Miles (Highway Reapers MC): Inked Hearts

by West, Heather

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  The response was so abrupt that Brea straightened in surprise, releasing the strand of hair she’d been holding.

  “You can’t?”

  Panic began to roll around inside her, making her feel nauseous. Last night Miles had cancelled on her because he had to work and now he was bypassing another chance to see her. What was going on? Brea inhaled sharply as she waited for his excuse, praying that it would at least sound plausible.

  “Babe, I’m so sorry.” Each of his words were strained as though he were having difficulty saying them. Brea sighed in frustration, releasing the breath she’d been holding.

  “You cancelled on me last night.” She sounded so plaintive and needy, which she hated but she couldn’t help it. She was desperate to see Miles, didn’t he feel the same way about her? Hadn’t he said that he loved her?

  “I know,” Miles croaked. “And I’m sorry.”

  “So what is it this time? You can’t be working again.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Brea could almost hear the cogs in Miles’ brain whirring as he frantically tried to think up an excuse.

  “You know what? Forget it!” she declared sharply, ending the call and breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Somehow she’d managed to do just as Sylar had wanted. She’d pushed Miles away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Brea willed herself to remain calm, to be rational but the hurt in her chest was too much. She dropped against her small sofa and buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

  Chapter 65

  Miles winced as he dropped his cell phone back on to the nightstand beside the bed. Everything hurt. Each breath he took felt brittle and sore. With a groan he managed to hoist himself up so that he was sitting up in bed. In the dim light offered by the closed drapes he could see Hank and Colin sprawled out around him. The sheets beneath them were dark with blood.

  “Urgh,” Miles massaged his neck, all of his muscles protesting at the movement. Using all the energy he had he slowly got up and made his way towards the small bathroom, needing to access the damage.

  When he looked in the mirror above the sink he was greeted with a grim sight. Both of his eyes were blood shot and bordered in darkening shadows. A deep cut ran down from his left ear and dried blood had collected down his neck like a dark, inky stain. Turning on the faucets he began running the water to clean his hands. As he did he noticed that his knuckles were red raw and when he put them under the warm water it stung. Grimacing he pulled his hands back from the sink. There was no way he could let Brea see him like this.

  He needed pain relief and fast. But first he had to make himself presentable. Wincing he undressed and climbed into the shower. He stood beneath the hot water for a good twenty minutes. It felt good and eased some of the pain. When the water around him was finally running clear he came out and dried off, steam surrounding him like a foggy cloud.

  He pulled his jeans back on but grabbed a clean shirt from his duffel bag in the motel room. Hank and Colin still hadn’t stirred. Miles felt better for showering but his temple was starting to throb. Shrugging on his jacket he prepared to go outside but as he placed his hand on the door handle something stirred behind him.

  “Hey, Miles,” Hank called out groggily, raking his hands through his long blonde hair and managing to sit up with some effort.

  “Hey, man,” Miles turned around and took in how terrible his companion looked. Hank’s right cheek was red and swollen up like a balloon about to pop. It was painful just to look at.

  “I know I don’t look like my usual pretty self,” he chuckled. “But I’ll be right again soon enough. Hand me that will ya?” he nodded to a half empty bottle of whiskey over by the television. Miles stepped back in to the room to grab it for him.

  “Thanks,” Hank lifted the bottle to his lips and drank greedily from it. “You off out?” he asked when he was done drinking.

  “Yeah,” Miles nodded. “I need some pain meds.”

  “I got all the pain relief I need right here,” Hank raised the bottle and grinned.

  “I need to keep a clear head,” Miles countered.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “We made a lot of noise last night. We’ll have attracted the attention of the damn Reapers, I’m sure they’ll be here soon enough.”

  “Let them come,” Hank gestured widely with his bottle, his eyes burning with the fiery delight of a mad man. “I had so much fun last night. I’d love to do it all again.”

  Miles’ head throbbed even more furiously when he thought about the previous night. How the three of them had descended upon the small bar in town. It had been a slow night, most of the tables were empty.

  A waitress with dark blonde hair had flirtatiously lifted her top to show Hank her new tattoo. He’d grinned with approval and ran a hand down her back, letting it settle on her waist.

  “Darling, I think you should come home with me,” he’d told her. Miles had glanced at the tattoo and wondered if it was Brea’s work. He felt heavy with guilt to think of her. He knew that they should have been in some darkened theatre watching a movie, rather than him out running errands for the Blood Gang. Resentment burned in him, dangerous and hot.

  When the clock approached the witching hour, the trio made their move. Hank had casually approached the pool table where two men in lumberjack shirts were playing.

  “Hey man, we’re still playing, wait your turn,” the taller of the men had declared tersely.

  “I don’t like waiting,” Hank had replied, narrowing his eyes. Then without warning he’d punched the taller man square in the nose, deliberating aiming his fist so that it connected with the soft base. There was a loud crack and blood erupted from the man’s face like a sinister fountain. He staggered back, clutching at his nose.

  “You broke my fucking nose!” he cried shrilly. “You fucking bastard!”

  The man’s friend managed to get a punch in. It landed on Hank’s cheek, connecting squarely with his flesh. Spittle came from his mouth as his face got knocked so harshly to the side. But Colin was there to step in. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, pulled him close and then delivered a knee directly in to his chest, winding him.

  “Hey, we don’t want no trouble!” the freshly tattooed waitress had called out, her face drained of color.

  “Go home,” Miles instructed her quietly. “Turn around and walk away right now.”

  “I’ll lose my job if I leave,” she fretted.

  “Then find somewhere to hide. Things are going to get pretty ugly in here.”

  She’d nodded fearfully and scurried off towards the back room. A few of the other patrons made a hasty retreat but the more fool hardy among them, stayed. They were keen to defend their local bar. Miles wanted to laugh at their naivety. Instead he was surprised by a bearded man who wielded a blade and slashed at him, realizing that he was with the other trouble makers.

  Miles cried out in surprise. But he didn’t hesitate in delivering a reciprocal blow. He moved with cat like speed and grace, grabbing the man’s arm which was holding the blade and bending it back, applying pressure until he heard the reassuring snap of a bone breaking. The man screamed and dropped to his knees in agony. Stooping down Miles grabbed the blade and took it for himself.

  “Thanks,” he told the man who was writhing in pain, clutching his limp arm. Miles walked over to join Colin and Hank, he could feel his own warm blood trickling down from where the blade had caught him.

  “Hey,” Colin was wiping a hand across his clammy forehead, his sleeves rolled up as six burly men approached the trio, thinking that they had them cornered over by the pool table.

  “What happened to you?” Colin nodded at Miles’ ear.

  “Some fucker cut me,” he replied with a sneer.

  “Redneck bastards. Who brings a blade to a brawl?”

  “Exactly.”

  The other men in the bar who had banded together approached the trio and as the two sides connected punche
s and kicks were thrown. Hank bit the ear clean off one guy while Miles tried to keep his own fighting cleaner. He mainly just punched anyone who came at him. He knocked out a few teeth and might have even broken a jaw or two.

  Finally when all the men were down they started to rip apart the bar. They turned over tables, toppled the pool table, ripped down light fittings. They did everything they could to render the place ruined.

  Not once did they hear the piercing squeal of approaching sirens. The cops knew that this was pack business and were smart enough to stay away.

  “Are we done here?” Hank eventually asked, pausing to kick a fallen man in the ribs.

  Miles scanned the destruction. The bar had been totaled. It would be months before it was able to re-open.

  “Yeah, we’re done.”

  As they were leaving he clocked the blonde barmaid peering out from a distant door towards the back of the room. When she observed the destruction a solitary tear fell from her eyes and she shot Miles a hateful look. He’d normally shrug off such a look but this time it pierced him deeper than the blade had. She hated him and she had every right to. He’d ruined her bar and for no good reason other than he’d been told to, by his bitter old Uncle. Both shame and pain kept Miles’ head low as he trudged back towards the motel behind Hank and Colin.

  Chapter 66

  Sylar didn’t care who saw him as he rode into town. With Smith at his side, he felt powerful and unstoppable. He drove down the narrow streets until he arrived on the street where Brea worked. He drove directly towards the tattoo parlor and then stopped.

  “Looks closed to me,” Smith observed as he came to a stop just behind him. Swinging himself off his own bike he walked round to Sylar and glanced at the closed shutters.

  “Yeah,” Sylar agreed, frowning in confusion. “It does.”

  “Shouldn’t it be open by now?” Smith checked the time on his cell phone.

  “It should be, yeah.”

  Smith approached the shutters and read the sign on the nearby wall which had the opening times for the tattoo parlor.

  “Open daily 10 – 8,” he called out. “And it’s 11.30.”

  “Damn,” Sylar clenched his fists in frustration. Brea blatantly wasn’t at work which meant she must be back at her apartment. It’d be hard to convince her to leave from there and worse, Miles might be there. Fear slid up Sylar’s throat, causing him to cough. Even though it’d be two on one he didn’t want to have to face down a Blood gang member in front of his sister. He knew how messy that could get.

  “So is she at her place?” Smith was striding back towards his bike. “Let’s go there.”

  “I need to check she’s alone first,” Sylar sighed as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

  Chapter 67

  Brea stopped crying when she heard her cell phone ringing. Sniffling she wiped her face and reaching for the phone, expecting to see Miles’ name glowing on the screen. Instead it was her brother’s details she saw. For a moment her finger hovered over the decline button but then at the last moment she accepted the call.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Brea, are you at your place?” Sylar’s voice was muffled by a loud noise like a passing car. Where was he? Was he outside somewhere?

  “Yeah,” she frowned at his question. “Why?”

  “Are you alone?”

  She straightened up on the sofa, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Why would you ask that?” she demanded angrily. “What the hell do you want Sylar?”

  “Are you home alone, yes or no,” she could hear the tension in his voice.

  “Is everything okay?” Brea glanced fearfully around her apartment. She was most definitely alone.

  “Just answer the question.” She imagine her brother delivering the question through gritted teeth as he swiftly lost patience with her.

  “Yes, I’m alone,” she replied tersely. “Why would you even ask me that?”

  “And you’re in your apartment?”

  “Yes!” Brea was getting wound up with all her brother’s strange questions. What was he even getting at?

  “Stay where you are,” he ordered.

  “Don’t go telling me what to - ” Brea stopped talking when she realized that the line had gone dead, Sylar had hung up. Her heart pattered nervously in her chest as she stood up and tentatively approached the window, which overlooked Colridge. She couldn’t see the street outside from her apartment, only the back of the building. She wondered what was going on and why her brother was asking such strange questions. And for a sickening moment she wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened at the bar the previous night.

  Chapter 68

  Miles popped two ibuprofens in his mouth before leaving the grocery store. He was about to make his way back to the motel when he froze. He clocked two parked motorcycles outside the closed tattoo parlor across the street. Both of the riders wore leather jackets and looked well built but from this distance he couldn’t discern their faces. Inhaling nervously he stepped back inside the shop, away from view. He watched them from within the safety of the store. He could immediately tell that they were Reaper members. They had the club’s emblem proudly displayed on their bikes.

  “Shit,” Miles breathed as he watched them, praying that they’d soon leave. If they saw him he was done for, he was certainly in no state to defend himself. He wished he’d been smart enough to take Colin and Hank with him. Colridge was now a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. Even a wander down the street could be dangerous.

  After a few minutes the riders pulled off and disappeared down the street. Miles wasted no time hurrying off in the opposite direction. He had to get back to the motel and fast.

  “They’re here,” he declared as he pushed open the door. Both Hank and Colin glanced up at him in surprise. They were both freshly showered which made their wounds seem less dramatic.

  “Who is here?” Colin asked, wearily rubbing at his eyes.

  “Reapers. I just saw two of their members in town.”

  “Well I say we go roll out the welcome wagon for them,” Hank grinned, barring his teeth.

  “No,” Miles raised a hand of objection at him. “We don’t do anything until we hear from my Uncle.”

  As if on cue the telephone in the room began to ring. The three men shared wary glances before Miles stepped forward and picked up it, placing the receiver against his ear.

  “Hello,” he tried to make himself sound as foreboding as possible.

  “Miles, that you?” he instantly recognized the craggy old voice of his Uncle Deacon.

  “Yes, Uncle, it’s me.” Still holding the phone Miles lowered himself on to the bed. He could see Hank and Colin sharing worried looks.

  “You boys did a nice job at that bar last night,” Deacon complimented.

  “Thanks.” Miles’ wounded ear started to throb so he switched sides with the telephone. As he did so he noticed that it was spotted with his own blood. He might need to consider getting stitches on his cut if it didn’t stop bleeding.

  “I think you really stirred up the hornet’s nest there in Colridge,” Deacon continued, clearly amused.

  “I think so too. I spotted a couple of Reaper members out on the streets this morning.”

  “Good, good. Well then, I need you boys to high tail it back here as quick as you can.”

  Miles tightened his grip on the phone. Go back? But why? Going back would mean leaving Brea. Miles closed his eyes in frustration as he recalled how she’d hung up on him. He couldn’t leave without making things right with her. But if he saw her now how would he ever explain his wounds without letting her think he was a monster.

  “Come back?” Miles choked out the words. “But why? Don’t you need us here in Colridge in case they retaliate?”

  “No, I need you back here,” Deacon clarified sternly. “There’s a war coming, Miles. We need to batten down the hatches and prepare.”

  A shudder of fear flew up Miles’ spine. He hadn�
��t intended to start a war. Was that what it was coming to? Pack against pack? Where did Brea even fit in to all that. He couldn’t leave her in Colridge when things were getting so dangerous there.

  “I need to bring someone else back with me,” Miles stated.

  “If it’s that girl you’re fucking you can think again,” his Uncle replied coldly. Miles felt his body tense in shock. He looked over at Hank and Colin, expecting to see their guilt ridden faces but they were both avoiding his gaze.

  “Uncle - ”

  “Her brother rides with the Reapers. Don’t think I don’t know. I know everything, Miles. I’ve got eyes everywhere.”