He laughed outright at the thought. “In case you ain’t noticed, pussy’s a dime a dozen round here. Don’t go thinking you’re special just ‘cause Colt’s been sticking it to you for more than a week. Who knows, give it long enough and maybe Sam’ll get a go after all.”
Her jaw dropped in shock and she stared at him, lost for a response. “I’m not some club skank,” she said finally, obviously struggling to know how to handle this.
But Will had to admit he was a little impressed that she seemed to keep in her head a healthy respect for the fact that this was his club, his turf, his rules. He could see just a hint of fear underneath the bristling anger and confusion. He leaned in close, letting a hand trail down her arm. “When a guy’s surrounded by easy lays, sometimes he’s gotta mix it up a little. Trust me, sugar, you ain’t nothin’ but a change of scenery,” he sneered. “It ain’t love, just a different kind of fuck. Door’s that way.”
***
Callie had dared to edge forward, reaching out to slide her palms over his t-shirt clad chest as she looked up at him, those gray eyes full of regret. “Maybe Will’s right,” she said finally. “And it isn’t worth sacrificing his trust in you because of me, not if this is just ... sex.”
For a long moment, Colton just stared at her and she could feel the tension building between them. Hell, she could see the effort it was taking for him to keep his temper under wraps.
“If you still think that’s all this is, maybe it ain’t worth it,” he snarled, already heading for the door. “I’m done here.”
***
CHAPTER 42
Tilting his head back to blow a stream of fragrant cigar smoke into the air, Will sighed and then levelled his gaze at the man stood in the doorway of his office. “Okay, let’s hear it, brother.”
Unfolding his arms and pushing away from the doorframe he’d cocked a shoulder against, Sam took a seat in front of the president’s desk and leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees. “You really want to hear it?”
“Said I did, didn’t I?”
“Callie looked pretty upset when she burned outta here ...” the sergeant began, searching for the right way to do this. “Listen, man, I’m just gonna jump to it. I know where your head’s at, but she ain’t Taylor. You can’t let the past cloud your judgement.”
“You questioning my judgement?”
“Only on this.”
“And Colt?”
“Ain’t gonna lie, he’s pretty fucking pissed,” Sam shrugged. “He went after her ...”
“Looks like he made his choice then,” Will growled, another slow burn of anger flaring somewhere deep inside him even though the news wasn’t quite as out of the left field as it once might have been.
“No,” came the immediate response, complete with a shake of the head for emphasis. “No choice because there wasn’t one to be made, man. If that girl had done one single thing to hurt this club, you know he’d be the first one on her tail. But she hasn’t and she ain’t planning on it either.”
“You can’t fucking know that!”
“I’m as close to certain as I’ve ever been about anything.”
***
Surveying the scene inside the abandoned warehouse La Eñe14 had taken over as one of their bases, the gang leader gritted his teeth in frustration. After a few days of laying low until the heat died down, his men were celebrating the shoot-up at the Fallen Brothers’ clubhouse. The stupid bastards seemed content with their half-assed job, with taking out a couple of low ranks and some whore when he’d been hoping to make much more of an impact.
They were still thinking small-time when he was aiming for the big leagues and that displeased him.
“Yo, boss, what up? You want another beer?” his so-called number two hollered as he approached, with a shit-eating grin on his face and a swagger in his step.
“Yeah, that’s what I want – knocking back this warm piss in some dump. Really worth the celebrations, ese,” Antonio Cervantes all but spat.
“Hey, come on, man - we pulled this off! Sent a message to those biker pricks ...”
“A message? More like a fucking inconvenience!” came the retort, the swift rise to his feet sending the table crashing over and drawing the attention of the others as he rounded on his supposed number two. “You think this is it, Mateo - that we’re done now? That they’re done?”
“Those crackers will think twice before interfering in our business again.”
“What those crackers will do, shithead, is come after us. Hard. Maybe things would be different if we’d done some real damage – taken out their president, someone who really matters. But all we’ve done is piss them off. And you know what they do to people who piss them off? They send that guy, the one they call the killer.”
Mateo looked like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. No doubt he hadn’t – none of them had.
“I heard he once cut a guy’s tongue out,” he mumbled, blanching at the thought. “Just to stop the screams when he smashed both his kneecaps.”
“So we need to be prepared.”
“Prepared like how? They got a lot more fire power than us, man ...”
“We need leverage. A weakness we can exploit,” Antonio said, eyes narrowing as he already started to muse over the possibilities. “Something to hold over their heads.”
“Doesn’t sound like this killer has too many weaknesses.”
“Everyone has a weakness. We just have to find his.”
***
“You need me here to watch you drink yourself into oblivion or are you actually gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
The sharp tone appeared to cut through the buzz created by knocking back shots of whiskey like they were water, but the only answer to the question was a shake of the head. That and another drink, a wince at the burn of the alcohol, and a signal to the nearest bartender to refill the glass.
Lana had to admit she usually enjoyed the change of scenery when she and Callie would occasionally hit some dive bar and just cut loose. It was something different than the pretentious nightclubs her colleagues frequented just to be seen – the perfect opportunity to just hang out, have fun, and not feel like anyone was judging.
Tonight, the call had been out of the blue. They usually were, so that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was that - even under the dim lights and through the haze of cigarette smoke - she could see the pain etched on her friend’s face. She already knew it couldn’t be good if the younger woman was intent on hitting the bottle quite so hard, but just looking in her too-bright eyes was enough to show that something was really twisting her up inside.
Pushing at the beefy arm of some guy who’d stolen her barstool while she was in the dingy glorified closet they called a ladies’ bathroom, and shooting him a steely glare that dared him to make something of it, Lana sat back down beside Callie and prised the glass from her fingers. “No,” she said firmly, fending her off and deciding she’d already allowed this to go on too long. “Not until you talk to me. Sweetie, please, I’m really worried about you.”
“It’s just a few drinks. I can handle a few drinks.”
“The better part of half a bottle doesn’t constitute a few drinks, Callie. And by my calculating, if you weren’t so fucking stubborn, your little ass would already be on the floor.”
“I’m fine!” came the increasingly irritated response, as the girl staggered to her feet and twirled around as if to prove her point. “See? If I was drunk, could I do this?”
Watching the little performance, Lana rolled her eyes. She had to hand it to her friend, overly smudged eyeliner aside, she could take what looked like some real heartache and make it work for her. And it seemed the guy she’d just stumbled into agreed, his hands sliding unnecessarily to her ass as he steadied her.
“Woah, easy there, doll-face ...” he started, raking an appreciative gaze over her toned curves and raising an eyebrow at the sight of her ink.
But that was as far as he got before L
ana swiftly intervened, grabbing Callie’s arm. “Don’t make me call Sketch and get him down here to see this shit – we’re getting you some fresh air,” she insisted, the kid gloves coming off as she focused on half dragging the girl towards the door and out into the alleyway.
She didn’t even notice the guy who set his neglected beer back down on the bar to follow in their wake ...
Pulling Callie towards a wall out of the way of those coming and going from the bar, the reporter fished in her bag for a much needed cigarette and sparked up as they sat down sit by side. “So,” Lana started, reaching with her free hand to squeeze the little blonde’s fingers in a bid to comfort her. “Talk to me.”
“Nothin’ to say,” Callie shrugged, stealing the cigarette and taking a long drag.
“Really?” Lana raised a sceptical eyebrow and took her smoke back with a shake of her head. “Honey, you’re nearly thirty. Your days of drinking yourself stupid and trying to cultivate a smoking habit you don’t have, all over a boy, should be long gone.”
That at least drew a wry snort, probably at the thought of anyone referring to Colton as a boy. But all at once, probably with the not insignificant help of the alcohol, Callie’s face simply crumpled.
“I fucked up,” she whispered, looking for all the world like a lost little girl. “I fucked up and he left. It hurts my heart, Lana. I didn’t think it would, but it does. It really does ...”
“Oh, Callie,” Lana managed, hating to see her normally so together friend fall apart in front of her and pulling her into her arms as she finally broke down and cried. “Honey, honey, honey ... Come on now, it can’t be that bad. You’re drunk, sweetie. I don’t know what’s gone on, but I’m sure it just seems a lot worse than it really is.”
“No, it’s really pretty fucked up,” Callie laughed through her tears. “Colton probably hates me and I think Will kinda wants me gone. Like dead and in a hole gone. And there’s ... there’s even one of the club following us right now. You should go, Lana. Jus’ go.”
***
“That girl ... she don’t poke and she don’t pry, not with Colt and not with any of us. Not even after all this time. She gets it, respects how shit works round here – come on, you know you’ve said it yourself!” Sam insisted, leaning forward in his urgency. “Will, I’d stake my goddamn bike on her being in love with him. And now she’s pushing him away, all because she don’t want to make trouble. That ain’t the actions of a girl with an agenda!”
Processing that with more than a little surprise that the girl hadn’t trotted out some sob story about what he’d said in a bid to twist his hitman against him, Will steepled his fingers and met his sergeant’s intense stare.
“And if you’re wrong? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Sam hung his head and for a moment, Will thought the cruel reminder had won the battle. Then the jaw set a little harder, the chin lifting in determination.
“If we’re wrong about her, she’s playing one hell of a long game. In fact, if we’re wrong ... I’ll kill her myself,” Sam vowed grimly. “And then you can kill me.”
***
CHAPTER 43
Even the usually clingy chicks were giving him a wide berth. Colton had been slouched grim-faced at the bar for the last hour, smoking cigarette after cigarette and nursing the same hi-ball full of whiskey. He’d already had an earful off Sketch and it had taken all his patience to bear it without letting his clenched fists fly.
Part of him wanted to argue that if that little blonde bitch wanted to drink herself stupid that was her look-out. Part of him – the part he was trying to ignore - knew all too well that if anything had happened to the girl, he’d have blamed himself.
He was so focused on trying to think about anything but the obvious that, for once, he was caught off guard by the hand that descended on his shoulder.
“Chill, man,” Sam said quickly, obviously clocking the hand that instinctively went straight for the knife at his hip. “Only me.” When all he got was a grunt in response, the sergeant pulled up a bar stool of his own and signalled to the nearest prospect to get him a drink before getting straight to the point. “So I talked to Will. ‘Bout Callie.”
That drew Colton’s attention and he turned a flat gaze on his friend. “Ain’t your place.”
“Were you gonna do it?” The sharp question was met by a stony silence. “Didn’t think so. Listen, Colt, you know Will - he ain’t gonna straight up admit it any time soon, but I reckon he gets it. Deep down. That this ain’t like with Taylor.”
“So?” Colton shrugged, after a long expectant pause.
“So you know Callie only acted the way she did ‘cause she thought she was making things easier for you. And you’re only this fucking miserable about it ‘cause you actually give a shit about her!” Sam declared impatiently. “Ain’t no point even trying to deny it, bro. Just call her. Or better yet, go make things right.”
***
Work had always been such a place of solace, somewhere she could lose herself amid the hum of her needle. But right now, there were too many reminders to clear the noise in her head - from the past sketches in her pad to the massive golden eagle among the photo collage of finished ink on the wall.
And even when she dropped into a recliner at the back of the studio, for use when their clients requested a tattoo or piercing that required a little more privacy, her mind simply raced every time she let her eyes drift closed.
“Please, Sketch, don’t start lecturing me again,” Callie groaned, her eyes still shut as she heard a stool being drawn up beside where she was laid. “I’m on my break – it’s not like I’m sleeping on the job!”
“Never said you were, girl,” Sketch countered coolly, nudging a bottle of water into her hand and holding out a couple of painkillers.
She eyed him with barely concealed suspicion and then took what seemed to be a peace offering. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Aware of concerned brown eyes still watching her intently, Callie hesitated and then downed the pills with a swig of the cool water before meeting his gaze again. “Come on then,” she sighed. “Let’s hear it.”
“I ain’t gonna lecture. Said I wasn’t, didn’t I?” he said, shaking his head. “But damn, Cal, I just hate seeing ya this fucking miserable. Talk to me, kiddo.”
She’d tried to keep telling herself there was nothing to talk about. That she and Colton had just been friends with benefits - really good benefits – that simply hadn’t worked out in the end. No harm done. But she hadn’t been able to factor in the ache in her heart when she thought about it all being over. Whatever it was that they’d had. She’d never wanted to be the teary-eyed chick left with nothing but doubts.
Interrupted by the jingle of the door chimes, Sketch sighed and left her to go see what was happening out front, patting her hand on the way past. At the sound of footsteps a minute later, she just assumed he’d returned.
“Suffering?”
Callie’s head flew up at the gruff voice, gray eyes widening though she tried to recover herself quickly. “I ... I’m guessing you’re not here to sympathise.”
“Self-inflicted,” Colton shrugged. “That don’t buy you sympathy.”
“So do I get to ask what you are doing here?”
Sitting down on the stool vacated by Sketch, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, the biker met her gaze head-on. “Shouldn’t have took off on you before,” he admitted finally. “Not knowing what you were trying to do. And I do know. Guess I just ... didn’t want to hear it.”
“Why not?” Callie asked softly, tearing her eyes away from his to focus on the glass of water she was toying with. She didn’t really expect an answer – she knew he wasn’t one for talking things out.
“Because I fucking told you I cared,” Colton said heatedly, with a finger jabbing in her direction and the gravel of his voice tinged with a flare of anger even now. “And it seemed to me like you were intent on throwing that back in
my damn face. Ignoring shit I specifically told you. You pissed me off, little girl. And then some.”
Taken aback, she floundered for a response. “For what it’s worth ... I’m sorry, Colt,” she sighed, setting down her glass and covering her tired face with her hands. “Is this the part where you tell me what usually happens to people who piss you off?”
“This is the part where I tell you not to ever do it again.”
Before Callie knew what was happening, he’d leaned forward and pulled her hands from her face, pinning them above her head against the recliner as he claimed her lips in a rough kiss. It took her a few stunned seconds to react, but only a few. Then she was pulling free of his grip – and instead, letting her arms wrap around his neck as she kissed him back, feeling the weight of his body as he eased himself over her and sent the chair tilting as far back as it would go.
“I’m sorry too, baby,” came the low growl in her ear, as his mouth trailed along her jaw and down her neck. The words were so low she wasn’t sure at first that she hadn’t imagined them.
And then he was kissing her again, a hand in the tangles of her hair and a groan escaping his throat when she shifted under him. “Ain’t the first time I’ve thought about fucking you in one of these chairs,” he said huskily, chuckling at the look on her face. “You inked me right ... here,” came the explanation, his hand guiding hers between them to rest dangerously low on his abdomen. “You were wearing some white little vest. Made your tits look incredible. Come on, let’s get the hell outta here.”
“What about Sketch?”
“Three’s a crowd,” Colton grinned.
But even as he climbed off her, Callie kept the fingers of one hand laced through his, holding him back. “What about Will?” she asked quietly.
“We’ll get through that shit,” he said firmly. “You and me.”
***
A look of irritation crossing his face at the interruption, Antonio reached for his ringing cell phone but his eyes never left the now topless pole dancer writhing just in front of him.
“This better be good, ese,” he warned the caller straight off the bat.
Ink (The Haven Series) Page 27
