Mason: Inked Reapers MC (79 page)

Chapter 69

“This has been a long time coming.” Miles listened to his Uncle Deacon address the crowded bar. Every available member of the Highway Reapers had packed inside the flimsy building. The air was thick with sweat and cheap beer.

Miles stood towards the back beside Hank and Colin. His head still throbbed from the wound he’d picked up during the bar fight back in Colridge.

“Too long have the Blood Pact taunted us,” his Uncle raged to his enraptured audience. Pack members hollered in agreement, raising bottles of beer to the air in a toast. “Too long have they crept into a territory that isn’t fucking theirs.”

“Your Uncle is certainly fired up,” Colin whispered quietly to Miles. All Miles could do was nod stoically in agreement. He had hoped he’d have time to talk to his Uncle, privately, before the entire crew assembled. He wanted to do all he could to discourage his Uncle Deacon, from going to war with the Blood Pact. But as soon as he pulled into the bar’s parking lot, he knew he was way too late. Almost a hundred motorcycles were lined up outside, glistening in the early morning sunlight, like precious polished toys. All members of the Highway Reapers were in residence; his Uncle was preparing his troops.

“I like where the old man is coming from,” Hank growled with delight, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall.

Miles said nothing. He continued to gaze over at his Uncle, who was decidedly more animated than usual as he addressed the packed bar.

“I say tonight we show The Pact who really runs things around here!”

People were cheering, salivating at the prospect of spilling blood.

“We’ll run them out of Colridge, out of the
state
with their tails between their legs like the pathetic dogs they are!”

“Ooow! Yeah!” men howled like wolves

Groaning, Miles tried to disappear into the shadows of the bar. He couldn’t stop thinking about Brea, about how his old Uncle had known about her all along. Surely she was now in danger? But he couldn’t go back to her, not at the risk of turning the entire pack against him. They’d tear him apart before he’d made it to his bike. No, he needed to tread carefully, especially now.

Finally his Uncle dismissed his audience, insisting everyone go home and rest up before the big night. But this dismissal hadn’t included Miles, which he realized as he headed for the doors with the others but was promptly pulled back by a strong pair of hands which clamped around his shoulders like a vice.

With a sigh of resignation Miles stopped and turned around, letting the other members pass around him on their way out, as though he were a rock in a stream. The heavy hands which had stopped him belonged to one of his Uncle’s most favored cronies, a six foot five rider called Jasper.

“I don’t get to rest up then,” Miles gestured towards the doors which Hank and Colin had previously gone through.

“Rest is for the weak,” Uncle Deacon waved a dismissive hand through the air as he staggered back to his regular table. All of the confidence and bluster had gone and he was once again a feeble old man. Still burning with resentment for his Uncle, Miles followed him to the table with Jasper lingering close by, keeping guard.

“I told you we were going to war,” Deacon declared with a sinister smile.

“That you did,” Miles agreed flatly.

“And I need to keep you here, where I can see you.”

Miles squirmed uncomfortably. He felt more like a child than a man being held captive like this at the bar.

“If I let you leave here, all you’ll do is go and warn that little girl of yours and there’s no way in hell we're having that.”

Miles tensed with anger.

“She’d warn that brother of hers,” Deacon continued. Miles wanted to correct him, to insist that Brea was loyal to him first, but he knew that would be a lie. Brea loved her brother, she’d do all she could to keep him safe. She wouldn’t be the girl he loved if she’d do otherwise.

“She can’t get mixed up in this,” Miles tried to sound menacing but knew he was failing. He was exhausted and his wounds were burning, causing his thoughts to fog.

“Someone caught you real good,” Deacon nodded at his wound which Miles could already feel was bleeding again.

“A guy at the bar had a blade.” Miles winced as he spoke, it was starting to hurt to move his mouth.

“We should get that taken care of,” Deacon nodded at Jasper, who left them alone and disappeared off behind the bar.

“I’m fine,” Miles insisted tersely.

“You’re not,” Deacon shook his head, gazing at his nephew intently. “And I can’t have you in anything less than top form for tonight.”

“Tonight?” Miles kept wincing. He felt like something was hammering a jackhammer against his skull. “Why so soon?” he felt almost delirious from the pain.

“We can’t afford to wait,” Deacon explained. “The Blood Pact will already be mobilizing and we'd be smart catch them off guard.”

In Jasper’s place returned a blonde with a heavily lined face. She was carrying a bright red first aid kit which she dropped down on the table before kneeling down beside Miles to scrutinize his wound.

“Ahh,” he protested, pulling away as she fingered around the tender flesh.

“Don’t be a baby,” Deacon chastised. Miles wanted to retort that it was easy for his Uncle to be so dismissive. He couldn’t remember the last time his old Uncle had left the safety of the bar.

“It needs stitches,” the blonde didn’t inform Miles. Instead, she spoke directly to Deacon who nodded his consent.

“Best take you out back to do them,” she was talking to Miles now, nudging his shoulder to get him to stand up.

“You’re in good hands with her,” Deacon gave a thin smile. “She’ll fix you up as good as new.”

“Come on now,” the blonde was guiding Miles through the bar, away from his Uncle.

“Don’t knock him out too good,” Deacon called after them. “I need him on his feet by tonight.”

Chapter 70

Brea jumped at the sudden pounding against her front door. She stood frozen in the middle of her apartment, her cell phone brandished in her hand like some kind of weapon. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Fear rattled in her chest as she listened to the frantic beating of her own heart echoed in her ears.

“Brea, it’s me, open up.” Sylar’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door.

“Sylar,” she said striding towards the door, releasing the locks in bewilderment. She thrust open the door to reveal her brother in the hallway, his face tense and pinched. But he wasn’t alone. Brea glanced at his companion and did her best not to stare at the deep scarring covering half of his face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she turned back to her brother.

“I don’t have time to argue.” Sylar barged past her entering the apartment, his friend close behind.

“And who is this?” Brea gestured wildly to the stranger. “And did I say you can come in?”

“This is my friend, Smith. You can trust him.”

Smith gave Brea a brisk nod in greeting.

“Trust him?” Brea pressed her fingers against her temple. “Sylar, what’s going on?”

“We don’t have time, Brea!” Sylar came over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing slightly. He stared at her hard, willing her to believe in his words.

“I need you to listen to me, Brea,” he spoke slowly to ensure she understood exactly what he was saying. “You’re in danger here. You need to come back home with me right now.”

“In danger?” Brea shrugged him off and stepped back. Was this just another of her brother’s attempts to thwart her relationship with Miles? If so she certainly wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Brea, I’m serious,” Sylar’s voice was razor sharp. “Miles is dangerous.”

“Please,” Brea scoffed at the suggestion. Miles might look menacing, but he wasn’t dangerous. He was caring, and kind. And distant. His recent lack of availability pinched at her chest, winding her. Why was he blowing her off all the time? Had he stopped caring about her?

“He’s not dangerous,” she quickly blinked back tears, refusing to let her brother see her cry over Miles.

“He is,” Sylar insisted, his eyes wild with urgency. “He’s dangerous and you being here, being with him, is putting you in danger. We need to leave. Now. Go and pack up your things.”

Brea exhaled sharply and placed her hands on her hips. She wasn’t back home, committed to obeying all of Sylar’s orders. This was her apartment, which she paid for with her own money. Her brother had no right to storm the place and start giving her orders.

“You’re out of line, Sylar.” She told him angrily.

“So help me Brea, I’ll drag you out of here if I have to. You’re leaving Colridge tonight, with or without your consent.”

“Sylar!” she glanced at his scarred friend for support, but he just turned away from her, letting the siblings conduct their argument between themselves.

“Pack, your things, now! Or I will pack for you.” Sylar bellowed at her, pointing towards her bedroom door.

“No,” Brea objected tearfully. Her brother was just trying to drive a wedge between her and Miles, she was sure of it. And he was being cruelly heavy-handed about it.

“I promise you that Miles is dangerous,” Sylar repeated, his voice softening slightly. “That bar that got turned over in town last night, he was responsible for that.”

“How can you say that?” Brea felt like her brother had smacked her with a whip and she was still smarting from the wound. Why would he deliver such a vicious lie? There was no way Miles could have had anything to do with the fight at the bar. But Sylar had successfully planted a seed of doubt in Brea’s mind. She hadn’t seen Miles last night, nor this morning. Was he avoiding her to hide his battered face? He did sound odd on the phone.

Tears beaded in her eyes as she glanced helplessly at her brother, willing him to be wrong.

“He rides with a motorcycle gang called the Highway Reapers,” Sylar continued. “They are a really nasty bunch of guys bred on violence. And they are looking to stir up trouble here in Colridge. Being with Miles makes you a target. I’m just trying to keep you safe Brea.”

A motorcycle gang. The Highway Reapers. Brea felt dizzy as she tried to take it all in. She lowered herself onto her sofa and lay her shaking hands upon her knees. Sylar had to be wrong. He just had to be. But even Gina had hinted about the danger.

“How do you…how do you know this?” she wondered woefully.

“I just do,” Sylar told her vaguely. “Trust me, the Highway Reapers are trouble, Brea. Look what they did to Smith.”

Smith stepped forward and angled the damaged half of his face up towards the light so that Brea could take a better look at it.

“The Highway Reapers; they did that to you?” she gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth.

“Acid,” Smith explained tightly. “Me and your brother made the mistake of turning up at the wrong bar a few years ago. It was a mistake the Reapers wanted to make sure we wouldn’t repeat again.”

“My God,” Brea couldn’t imagine the pain Smith must have gone through. And all because he’d gone to the wrong bar. It all seemed to needlessly cruel. “And that’s how you know?” she glanced between the two men. “That Miles is with this gang, because you’ve encountered them before?”

Sylar and Smith shared a look.

“Yeah,” her brother spoke up. “That’s how we know, Brea. Now do you understand why I’m so worried about you? And why you have to leave here?”

Brea understood. Numbly she got to her feet and made her way towards her bedroom. As she hastily filled a bag with a few essential items, she thought of the girl she’d tattooed at the shop, the girl who worked at the bar. Had Miles hurt her? No, that was impossible. Miles would never do something like that. Brea couldn’t ignore the fact that her brother might still be lying.

With Sylar and Smith waiting in the main area of her apartment, she quietly pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and dialed Miles. She wanted to at least give him a chance to explain himself. After five drawn out rings, a woman answered.

Brea felt like someone had electrocuted her. A violent shock raced down her spine when she heard the unfamiliar voice.

“Hello?” they picked up with an air of impatience.

“Hi…is….um, is Miles there?” Brea had to speak quietly for fear of attracting the attention of the men in the next room.

“He’s passed out at the moment,” the woman replied briskly. Her words were cold and lacked any emotion.

“Passed out?” tears started to run down Brea’s face like a river. Why was Miles passed out? Where the hell was he and who was this woman answering his cell phone?

“Sweetheart, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t call him again.” And the line went dead. Brea stared at her cell phone in disbelief. How could she have been so very wrong about Miles all along? She honestly believed he was a decent guy who genuinely loved her. Had he got blind drunk and slept with the woman who was now taking his calls?

Brea felt sick at the thought of such a betrayal. She dropped against her bed and cradled her head in her hands, her clothes still strewn around the room in her haste to pack.

Five long minutes passed before a gentle knock came at the door. “Brea, we really need to go.”

It was Smith’s voice, not her brother’s.

“I’ll be right there,” Brea sniffed and wiped her eyes. The door creaked open and Smith slid around it, throwing her a sad glance.

“I’m sorry if Sylar scared you.” he noticed her tears glistening in the sunlight.

“It’s okay,” Brea wiped at her cheeks and stood up.

“Let me help,” Smith came in and started to scoop up some of the scattered clothes. As he did so, Brea glanced again at his scar, noticing how it disappeared beneath the collar of his jacket.

“It must have really hurt,” she noted sympathetically.

“It hurt like hell,” Smith gave her a lopsided smile. “But I think it gives me a tough edge, don’t you agree?”

Brea laughed softly. She admired Smith’s strength.

“Your brother will keep you safe,” he added, his tone becoming more serious. “He won’t let them harm you.”

Brea had previously thought that she could trust Miles to keep her safe. But since a strange woman had just answered his phone she didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Where is Sylar?” she glanced beyond Smith into her apartment.

“Moving the bikes around to the front,” Smith explained.

“The bikes?” Brea felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Was she supposed to ride on the back of their bike all the way back home? She’d never been on a motorcycle before and the thought of doing so terrified her.

“Yeah,” Smith cracked a smile. “I’ll take your bags and Sylar will take you. Unless you’d rather do it the other way around?” a flirtatious fire burned in Smith’s eyes. He was charming and despite his horrific scars he was still handsome. But Brea couldn’t give him the flicker of hope he was yearning for. Her heart still belonged to Miles, even if it looked like he was going to break it.

“I’ll ride with Sylar, its okay.” She also didn’t want a relative stranger feeling her quake with fear behind them, as they rode down the highway.

“You called?” Sylar was coming back into the apartment. Shadows hung beneath his eyes making Brea wonder when he’d last slept. As soon as they got home she’d cook them something then insist he take a long hot bath before going to bed for several hours. Her brother clearly wasn’t doing a great job of looking after himself in her absence.

“Apparently I’m riding on your bike,” Brea tilted her head at him, wondering if he’d sense her apprehension about the mode of transportation.

“You’ll love it,” Sylar reassured her though his expression remained stern. “Now let’s go.”