Ink (The Haven Series) (10 page)

“Jesus, kid, take a breath,” the president sighed, scooting the girl off his knee. “Beat it, sweetheart.”

“Will, Sam sent me to get you – I mean, I saw them arrive and I was gonna get you anyway ‘cos I thought maybe ... well, you know. And then they said I wasn’t to move, but Sam told the guy to take his head out of his fucking ass and--”

“Dozer!” Will barked in exasperation at the youngster’s ramble, which he hadn’t managed to make head or tail of so far. “What the fuck are you tellin’ me?”

“Cops are here!” the wide-eyed prospect all but squeaked. “About a murder – they’re tryin’ to arrest Sam and they said they want Colton too!”

“Christ on a fucking bicycle ...” Will muttered, knocking back what remained of his whiskey with a grimace. “There goes my Friday night. Sinclair here?”

“Yeah, that Jones guy too plus back-up.”

“Right, guess we better go straighten this shit out. And where the hell’s Colt?”

***

Pushed against the wall of the clubhouse, the back of her head cradled in Colton’s hand to protect it from the brickwork, Callie’s world seemed to shrink in on itself until nothing remained but the feel of his lips on hers.

At least until his free hand slid to the back of her knee, the exact effect she was having on him clear as he hooked her leg around his hip. He was making her acutely aware of his body pressed hard against hers, drawing a groan from her before his mouth claimed hers again.

If their first kiss by the roadside had been all about taking a first tentative step to seeing if the sparks between them were real, this was about ... everything else.

Their tongues tangling urgently, the pair were almost desperate in their need to be closer to each other. Bodies aching to be skin-on-skin, Colton’s strong fingers caressed the smoothness of the bare leg wrapped around him, even as Callie’s hands slid up the back of his t-shirt.

With the latent power in those lean muscles plain to feel, the little blonde gave up coherent thought and gave herself over completely to her dark-eyed companion. She was breathless from the depth of his kisses when he finally tore his lips from hers, only to let his mouth burn a trail down her throat to her cleavage.

“Colton ...” she managed to gasp, as his hips ground against hers. One of his hands fisted in her hair
at the sound of his name and her body arched instinctively towards his. He kissed her again until her legs went weak and then shifted to lift her up, those possessive hands on her ass and her legs wrapping around his waist.

Her heart had started racing the moment he first leaned in to kiss her and now her thoughts were just playing catch-up, filling her mind with images of them together – only with double the passion, if that was possible, and half the clothes.

“Colton ...”

But this time, the voice wasn’t hers. Will’s deep baritone cut through the night, carrying over the noise spilling out of the clubhouse. Or at least it would have, had that noise not faded away while they were otherwise engaged.

Both the realisation that someone had cut the music and the authority of Will’s tone sank into Colton’s thoughts just a little slower than they might usually have and he set Callie on shaky feet, pulling back reluctantly to let his forehead rest against hers. Both of them were breathing heavily as he looked into those hazy gray eyes and tried to recover.

“
Colt!
” the president roared from inside.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Colton growled, by way of apology. “I gotta see what’s happened ...”

Callie didn’t trust herself to speak, nodding instead in mute acceptance as she wondered when it had gotten quite so warm. She accepted one last brief - though admittedly thorough - kiss before he pushed away from the wall and away from her. He was still adjusting his, thankfully, baggy jeans as he strode towards the door.

***

After Colton disappeared back inside, Callie tilted her head back against the wall and took a deep ragged breath. She slowly raised a trembling hand to her lips, bruised as they were from his kisses. Every inch of her body somehow felt more alive, yet more drained, than ever.

Running her hands through her long hair, she sank to the ground and let her knees draw up to her chest as the enormity of the night’s developments bore down on her.

Bad enough that she had kissed him during their bike ride - this was a whole new level of betrayal to the man she was supposed to be with. Because she knew with absolute certainty that, no matter what that little inner voice of her conscience had to say, Colton was going to come back and try to take her to bed. And she was going to let him.

But as long minutes ticked by, her racing pulse slowed and she started
to wonder what the hold-up was. Forcing herself to her feet, Callie straightened her top and made for the door. Fixing a casual look on her face, she threw it open and headed back inside – the look soon freezing at the sight that greeted her.

A furious Colton was being held against the bar, so a uniformed cop could handcuff his hands behind his back as he read him his rights. An equally unimpressed Sam had evidently already received the same treatment.

“You’re under arrest for murder, Colt – you know the drill,” Chief Sinclair was telling him, his tone matter-of-fact but apparent resignation to an unfortunate set of circumstances still evident. The cop seemed oblivious to how his prisoner’s black gaze failed to meet his, instead drifting over his shoulder to lock eyes with the stricken blonde behind him.

“Just get them out of here and let’s fucking get this done.”

***

CHAPTER 12

It wasn’t like she was completely clueless about what he was capable of, but there was something about seeing the guy who’d just kissed you to within an inch of your life get hauled off for murder that really had the power to throw you for a loop.

As if someone somewhere had spun the volume dial, the hushed clubhouse roared back to life around Callie. Furious bikers were making their feelings known in loud conversations full of angry gesticulations. Disappointed women, knowing when to call it quits, were slipping off into the shadows.

Either jostled aside or largely ignored, the little blonde looked around unsurely. Still dazed by yet another unexpected turn of events, she wondered what she was supposed to do next. Her car was outside, but she’d been drinking way too much to even think about getting behind the wheel – as had Sketch. Not that she even knew where he was.

“Table, two minutes!” came the yell over the dull roar of voices, Will striding back inside after having accompanied his best men as they were taken outside and loaded into a police van. The hard look in his eyes could have rivalled that of any of the club’s killers at that moment. “You ...”

Actually glancing to the side to check he really meant her, Callie swallowed and somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other, obeying the jerk of his head that was just as effective as an order.

“I don’t bite, darlin’ – ya just ain’t catchin’ me on a good day,” the president sighed, relenting a little when he seemed to realise how his scowl must look to the visitor. “Here, Colt’s orders ...”

Looking down as he pressed something into her hand, she realised it was the key to a dorm room and was about to shake her head when it dawned on her she had little other option. It wasn’t like she could call Michael to come and pick her up – she’d turned into enough of a bitch already without playing him like that.

Hey honey, can you come pick me up ‘cause the guy I was gonna cheat on you with got lifted for murder? Thanks ...

Guilt seeming to wrap around her stomach and squeeze, she simply nodded her understanding and took the key. Everyone had enough on their plates without her getting in the way. It was typical of Colton to have covered all his bases though.

With Will’s attention already transferred to herding his brothers towards the club’s inner sanctum, Callie headed in the opposite direction, making her way down the dimly lit corridor that led to the dorms. End of the hall, last on the right.

She let herself in, flicking the light switch on and carefully locking the door behind her before taking in her surroundings. They hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here – if you didn’t count the fact that Colton wasn’t lying on his bed with a bullet wound in his side, looking up at her with those unreadable dark eyes.

The room was ... lived in. She vaguely knew Colton had sold his apartment to help fund his elderly mom’s rent and that he hadn’t really considered it a necessity anyway. For someone on the wrong side of forty, he hadn’t exactly accumulated a lot of belongings. As she’d noticed before, there were few non-essentials. No photographs. She could both relate and still feel a pang of something close to sadness for him, recognising it wasn’t how most people lived their lives – even if she’d spent a fair few years the exact same way.

A few items of clothing were scattered around the room, jeans on the floor, t-shirts over the back of a chair. Motorcycle magazines on the desk beside a tiny television. The closest thing to cluttered was the nightstand – home to everything from a coffee mug, cigarettes and mints, to a handful of cash, a penknife and a sketchpad.

Feeling like an intruder, Callie perched on the very edge of the bed and looked around again. Of all the ways she’d expected this night to end, alone in Colton’s room certainly wasn’t one of them – although the location itself was accurate enough. To her endless shame.

She could still taste him on her lips. Whisky, cigarettes and something that was just him. If she closed her eyes, she could practically feel him. The heat of his body pressed against hers, the urgency that seemed to surge through him and into her.

If the cops hadn’t shown up, if Will hadn’t called for him ... She’d still have ended up in the same place.  Just not alone.

***

It had been a long week, all things considered. Nothing new there though. You just knuckled down, got through it. Tried to make the most of it even. No point living for the weekend – that was just wishing your life away and he’d been all too conscious of his ticking clock since turning the big five-oh.

Glancing at the clock again, Michael sighed and drained the last of his beer, setting the bottle on the floor beside his favourite armchair. Inwardly wincing at the thought of having such a piece of furniture and thanking god he didn’t yet have the pipe and slippers to go with it. 11:47pm.

He was half-expecting Callie to appear at his door any time soon. Tipsy perhaps from her night out, her smile just a little too wide, those eyes just a shade too bright. Not that he’d mind. Or maybe she’d call, see if he’d come play taxi-driver. He didn’t mind that either, not when he could claim his fare from her once he got her home.

He’d stuck to just the one beer as he channel-surfed for that very reason. But so far, there hadn’t been so much as a text message.

Not that he was trying to keep tabs on her. She wasn’t the clingy type and he’d always been conscious of not smothering her. Maybe it was fear of coming across as some kind of father-figure. The last thing he wanted was his girlfriend feeling like he was imposing a curfew on her. 11:54pm.

It was still early really. Not for him, but for a night out. A Friday night out. Although her plans hadn’t sounded like just some crazy night out with friends. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the details, but something had just made him assume it was work-related. He knew she and Sketch both worked outside normal hours sometimes, attending conventions, promoting the studio ...

His ringing cell phone made him jump just a little as it cut through his thoughts and made him grin. 12:03am.

“Hi, baby ...”

“Hey, sugar,” came a gruff voice, wry even under obvious tension. “What say we cut the sweet talk and you get your fine ass down the cop shop pronto? Fix this fuck-up and I might even put out ...”

Will.

***

Leaning back in his chair, Colton’s bored expression didn’t so much as flicker when the door to the interrogation room opened and another fed walked in. Inwardly though, it was a different story – his lip wanting to curl in distaste and his eyes narrow at the sight of her.

Veronica Hunt. Just one letter away from the most apt surname ever.

He’d encountered the bitch before and didn’t exactly come away with a favourable impression, having quickly decided she put even her predecessor in the shade when it came to fucking people over.

Personality bypass aside, the two had little in common though. While Lydia Brown had been a prime example of a woman trying to get in on ATF’s biggest-dick contest and resenting every second of lacking the goods, Hunt just revelled in making the most of what the good Lord gave her.

And even Colton had to admit, she hadn’t been at the back of the queue when the looks were being handed out. She had to be 5’10 if she was an inch, with sleek dark hair and a hell of a rack. No trouser suits for this bitch, no playing down the make-up in a bid to be taken seriously, and definitely no sensible shoes when stilettos were just as effective when it came to walking all over anyone who got in her way.

Shooting him what he supposed was meant to be a disarming smile over the table, the agent crossed long legs, adjusted the hem of her above-the-knee skirt and steepled her fingers together. “Now ...” she beamed. “How are we playing this?”