Mason: Inked Reapers MC (80 page)

Chapter 71

With the wind billowing in her hair, Brea glanced back to see Colridge disappearing from view. Her brother turned the throttle on his motorcycle and they picked up speed along the highway, expertly weaving their way through the traffic.

Smith was close behind, his own bike roaring its way down the highway. Brea clung tightly to Sylar. She could feel the power of the bike trembling beneath her legs. It was both a terrifying and exhilarating feeling. When Colridge was completely gone from view, she pressed her head against her brother’s back and closed her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The first time she was on a motorcycle she was supposed to be holding on the Miles as they embarked on an adventure together. Hot tears washed down her cheeks as the bike moved ever faster. In that moment, she didn’t care if Sylar lost control and the bike skidded across the road, tossing them both from its back like a bucking bronco. She already felt like the world was burning around her. She wanted to give into the flames, to let them consume her.

Miles had broken her heart. She could feel the pain growing within her, being more pronounced each time her heart dared to beat. And now she was leaving Colridge with no idea when, if ever, she would be going back.

Chapter 72

Miles groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. His whole body felt heavy and awkward. Wincing, he eventually managed to sit up. His throat felt dry and sore as he pushed his hands through his hair and looked around.

He was bare-chested and sat on a sofa in a dingy back room, which he recognized as being part of the bar. Distantly, he could hear the hum of the jukebox playing a familiar tune. Miles shuddered, his shirtless skin prickling in the cool of the damp room. He noticed his t-shirt and jacket neatly piled up on a nearby table and hastily reached for them. Pulling them on, he felt them snag against the tightness beside his ear. Miles grabbed his cell phone and turned the camera towards himself and then inspected his wound. It was no longer bleeding as several crude stitches were now holding it closed.

“Ah,” Miles massaged his aching jaw as he continued to scrutinize the stitches.

“You’re up then?” the door to the room swung open and the aging blonde strolled in carrying a steaming mug of coffee. Miles’ felt drawn to its acidic aroma, eager for the injection of caffeine.

“Here,” she offered him the coffee and sat down on the sofa beside him. “This might help you wake up a bit.”

“How long was I out?” time seemed to have lost all meaning. He could have been asleep for hours or even days and it would have felt the same to him.

“A couple hours,” the woman gave a light shrug. “The sedatives I gave you should have pretty much worn off entirely by now.”

Miles nodded as he sipped at his coffee.

“Whoever cut you with that blade caught you good,” she glanced at his fresh stitches. “Leave those in for a few days, let it heal and then I’ll cut them out for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Just don’t go getting too roughed up tonight. There’s only so much patching up I can do here.”

“Tonight?” Miles’ thoughts were coming too slowly as if they were stuck in glue. What was happening tonight? He knew he was at the Highway Reapers’ bar, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It was as if he’d woken from a deep, deep sleep and was struggling to reconnect with reality.

“You boys are storming Colridge tonight, remember?” the blonde gazed at him intently, narrowing her wrinkled eyes. “Those sedatives didn’t fry your brain too much did they?”

“Colridge.” Brea. Miles’ senses instantly sharpened when he thought of her. She was still in Colridge, still in danger. He had to get to her. Leaning forward he placed down his coffee and stood up but, he’d underestimated the effects of the sedatives that were still lingering in his system.

The dingy room tilted on its axis and Miles swayed on his feet.

“Careful now,” the woman appeared behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and gently guiding him back down toward the sofa. “You don’t want to run before you can walk,” she advised, handing him back his mug of coffee.

“I need to get to Colridge,” he told her desperately.

“This about that girl who called your phone?”

“What?” Panic leaped up into Miles’ throat, almost preventing him from speaking altogether. “Brea? She called me? When?”

He was firing his questions at the blonde, like bullets.

“She called while you were knocked out,” she replied slowly, not bothered by his level of desperation.

“She won’t be calling again.”

“Wait, what? What did you say to her?” Miles felt like a mad man possessed as he reached for his makeshift nurse and grabbed her roughly by the collar of the dress she was wearing which would be better suited to a woman half her age.

“Relax,” she didn’t bat an eyelid as she eased herself out of his grip. There wasn’t even a flash of fear in her eyes. She was well accustomed to the tempers on display in the bar.

“I kept her safe,” she told him sternly.

“I can keep her safe!” Miles insisted shrilly.

“Can you?” she cast a dubious eye over his latest wound which would surely leave a scar. “Because, son, I’m not sure you can. And if you’re really sweet on this girl you’ll just let her go. You see, you’re already in a relationship, with the Highway Reapers, and your Uncle, he don’t take too kindly to anyone cheating.”

Miles groaned in frustration. What had Brea said when she’d called? What had his nurse said? He could only imagine how mad she must be at him. He needed to talk to her, to convince her of how much he loves her.

“Let her go,” the blonde advised, getting up and dusting off her dress as her old bones creaked in protest. “The Blood Gang is no place for a lady. Unless you want her to turn out like me.”

Miles looked at the old blonde, really looked at her. Behind her tired eyes, there was still the sparkle of the beautiful girl she'd once been. A girl who had been lured into the gang by his Uncle Deacon back when the old man was enigmatic and handsome. No, this wasn’t the future Miles wanted for Brea, for her to sit around and stitch up gang members. He wanted her to follow her dreams, to follow her art, her passion. He rubbed a hand across his chest, across the tattoo which had originally bought them together.

“Take care, kid. Think about what I said,” the woman was at the door now, about to leave.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” Miles forced a weak smile and tapped the side of his head.

“Anytime. Just be careful out there tonight, you hear?”

Miles nodded. He wasn’t ready to go back to Colridge, to fight again. But if Brea were there he’d have to. Somehow he’d have to sneak away from the others and get to her apartment. They’d have to run. If he abandoned the pack during a fight, there was no way they’d take him back.  He’d become as much as an enemy to them, as a Blood Pact member. But for Brea, Miles was willing to run and turn his back on everything he knew. She was worth that. She was worth running away for.

Chapter 73

“He rises,” Hank grandly gestures towards Miles as he slumped out of the back room. The bar was busy once again with pack members crammed inside, all proudly wearing their leather jackets and polluting the air with all their cigar smoke.

“Welcome back, slugger,” Hank tipped the shot of whiskey he was holding towards Miles before letting the liquid slide effortlessly down the back of his throat. Colin was on the barstool beside him, nursing a beer. Both men still looked worn down and beaten thanks to their night causing chaos at a local bar in Colridge. 

“Hey,” Miles dropped down onto a vacant stool beside Hank.

“Feeling better?” Hank’s breath stank of liquor. Miles wondered how late in the day it was, and how useful his friends hoped to be in any sort of melee if they were already pretty drunk.

“A bit,” Miles’ head started to throb once again but, he refused to take the pain medication his nurse had left for him. He needed a clear head if he was going to abandon his pack in Colridge and save Brea.

“Me? I’m itching for another round,” Hank dramatically cracked his knuckles to emphasize his point.

“Speak for yourself,” Colin scoffed, gazing sadly at his beer. “I’m still recovering from the last round.”

“But this is the defining one,” Hank smacked his hand against the dirty bar and grinned maniacally. “This is the one that shows all those Blood Pact assholes just who owns this town.”

“Yeah,” Miles gave a sad smile. All around him the air was filled with excited chatter about how much blood would be spilled, how many teeth would get knocked out. The entirety of the Reaper gang consisted of men born for violence; they came alive when they were cracking skulls. But more often than not, things went too far.

With a shudder, Miles recalled the story he’d heard of the young man who had been disfigured with acid.

“He was Blood Pact scum,” they’d declared with a dismissive shrug. “He’d had it coming.”

The perpetrators had lived off that act for years. Each time they came into the bar they were given free drinks and a thunderous round of applause led by Miles’ Uncle Deacon. Deacon admired their savagery, liked how they’d helped make his pack infamous and feared. Back then, even Miles had admired them, which made him feel shame now. But he was young and impressionable all those years ago and he wanted to be revered like they were. And so each time he went out with the pack, he was overly vicious. He’d bite off men’s ears, crack open their skulls and watch with morbid interest as they precious contents slid out onto the street.

But now things were different. Now there was Brea and a reason to walk away from all the violence, all the madness.

“I’m bringing my little friend tonight,” Hank grinned. Miles didn’t need to ask who his little friend was since he already knew. Hank’s friend was a machete he’d bought during a vacation to Mexico. If kept sharp enough and used correctly, it was capable of decapitating a man with one deadly blow. Not that Hank had ever achieved such a victory and given his slurred words now, Miles doubted he’d be able to pull it off tonight. Which meant that with the machete in hand he would be capable of grievously maiming, but not killing a man, which in most cases would be worse. Miles had heard the stories of men so badly beaten that they spent the rest of their lives eating through a straw in a vegetative state.

“A fate worse than death,” The Blood Pact would mutter amongst themselves whenever it happened.

“Do you think you really need it?” Miles countered. People didn’t need to die or spend the rest of their natural born lives in a hospital. The Reapers just needed to make a point, to scare the Blood Pact out of Colridge.

“Your Uncle has said to leave no man alive,” Colin explained gravely as he stared sadly into the distance.

“No man alive?” Miles coughed out the words in shock. A brawl was one thing. But a massacre? That was something else entirely.

“He said we’re at war,” Hank explained as he raised his hand to order another shot of whiskey.

“Over what, over Colridge?” Miles felt outraged.

“Hey man, we’re just the messengers here. You got a problem, take it up with your Uncle.”

Miles was silent as he knew that to do so would be suicide.

“And we’re sorry about your girl,” Hank added, not meeting Miles’ gaze. “If she gets caught up in shit tonight, just know that we’re sorry.”

“You should never have told him about her,” Miles blinked back tears.

“We thought we were looking out for you,” Colin offered quietly. “You know your Uncle’s policy when it comes to dating.”

“But my job is to look out for her,” Miles raged, standing up and moving back from the bar.

“No,” Hank’s voice was suddenly low and threatening. “Your job is to look out for the pack.”

Miles’ heart was hammering so loudly in his chest that it was almost deafening. He looked over at Hank and saw the warning look he was giving him. Deflated he dropped back onto his stool, knowing it was more than his life’s worth to make a scene when everyone was in such a volatile mood.

“Warn her if you must,” Hank said quietly, reaching for his fresh drink. “We’ll afford you that, but nothing more. Call her and tell her to get the hell out of Colridge as fast as she can.”

Chapter 74

Brea sat in the bedroom she’d grown up in, with her knees drawn up to her chest. The walls, once a vibrant shade of pink had dulled to a rose-tinted hue. She could still remember the summer her Dad had painted her room for her. How even after they’d thrown the windows open wide, the house still smelt of paint for days.

“Do you like it sweetheart?” he’d asked her when he’d finished, his handsome face speckled with pink paint.

“I love it,” Brea had gushed, beaming madly. Her bedroom now looked fit for a princess.

“It sucks,” Sylar had scoffed from the doorway, his hair dyed black and hanging across his eyes like a gothic curtain.

Brea had felt her chin start to wobble before her father enveloped her in his arms, shielding her from her brother’s dark comments. Even back then, when life was good, Sylar had seemed distant and angry as if he always knew the terrible fate which awaited them both.

“You okay?” Sylar was once again in her doorway, only now he was a man instead of a boy. Although the same hidden demons seemed to dance behind his tired eyes.

“Yeah,” Brea straightened against the wall. The narrow bed she was sitting on now seemed too small compared to the double one she had back in Colridge. Thinking of her apartment made her insides twist uncomfortably. What if she never again saw Colridge? Saw Miles? As angry as she was at him she still missed him, still loved him.

“You need to just hang tight here for a while,” Sylar explained, casually leaning against the door frame. “At least until things blow over. I am so sorry for this Brea.”

“How long will that be?”

Her brother shrugged. “Who knows?”

Brea coughed to push against the tightness she suddenly felt in her throat. She was once again a prisoner in the family home, being held there by her brother’s will.

“I can’t stay here long,” she told him briskly. “I’ve got a job and - ”

“You need to forget all about your old life in Colridge,” Sylar snapped. “It’s not safe for you there.”

Brea blinked back tears. She couldn’t accept that everything her brother was saying was true, that Miles was part of some dangerous motorcycle gang. That Miles was capable of hurting people, that he may have even hurt the nice girl who worked in the bar in town.

“This is for your own good,” Sylar continued. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“Hey, man. You’re out of beer,” Smith called from the kitchen. Sylar leaned back from the door to shout to his friend.

“I’ll run out and pick some more up. Are you okay to stay here?”

Brea tensed. She knew what her brother wasn’t saying. Smith was supposed to stay there and keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t go running back to Colridge. But why? What weren’t they telling her?

“I’ll come with you,” she dropped off the bed and dusted herself off.

“No,” Sylar swiftly extended his palm towards her, his expression severe. “You stay here, where it’s safe.”

“Sylar, you’re being ridiculous - ”

“Brea, just do as I say. Okay?” an edge had crept into her brother’s voice which made Brea slowly sit back down on the bed. She was starting to question who exactly she should be fearing.

“I’ll be back in like twenty minutes,” Sylar was reaching into the pockets of his jeans, checking how much cash he had on him. “In the meantime, Smith is here if you need anything.”

“Am I a prisoner here, Sylar? Again? Really?”

“No,” Sylar scoffed at the question. “Of course not.”

“But I can’t leave.”

“Brea,” he sighed and took a step into her room. His face was softer now, as too was his voice. He once again looked took on the role of the concerned brother. “You saw what Miles’ pack did to Smith? I’m just trying to keep you safe, you have to be able to see that.”

Brea nodded.

“Good,” Sylar reached forward and ruffled her hair the way he used to do when they were kids. Brea couldn’t help but smile fondly at the gesture.

“Sit tight and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Sat once again on her bed with her back against the wall, Brea listened to her brother’s departing footsteps, followed by the click of the front door closing and shortly after that the roar of his motorcycle’s engine as he pulled out of the driveway. Sighing deeply, she tilted her head towards the ceiling. She’d lost count of how many hours she’d lie in her bed and look up at the cracks in the paint, daydreaming about how they might actually be some sort of secret map to a better life. Brea had been so unhappy in her home after her parent’s died. And finally she’d got out, found somewhere she could truly be herself only to have it all taken from her; to once again be back where she started. A solitary tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto her faded duvet. Brea sniffed and wiped at her face, willing herself to be strong. But she needed Miles more than ever and he wasn’t there. Some strange woman had answered his phone and now Brea doubted if he even loved her anymore.