
“Shit ...” she whispered shakily, closing her eyes and trying to will her raging emotions back under control.
It was the third time in a week that the same nightmare had crept into her subconscious – the first time she’d woken up screaming, the second with tears pouring down her face. This time, she’d managed to avoid either, but she was still glad Colton hadn’t been around to witness the aftermath that still managed to leave her heart hammering in her chest.
Forcing herself out from under the covers, she remembered Colton sliding out of bed naked to find the t-shirt she was wearing. Before she’d drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his inked arms, she’d been vaguely aware of his hand in her hair and thought he’d pressed soft kisses to her temple.
The biker could be rough, but he had never once set out to hurt her and she hated to think of having to tell him what had gotten her so rattled. Ruthless hitman or not, she was fairly sure it would bother him. Especially as she couldn’t even offer any logical explanation as to where the dark thoughts were coming from. After all, in her head she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Maybe it was just a vibe she was getting from being around the shot-up clubhouse, or from the funerals of the those who'd been gunned down ... Either way, she knew she had to find a way to get it th
e hell out of her system and quick.
***
“... it’s been a tough few weeks for all of us,” Will concluded, from his usual seat at the head of the table. They were in session early, but his brothers hadn’t been hard to drag from their beds given the subject on the agenda – even those with a warm body to keep them company. “I know most of you were speaking to Frankie in person, but he just wanted to officially put his thanks on record for the turn-out at Stevie and TJ’s funerals.”
“Reno always got our backs – least we could do was give the boys a good send-off,” Johnny said, a united rumble of agreement rising over his gruff tones.
Even Sam muttered his support, though his mind did flash to the much lower key service he’d forced himself to go to later that same evening and the contrast that couldn’t have been much starker. No-expense-spared glossy black caskets, draped in cuts and flanked by bodies in club colours, compared with the plain wooden box that had been lowered into the ground in front of a mere handful of people.
He’d gone alone, no cut and with the cool steel of his gun pressed against his back where he’d tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, hidden by his long-sleeved navy shirt. At least the burn of his left bicep had given him something to focus on, as the priest’s voice rose and fell in the quiet of the graveyard.
FLASHBACK
The hum of the tattoo gun mixed with the classic rock on the radio to finally give him some kind of peace from the noise in his head. He was starting to see just what Colton got out of that kind of catharsis. Escape.
His eyes trained on the needle and the skilled hand that held it, he folded his free arm behind his head as he leaned back in the recliner and watched the progress that was being made by the pretty little blonde. Under her ministrations, a dark tribal-style band had started to wrap around his bicep – a reworking of a design he’d sketched crudely from memories of a more delicate, more feminine version etched on smooth tanned skin.
What had once been a mere tramp-stamp would now be a tribute of sorts. One only he and Callie would know the truth about, hidden in plain sight among the rest of his ink. No name, no hearts or flowers, just bold dark lines.
“Looks good,” Sam said, flexing his arm experimentally when she’d sat back to wipe off excess ink and check how her artwork was coming along.
“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Callie said, though her soft smile didn’t quite disguise the slight wince when she turned to reach for her tattoo gun again.
Part of him wanted to keep going. He was more than used to the sensation of getting inked and didn’t consider it pain, especially compared to laying his bike down or getting into it with some shithead. While the work was extensive and his raw skin burned from the drag of the needle, he actually kinda relished the feeling.
But no way was he going to be the one responsible for making his brother’s girl keel over.
“You okay, doll?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just haven’t been sleeping too well and it’s just my first day back working since ...” She broke off to tap her head, her stitches still kept hidden – this time by a headscarf that also held her long wavy hair back from her face. “It’s surprising how quickly you get out of the way of things. Plus, I hold a lot of tension in my shoulders when I’m working, so ya know ...”
“Killer been playing nursemaid? Got himself healing hands to go with that Glock?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow at the look on her face. “I’ll take that as a no comment.”
He let her get back to work, the silence that never seemed to feel awkward descending over them.
“Cal, can I ask you a favour?” came the sudden question.
“Uh, I guess ...” she said unsurely, obviously wondering what the hell he could possible want from her.
He had been reluctant to ask but, figuring it was the last good thing he could do for the redhead who’d somehow worked her way under his skin, he steeled himself to go ahead.
“I thought maybe you could ... come to Ashley’s funeral? She ain’t got a lot of people and it just don’t seem right.”
The sergeant glanced up just in time to see the taken aback expression on the tattooist’s face and his own eyes hardened at once. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have ...”
“No, Sam, wait,” the girl broke in, laying a hand on his arm. “I’ll ... I’ll be there.”
***
“... we’ve had our time to re-group, re-focus. Now it’s time to take back control,” Will continued, eying those sat around him as if assessing them. He took in the hardening of eyes, the nodding heads. Every man there was resolute. “No more playing games. We go in hard, we come out whole. Trust me, shit just got real for those jumped-up little bastards. Got something to say, Jake?”
“Just wanna be sure we know what we’re getting into here,” his brother answered, toying uneasily with his unsheathed knife. “Listen, man, I hear ya on not letting this go unanswered. But are we being too quick to write these fuckers off as an easy take-down? We’re used to flying under the radar, keeping our shit on the down-low - turf wars ain’t our bag and I don’t wanna be seeing any spaces round this table any time soon.”
Sam definitely got that, much as he was gunning for those behind the attack on his club every bit as much as Will was. But he’d spent years earning his sergeant’s patch – he knew better than to let lust for revenge get in the way of club preservation. That didn’t mean they could allow such an attack to go unanswered though. Not when it had cost them so much and put so much more at risk.
It was taking a long moment for Jake’s concerns to sink in and every man around the table was weighing his words. It reminded Sam of the uncertain pause by the graveside before the priest seemed to realise there was no one to make an emotional speech for the young woman who had just been lowered into the ground in front of him. No one to weep and throw flowers on top of the simple box before the gravediggers came to fill in the hole.
The light touch on his back had almost made him start, but he’d half-turned to find Callie pressing a dark pink gerbera daisy into his hand. He hadn’t noticed her arrive and had assumed she’d had second thoughts.
“Roses seemed too cliché,” she had whispered softly.
But, finally, Jake was to get his answer – just not from the president.
“We ain’t goin’ out to start a war ...” Colton spoke up from where he watched and listened in near silence, his eyes dark with still unspent anger and his words hanging heavily in the air. “We’re gonna end it.”
Amen to that, Sam thought. Amen.
***
CHAPTER 38
They may have laid those they’d lost to rest, but the weight of an attack as yet unanswered still lay heavy over the clubhouse. Chip could feel it, even as he jammed the tiny buds in his ears and cranked up the music playing on his laptop to drown out the day-to-day noise of the clubhouse.
He could have squirreled himself away in Will’s office to work on gathering intel on the Norteños, but distracting as it could be out by the bar, he still preferred it to being cooped up in the quiet. That just tended to make him jittery and jittery wasn’t good. That stopped him thinking clearly; or just made him a pain in the ass for his brothers and tended to earn him the odd clip round the head like he was still some kid looking to patch.
Already feeling his focus start to drift again though, Chip hunkered over his screen and drew the hood of his navy sweatshirt up, trying his best to concentrate on finding any scrap of information that they could use to their advantage. He’d had to give up on looking into the club’s lawyer for the moment, having found only one shred of anything remotely interesting that he’d have to follow up, to check out the Norteños instead. But it actually wasn’t proving as difficult as it might have. Galling as it was, given that they’d managed to shoot up the club, they really were dealing with small-time gangbangers looking to make a name for themselves. Not some more professional outfit, shrouded in secrecy and motivated purely by cold hard cash.
In fact, he was pretty sure he’d already identified the key players they were after.
Antonio Cervantes, suspected leader of La Eñe14 and well-known to the cops. He had a string of priors as long as Chip’s arm, mostly drug related but with rape and battery thrown in for good measure. He’d actually spent more of time in jail than out of it, which had at least given him a prime opportunity to gather followers. And his known associates seemed equally charming individuals – primarily, a serial arsonist named Armando Delgado and violent car thief Mateo Ortega, backed up by a few willing and experienced foot soldiers.
But the rest of Cervantes’ gang were barely out of their teens. They weren’t so much career criminals by choice, but had probably rather been sucked into the life in a bid to survive the streets. Just because Chip knew the score didn’t mean he didn’t want to see their two-bit little operation taken out though. They’d made their choices and targeting the Fallen was simply the biggest wrong choice of their miserable, and now inevitably shorter, lives.
“Earth to Chip ... Bleedin’ hell, son, you were miles away then!” Shay grinned down at the intel officer, having already startled him back to the here and now by unceremoniously yanking his hood right down over his eyes. “C’mon, time to take a break – Will doesn’t want your wee eyes goin’ square sittin’ at that thing.”
“Where we going?” Chip asked eagerly, already starting to shut down the programs he had open.
“Thought we might go let off some steam,” the Irishman shrugged. “Maybe grab Sam and Colton, see if they wanna show a couple of visitors what Haven has to offer. No point in us sitting here stewing. A dose o’ cabin fever ain’t gonna work in our favour when Will gives us the word to go waste these wee bastards.”
“You got somewhere in mind?”
“I’m open to suggestions, kid, but there used to be this great strip joint downtown. Charley’s, I think it was called. Now those lasses could show a man a good time, if ya know what I mean,” Shay said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 24
