Miles clenched his jaw and counted slowly to ten. He wasn’t putting Brea in danger, was he? He thought he was finally setting them both free. He doubted the Blood Gang would really hunt him down. He was leaving town as a precaution. After all, his Uncle might not even live to see the morning. So much was riding on the fight that night but Miles couldn’t think about all that. He had to focus on what was his and what was real, and that was Brea.
“I’ll always keep Brea safe,” Miles swore. And he meant it. He’d sacrifice his own life to protect her if he had to.
“Then get the hell out of here,” Sylar gestured towards the door.
“No,”Brea flung herself against her brother, her small arms reaching for his shoulders. “Don’t do this, Sylar. Don’t fight tonight, please. I can’t lose you.”
With one swift movement Sylar pushed her off.
“Sylar, please,” she was sobbing as she folded, drooping towards the ground. Miles scooped her up, pressing her against his broad chest.
“You understand, don’t you?” Sylar looked up at Miles. Brea’s brother looked so drained, like a man resigned to his fate. “They gave me everything,” he continued. “They took me in, they made me one of their own.”
“Yeah,” Miles replied gruffly. “I do understand. The Blood Gang, they did the same for me. At a time when I had nothing and no one they stepped in. Back then, they seemed like heroes, angels even. But now I’m older I see it for what it was – they took advantage of a desperate kid to mold me to their will. I’m just a pawn in their never ending game of vengeance. They never cared about me, they just wanted me to believe they did.”
Something changed in Sylar. His eyes misted and his gaze became distant. Miles dared to hope that he was actually starting to get through to him.
“We can’t be held to promises we made as desperate children,” he added gently. For a moment Sylar looked like he agreed. But then the moment passed and he was once again wearing his hardened mask of indifference.
“I don’t break the promises I make,” he stated darkly. “Now get the hell out of her while I’m still inclined to remain loyal to my sister first and foremost. The only reason you’re still breathing is because she clearly cares about you.”
“Don’t do this,” Miles pleaded. “Brea is your family, think about her.”
“I’m sorry.” Miles wasn’t sure if Sylar was apologizing to him or Brea or both of them.
The front door opened and Smith peered inside.
“Bikes are loaded and ready to go,” he informed Sylar.
“Okay, good, let’s move,” Sylar nodded at him. Brea was still sobbing, shaking against Miles’ chest.
“Don’t do this, man,” Miles pleaded again. “Think of your sister.”
“I am,” Sylar replied tersely as he strode towards the front door. “I always have been. That’s the problem.”
Sylar was now in the doorway preparing to leave.
“Since you won’t leave then we will.”
Miles opened his mouth to object but his words were drowned out by the roar of Smith’s motorcycle as he drove out of the driveway, shortly followed by Sylar. All Miles could do was watch them leave and hold Brea up against him. Sylar and Smith were now en route to Colridge and the fight that awaited them there.
“You tried,” Miles reassured the weeping woman in his arms. “You did your best, Brea.”
Looking out at the road beyond the house Miles thought of how Sylar would rather risk death then defy the pack. Was Miles really making a terrible decision to underestimate how vengeful the Blood Gang might be to him? If Deacon lived to see another day he’d surely be looking for someone to blame for the deaths of any of the Blood Gang members, and Miles’ absence at the fight would make him the perfect target. Fear gnawed at the base of his neck, urging him to move.
“We need to get the hell out of town before shit hits the fan,” Miles told Brea, unhooking her from his embrace and gently guiding her back through the front door towards his bike. They didn’t have much time.
Chapter 92
“No,” Brea cried stubbornly, wriggling free of Miles’ grip. Around them the evening was still and silent, Sylar’s motorcycle having roared away in to the distance.
“He’s coming back,” she started to move towards the house, unwilling to leave.
“Brea,” Miles turned to her. She refused to acknowledge the pity in his eyes. Her brother was going to come back. He’d abandon his pack for her, just as Miles had.
“Sylar is coming back,” she folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin defiantly. “He’s just pushing my buttons. Any minute now he’ll come speeding back down this road wearing his usual cheeky grin.”
Just like he used to when he was younger. Back then he was always testing the boundaries with their parents, seeing how far he could push them. After an argument, he’d leave the house amid a tornado of curse words and scowls, threatening to leave and never return. Brea would watch him go, tension enveloping her young heart like prickly thorns. But Sylar never made good on any of his threats. He’d always return within the hour like the prodigal son, smiling as though the previous argument had never even happened. And her parents always forgave him, grateful that he came back.
“Any minute now,” Brea repeated, nodding towards the road which remained painfully silent. She imagined Sylar pulled over on the roadside somewhere, laughing with his friend about how upset she’d been, pleased that he’d put on a convincing display.
“We need to go,” Miles’ hand was on her shoulder, his words warm but stern.
“No,” she shook her head. Sylar was coming back. He wouldn’t just leave her like this. This wasn’t how they were going to say goodbye. He was coming back.
“Your brother is loyal to the Reapers to a fault,” Miles continued, scratching at his chin with his free hand. “You pushed him to choose between you both and he chose the pack.”
“No, he didn’t,” Brea snapped. She refused to truly believe it. She could already feel the swallow swelling up inside her, threatening to drown her as she stood in the driveway which had once felt so familiar and reassuring but now was alien to her. Dark shadows bordered her on every side, mocking how she’d once found security in such a place.
“I know this is hard for you,” Miles was moving away from her now, swinging himself up on to his motorcycle. “But sweetie, we’ve got to go. “If we linger here too long we might run into someone we don’t want to see.”
“He’s coming back.”
“They’ll kill us if they find us,” the bluntness of Miles’ declaration cut through Brea like a sword. She stared at him wide eyed.
“I’ve abandoned my pack at a crucial moment, such an act is unforgiveable in their eyes,” he continued. “They will kill me to make an example of me. And then they’ll kill you to taunt your brother. And our deaths won’t be swift. Both packs prefer blades to guns.”
Brea noticed the freshly stitched wound on Miles’ head which was caked in dried blood. She bit back tears.
“Get on the bike,” Miles ordered. She wanted to stay, to wait in the driveway for Sylar’s inevitable return, but fear was now seeping into her bones. She didn’t want to die beneath some stranger’s blade because of her own stubbornness and naivety. Quickly she headed to Miles and climbed up behind him on his bike, pressing herself tightly against him as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Hold on tight,” he instructed before kick starting the bike. The engine grumbled and then roared like a beast which had suddenly been awakened. They pulled out of the driveway and then careened off into the night, taking the opposite direction to Sylar. Whilst he had been heading North towards Colridge, they would be taking the South route to avoid detection. Brea could feel the wet heat of her tears soaking her cheeks as they rode off into the night.
Chapter 93
Miles had no idea where he was going. He was just driving. He was driving hard and fast and putting as much distance between him and Co
lridge as possible. The lights on the highway blurred as he picked up speed, the roadside becoming indecipherable. He weaved through traffic, the wind tousling his hair. Behind him he could feel the pressure of Brea pressed against him. It felt good to have her so close, so near. She was safe and that was all that mattered. But how long before that changed? How long before Hank went back on his word or before Deacon realised that his nephew was missing? Would they forsake the fight at Colridge to search for him? Miles doubted it. The fight was too important. As long as he was long gone by the time the dust settled he’d be okay.
Nerves made his entire body feel unpleasantly tight. He was suddenly adrift without a clear path, just as he had been when his mother tossed him out. He remembered that panicked feeling of abandonment, how it had opened up within his teenage self like a cavernous black hole, threatening to consume every inch of him. But he’d made it back then and he was going to make it now. Because he wasn’t alone this time. He had Brea and they loved one another. Surely that was enough of a foundation to create a fresh start?
As he continued to drive Miles mentally counted how much money he had on himself. Hundred and fifty dollars, two hundred at most. He always travelled with a considerable amount of cash on himself, a habit he’d picked up since riding with the The Reapers. You never knew when shit was going to go South and he’d need to hold up in a motel for a few nights and lay low. And that was his plan now. Get the hell out of town, out of the state and find a quiet motel somewhere he could hide away in with Brea. He felt comforted at the thought of them sleeping together in the same bed behind a locked door. He’d keep her safe. The blade he’d shoved in to his boot reminded him that he’d do anything to protect her if it came to it.
Chapter 94
It was chaotic in the bar when Hank made his way back inside. The entire Blood Gang was present and becoming increasingly rowdy. At the bar, Deacon was doing his best to calm his troops but his efforts were in vain. The monster he’d created had now taken on a life of its own.
“To Colridge!” the old man eventually declared when he realized he didn’t have a handle on the bustling crowd. En mass, everyone started to retreat back out of the bar. Hank hoped that Miles had enough of a head start not to encounter any of them. Not that they’d even notice him. Everyone was focused on finding their bike and being the first to arrive in Colridge.
“Let’s fuck shit up!”
“Death to all Reapers!”
They were all fixing for a fight, Hank included. He pulled himself up on to his own bike, ignoring the ache in his bones from a lifetime of hard living. He was almost salivating at the prospect of spilling some fresh blood.
“Where’s Miles at?” Colin was beside him, throwing a leg over his own bike and staring at Hank through glassy eyes.
“He’s already there,” Hank said mildly. “He wanted to get a head start on us all, scope the place out.”
“Figures,” Colin nodded with understanding. “Miles has always been a thinker like that.”
“Uh huh.”
The sound of numerous engines revving up was deafening. Bikes began to peel off into the night as though part of some giant medieval beast which had awoken. Their headlamps pooled out to the highway and they all began their trip over to Colridge.
It felt good to feel the wind in his hair. Hank briefly wondered if this was to be his last ride. His body was riddled with scars, new and old, from previous fights. He had his fair share of near death experiences. Everything he did, he did to excess. Be it drinking, fighting, or sleeping with women. He always had to be the one who did it the most. And over his lifetime he’d excelled in his field.
In his peripheral vision, he could see Colin riding, bent low towards his bike. Further back in the group he could hear pack members cackling and hollering. Everyone was in high spirits, even though they might be driving to their doom. Because that was what it meant to be a Blood Gang; that’s what drew Hank to the pack. They laughed in the face of danger. They didn’t shy away from a fight they ran towards it wearing a most wicked smile; one that he assumed the boogeyman, under the bed, wore. Hank’s grip on his bike tightened as he drove past the welcome sign for Colrigde; They were almost there. He could taste the anticipation that was carried in the air, along with the bike fumes and liquor which surrounded the pack like a smog.
As one, the pack drove down the main street when they promptly came to a halt. Greeting them was a wall of headlights. The motherfucking Reapers were already assembled, awaiting their arrival. Killing his engine, Hank parked up his bike and carefully unloaded his machete, unsheathing it from its leather case. If the Reapers were fixing for a fight then a fun fight is what he’d give them.
“So they’re already here,” Colin noted quietly as he pulled out a hammer from the waist band of his pants.
“Yep,” Hank nodded, “ready and waiting.” Looking up at the houses bordering the main street, he saw some drapes drawn tightly shut, while others open for display, with light shining out from within. He imagined people in their homes for the night, after a long hard day of the 9-5, stupidly unaware of the fight that was about to break out beneath them.
“Think the cops will show?” Colin wondered. It was always a fear but the cops never show up to intervene; they know better than to fuck with this.
Hank and Colin joined their brothers in line and began to advance towards the waiting Reapers, who were moving in a similar formation. Crude weapons glistened beneath the street lights. There were blades and crowbars, wrenches and baseball bats adorned with rusty nails. No one was equipped with a weapon that could potentially bring about a swift death. Everything had been carefully selected for its ability to maim and cause relentless pain and suffering. Hank ensured he had a sturdy grip on his machete. There were thirteen notches on its handle, one for every man he had slain with it. He remembered the last time he’d used it, how it had sliced through the other man’s gut, as though it were made of butter.
“Ready to do this?” Colin asked. There was no fear in his voice, only excitement. Hank nodded.
“I was born ready,” he growled. There, on the darkened main street of Colridge, their fate would be decided.
Chapter 95
Miles slowed to rub his eyes. How long have they been driving? He’d lost all concept of time and now his fuel gauge was hovering near the empty line. He’d have to stop soon and rest. He just hoped that he’d managed to drive far enough to out run his past. Brea was slumped against him and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep. He hoped so, at least if she was resting she was being released from the grief she felt over her brother leaving.
Scanning the road ahead, Miles spotted at the neon sign for a motel; the vacancy sign was lit. He started to slow the bike and veer away from the highway. The streets of Colridge were probably already bathed in blood. He was thankful that he’d finally found something to take him away from that life, something to give his life meaning. He owed Brea everything.
Chapter 96
Sylar liked how the engine of his motorcycle trembled thunderously between his legs as he rode. It made him feel powerful. And with the wind in his hair, it made him feel wild and free. Infinite.
Zooming up the highway, he tried not to think about what had just happened with Brea. He had no choice but to walk away from her. But he knew he’d forever be haunted by the pained look she’d given him as he possibly walked away from her for the last time. But how could she expect him to give up everything for her? He owed the Reapers his loyalty, how could Brea not understand that?
As his frustration mounted, Sylar drove faster. He bobbed in between the lines of traffic, desperate to reach Colridge before it was too late. Smith was always close by, keeping pace. No matter how fast Sylar went, how much he pushed the limits of his bike and of himself, he knew that Smith would always be by his side. Loyal to the end. He was his family, his brother.
With a loud screech Sylar pulled hard on the breaks. The putrid stench of burned rubber filled the air. Smit
h stopped beside him a few seconds later, breaking just as abruptly. The two men were perched on their bikes and looking down at Colridge’s main street and the carnage unfolding within it.
“Jesus,” Smith breathed while Sylar remained silent. He could only stare at the apocalyptic scene which greeted them.
The street was slick with freshly spilled blood. Countless men were engaged in hand to hand combat. Even from a distance, Sylar could hear the sickening squelch of a blade being thrust into someone’s gut. The air was heavy with the coppery smell of blood and death. It reached up towards Sylar and Smith desperate to entangle them in its fatal embrace.
Smith dropped off his bike and retrieved his crowbar.
“I guess we’d better get in to it,” he said solemnly.
“Can we even tell who we should be fighting?” Sylar looked down at the writhing mass of men engaged in battle. It was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Everyone was drenched in either their own blood or a stranger’s. The emblems on their jackets, they so proudly wore, had been obscured beyond recognition.
Miles (Highway Reapers MC): Inked Hearts Page 23
