Mason: Inked Reapers MC (62 page)

Chapter 4

The race had almost ended when Brea finally worked up the courage to ask Sylar about the job. She carefully unfolded the piece of paper she’d earlier wedged in her pocket and smoothed it out on the table beside his feet, her heart racing the entire time. At first Sylar didn’t notice what she was doing, he was too engrossed in the final moments of the action on TV. But then he caught a glance of the piece of paper and with a prolonged sigh hoisted himself up to grab it.

“What’s this?” he asked curtly.

“It’s what we were discussing earlier,” Brea explained sweetly, clenching her hands in a neat ball upon her lap. She watched her brother’s expression darken as he read the advert he was holding.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded. Brea’s heart sank. He was going to be so angry at her for going to the library that she wasn’t even going to get a chance to plead her case about the job.

“Did you go out while I was asleep?”

“Yes!” Brea cried, springing up to her feet. She’d finally found something to give her life purpose, to help further her love of art and she wasn’t about to let Sylar ruin that for her. She knew that just because he’d helped her growing up she didn’t owe him a lifetime of servitude.

“I went to the library, Sylar. Like any normal person would do when they need to use the internet. You can shout and scream at me all you want, but there’s a big world out there and I’m done with staying away from it!”

“Don’t you realize how dangerous our town is?” Sylar raged as he threw the piece of paper back down.

“No, I don’t!” Brea snapped. “I don’t because you never let me go out to experience anything. You just keep me locked up here all day! I need to live my life, Sylar. Surely you get that?”

Sylar was scowling at her, collecting his thoughts. Brea snapped up the momentary silence between them to the further advance her cause.

“Yes, I went to the library while you slept. I went there because I want a job, Sylar. I want to do something that excites me, something that lets me live a little. And if this town is so damn dangerous you’ll be pleased that the job I want to do is in the next town over!”

Sylar grumbled as he reached again for the paper and re-read the job post, his scowl remaining.

“I love art,” Brea continued enthusiastically. “I always have. And this job would be perfect as I’d be learning a trade and embracing my love of art. Sylar, you at least have to let me apply!”

“No.” He said the word so coldly that Brea was taken aback.

“No?” she echoed.

“No,” he repeated solemnly. “I’m not having you going all that way each day to work as some tattoo artist’s apprentice.”

“You don’t own me.”

“I’m just looking out for you. Like I’ve always done.” He added bitterly.

“And I’m grateful for that!” Brea insisted. “Truly I am! But Sylar, this is a chance for me to grow up, to branch out of this town and be my own person. Don’t you want what’s best for me?”

“Brea,” he said her name as though it pained him to do so. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there. There are people who would want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Brea asked quietly. “But why?”

Numerous ugly thoughts ran through her mind. Did her brother owe people money? Bad people? Is that how he’d managed to take care of them for all these years? Surely that was just another reason for her getting a job, to help him get out of whatever debt he was in.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sylar waved a dismissive hand at her.

“Try me!” Brea raged through gritted teeth. “Because it sounds to me like you got yourself in trouble and now I’m the one paying for it!”

“Is this the gratitude I get!” Sylar stood up, his face pinched and red with rage. “I give up everything to take care of you and this is how you repay me? Any trouble I got myself into, it was for you! For us!”

“So you are in trouble?”

Sylar was storming off towards his bedroom with Brea flanking his every step, eager for answers.

“No,” Sylar shook his head, his hand on the door handle. He pulled to open it, but Brea pressed her palm against the flimsy wood, preventing him from doing so.

“I’m applying for the job,” she told him with confidence.

“No,” he growled, “you’re not.”

“I’m done living like this!” Brea lamented. “If this town is so dangerous, let’s just leave!”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Sylar shouted so loudly that the boom of his voice made the nearby framed pictures of their parents shake fearfully on the walls. Brea stepped back, removing her palm from the door as Sylar angrily flung it open and disappeared inside.

Slowly Brea went back to the sofa, shoulders slumped. She hadn’t wanted a huge argument with her brother. She just wanted him to see things from her point of view. Of course she was grateful for everything he’d done for her, she always would be. But that gratitude couldn’t replace the gnawing feeling in her stomach that she felt each and every day. She yearned for excitement, for adventure. She yearned to live a life that felt like her own, not one that had been planned out for her.

From inside Sylar’s bedroom, loud music started to boom out. Brea knew that in less than an hour he’d come back out, face like thunder before leaving on his motorbike, roaring off into the night to work his dangerous job. Brea disappeared into the cool of the garden, not wanting to be around when her brother resurfaced.

Chapter 5

Brea awoke early the next morning to the shrill squeal of her alarm telling her that it was five AM. She always got up extra early to ensure she was able to get out and about before Sylar returned. The house felt painfully empty as she wandered around fixing herself some cereal for breakfast. She turned on the TV but struggled to engage with the show that was on. She kept thinking about her argument with Sylar, wishing they had left things on better terms before he’d gone out.

The piece of paper with the job advert was still on the coffee table, slightly crumpled. Setting down her empty bowl Brea picked it up and glanced over the information. Her heart sang at the thought of doing a job where she could use her love of art. And if she did well, if she progressed beyond apprentice then perhaps Sylar would be able to give up his dangerous job, then they would both be happy. Brea made her decision, even though her brother wouldn’t be happy with it.

It was agonizing as she waited for the hours to pass. But she needed it to be nine o’clock before she could call the number on the ad. She anxiously paced around the small house, running over in her mind what she would say.

When nine o’clock did arrive, Brea had her speech all planned out. She knew exactly what she was going to say, she just had to make the call. Which she did. She shut out all her negative thoughts about Sylar and just focused on how good it would make her feel to get this job. Her heart jumped up into her throat with each passing ring and eventually someone picked up.

“Hi,” Brea squeaked, sounding every bit as nervous as she felt. “I’m calling about the ad for a tattoo artist’s apprentice.”

Chapter 6

It was ten when the roar of Sylar’s motorcycle rumbled like thunder in the driveway. Brea was perched on the edge of the sofa. She’d had an hour to prepare herself for what was about to happen, but that still didn’t feel long enough. But there was no putting off the inevitable. If she wanted this job as badly as she knew she did, she was going to have to get Sylar on board. Either that or sever all ties with him, which definitely wasn’t what she wanted to do as he was the only family she had left.

Sylar stormed through the door, his expression grim.

“Hey,” Brea called amicably from the sofa. He paused en route to his bedroom to look at her.

“I know you’re tired,” she held her hands up apologetically as he frowned at her. “But I need to talk to you. Just ten minutes, I promise.”

With a groan, Sylar sauntered over to the sofa and dropped down beside her. He stank of petrol and cigarette smoke, but thankfully boasted no new injuries though the bruise beneath his eye had blackened something awful.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Brea began quietly.

“No, I’m mad at myself,” Sylar interrupted. “You’re right, Brea. You’re always right. It’s one of the things I hate about you,” he admitted with a sad smile.

“I was right?” Brea felt confused.

“I have kept you here like a prisoner,” Sylar lowered his head shamefully. “I always thought I was doing the right thing by you, keeping you here, keeping you safe. But the troubles that follow me around town, they are my own, not yours. Last night at work, I got to thinking about what Mom and Dad would have said if you’d gone to them with that job idea.”

Brea felt herself brighten with hopefulness. Sylar had considered what his parents would have done without her having to prompt him to do so. Perhaps he was about to do the right thing and grant her some freedom. Brea held her breath and waited for him to proceed.

“They’d have been all over it,” Sylar said as his voice grew warm with fondness. “They were always so supportive of both of us. Whatever we wanted to do, they urged us to go for it.”

“So you are going to let me apply for the job?” Brea blurted excitedly.

“I guess I am,” Sylar sighed. “As hard as it is for me to admit, you’re an adult now even though I’ll always see you as my kid sister. If I don’t let you go for this, you’ll only resent me for holding you back.”

“Since when did you get so wise?” Brea teased.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Sylar admitted grimly. “Too many to count. But I made each one of them thinking about you, thinking about what’s best for you. I don’t want my keeping you here to be another mistake I make, even if it is with the best intentions at heart. So if you want to go follow this dream of yours…” Sylar gestured sadly towards the front door. “Then go, I won’t be the guy to hold you back. Our parents raised me better than that.”

“Thank you,” Brea threw herself against her brother as she embraced him. This was the Sylar she’d been waiting to see for so long. He finally didn’t seem beaten down by his life choices – he seemed kind and smart, just like their father had been.

“But I don’t want you traveling to the next town over each day,” Sylar declared.

“Well, I’d kind of have to,” Brea laughed. “Since that’s where the job is.”

“Not if you got your own place close by,” Sylar stated quietly, folding his hands and lowering his head.

“My own place?” Brea gasped, this was more freedom than she could have ever possibly hoped for. Whatever had happened to Sylar the previous night it had clearly altered his entire mindset and for that she would be eternally grateful.

“Yeah, your own place,” Sylar forced a smile. “Give you a chance to spread your wings and get a taste of independence.”

“Thank you,” Brea was almost rendered speechless. She hugged her brother again, tighter this time.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed, wishing there was some stronger phrase to explain how much gratitude she was feeling towards him.

“I won’t let you down,” she promised. “And you can come and visit me anytime.”

“Oh,” Sylar raised his eyebrows at her, “I plan on it. So you best make sure you behave.” 

Chapter 7

Miles Jun knocked down the kick stand for his motorcycle and killed the engine. He effortlessly withdrew his long legs so that he was no longer straddling the bike. His dark hair had become tussled by the wind and his sun-kissed skin glowed in the late evening light of the setting sun. Readjusting his leather jacket, he pushed a hand back through his hair, kept on his mirrored aviators and strode confidently towards the entrance to the bar. On the back of his jacket was an embroidered design of a skeletal man clutching a scythe with bony fingers while grinning madly at the open road beneath him. The design was a logo. The logo for the Highway Reapers – the motorcycle gang which Miles ran.

As he opened the door to the bar, the hot musky scent from inside engulfed him. He stepped inside, pausing briefly to remove his shades. The bar was relatively quiet at such an early hour. A few leather-clad men were shooting pool, others were sat at tables nursing cold bottles of beer. Miles confidently approached the barman and grinned.

“Is the big man in tonight?” he asked the heavily tattooed man behind the bar. He nodded in response towards a far table, in the back corner of the bar where a gray-haired man with a long beard which draped over his chest like a strange cravat, sat.

“Thanks.” Miles smacked his palm against the chipped wood of the bar before turning and approached the gray-haired man. He pulled up a chair beside him without waiting to ask permission.

“You wanted to see me, Uncle Deacon?”

The gray-haired man’s dark eyes shone back at him. Dark eyes which Miles also had, along with the same strong jawline. But that was where the similarities ended. Miles was in shape with sculpted abs and strong, muscular arms. His Uncle was bloated with a heavily wrinkled face. He might have been handsome once, but it was hard to tell beneath the years of damage he’d done to his body. A long scar ran the length of his Uncle’s face, completely dividing it in half. It cut clean across his nose, narrowly missing his left eye.
Although a keen observer would notice that it didn’t move as the right one did. Nor was it able to focus. Because it was made of glass and merely there for show.

Deacon shuffled in his chair so that his good eye could focus on his nephew.

“Yeah, I wanted to see ya,” he drawled.

“Okay,” Miles shrugged nonchalantly. “Here I am.”

“I heard about what happened over in Weatherly.”

Miles groaned and raked a hand through his hair. He should have known that events in Weatherly would eventually catch up with him.

“I told you to kill the guy.”

“Uncle,” Miles shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “He left town. Surely that’s what you wanted? Killing him is a bit, finite, don’t you think?”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, boy,” his Uncle warned, his voice gravelly and deep as though every word was delivered from the pit of his ample stomach.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Miles mumbled.

“Look here!” Deacon smacked a fist against the table, causing the flimsy wood to shake fearfully.

“I took you in, Miles. I put a roof over your head and food in your belly. When I found you, you were nothing but a sprat living rough on the streets. Your own Momma had abandoned you.”

“Yeah, well all she was ever good for was leaving,” Miles rolled his eyes and stiffened. He was in no mood to revisit old memories, especially painful ones.

“I made you,” his Uncle continued. “I gave you a home, a purpose. And you enjoy your life don’t you? Lord knows you’re up in the clubs enough, a different girl on your arm each time you leave.”

“I’m just enjoying life,” Miles grinned mischievously. “Seems a waste to live it any other way.”

“Well, between you enjoying life and not directly obeying orders, you’ve managed to ruffle a few feathers around here.”

Miles glanced around at the men gathered in the bar. They seemed oblivious to the conversation he was having with his uncle, but he didn’t doubt that they’d be mad at him. Most of them had been raised by dinosaurs and continued to think like one. They thought that violence was the only solution to any problem. Miles didn’t share that mentality. Growing up on the streets he’d been surrounded by death. The moment he gathered together a few dollars, someone bigger than him would beat it out of him. And all that did was make Miles resolve to one day be a better man. A man who could get what he wanted without hurting others. But he was a long way from reaching that goal. Being a member of the Highway Reapers probably wasn’t the best path to take when aiming for a non-violent life, but it wasn’t the kind of club where he could simply cancel his membership. When you joined up, it was expected to be for life.

“I’m just different, Uncle,” Miles defended himself. “Different isn’t always bad you know.”

“I don’t need none of your Buddha bullshit right now,” his Uncle spat. “What I need is for you to listen and listen good. Your next job is going to be in Colridge.”

“Colridge?” a shiver shot down Miles’ spine. Colridge wasn’t a place any members of the Highway Reapers frequented, even though it was just one town over.

“I told you, you ruffled some feathers,” his Uncle explained unapologetically.

“So what? They figure sending me there will get me killed off?” His Uncle looked briefly pained by the accusation.

“Colridge is Blood Pact territory!” Miles continued, his blood pressure rising. “You can’t seriously expect me to go there! Not with everything that’s been going on with them lately.”

“You just need to lay low while you’re there and focus on the job.”

“Okay,” Miles calmed a little but was still tense. “Now I get it. Send me to Colridge where I’ll be unable to go out and actually have any fun. What exactly am I being punished for here? Weatherly or something else entirely?”

His Uncle gave a low groan and Miles realized that he was right. He hadn’t earned this punishment because of Weatherly.

“Sammi Cartwright.” His Uncle said the name as though it should mean something to him. Miles shrugged dramatically.

“Who?”

“The little blonde you slept with last month,” Deacon growled, growing agitated. Miles shrugged again.

“She has the dragon tattoo up her back.”

Miles thought for a moment and then recalled the night in question.

“Oh,” he drew out the word and nodded to himself. He’d met Sammi at a club in town. She’d worn a tight fitting denim miniskirt and a low cut white tee. He’d caught her looking at him the moment he walked in. He knew her type – women who liked to be with dangerous men. And from the outside he fit the bill – he rode with the Reapers and had a tattoo sleeve up his right arm. So when she drooped herself against him after he’d had several beers, he didn’t push her away. Instead he took her to the bathroom and fucked her hard against the sink, not caring who might walk in. With her little skirt pushed up around her waist she’d screamed out his name in delight until her lungs ached.

The next night he went back to the club and she was there again. This time, he chose to be more of a gentleman and took her back to his place. When she stripped down, she revealed the dark dragon tattoo which snaked up her back and looked about to breathe fire over her shoulder. She had a tight little ass and perky tits. Miles had bent her over his sofa and made her cum twice. But by then he was bored of her. Perhaps he had Mommy issues but Miles never liked to settle with a woman. He told himself it was because his lifestyle was too dangerous but deep down he figured he’d just not met the right woman yet. And with his image and occupation he was destined to only ever attract the wrong kind of women.

“Oh indeed,” his Uncle chided. “She’s engaged to Bones. Bet she didn’t tell you that.”

“We didn’t do much talking,” Miles said with a cheeky grin.

“Boy, you are going to learn some respect!” His Uncle pointed a podgy finger at him. “You’re going to Colridge and you’re going to do this job for me and you’re going to do it right. No trouble. You hear?”

“And if I refuse?”

His Uncle’s expression darkened.

“Fine,” Miles released an exasperated sigh. “I’ll do the damn job. But am I seriously being exiled because of some lousy lay?” 

“You watch your mouth in here,” his Uncle berated him. “Bones is enamored with that skinny girl. He thinks the sun shines out of her ass.”

“Well, I’ve been up there and I can assure him it doesn’t.”

Miles pushed back his chair, ignoring his Uncle’s thunderous expression and headed for the door. He was beyond pissed about his new assignment. Weatherly, he could handle. It was far from home, but he could still go to clubs there and party. In Colridge, he’d need to keep a low profile if he wanted to avoid getting one hell of a beating.

Back on his bike Miles turned on the engine, savoring how the power felt between his legs. He put on his aviators and maneuvered his motorcycle out of the parking lot, towards the open road. Colridge was South, away from the familiar sights and sounds of his hometown. But he wasn’t heading there just yet. He had one more stop to make, one more point to prove. He made a right and headed in the direction of Sammi Cartwright’s trailer, determined to have one last proper send off before he left town, just to piss people off.