Miles (Highway Reapers MC): Inked Hearts (22 page)

Chapter 73

“He rises,” Hank grandly gestures towards Miles as he slumps 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 bar-stool 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 on to 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 emphasise 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 manically. “This is the one that shows all those Reaper 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 Blood 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 Reaper 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 Gang 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 Blood Gang just needed to make a point, to scare the The Reapers out of Colridge.

“Your Uncle has said to leave no man alive,” Colin explained gravely as he stared sadly in to 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 on to 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 to 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 in to 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 mean time 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,” she 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, day dreaming 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.

Chapter 75

Miles wasted no time leaving the bar. He beat a swift retreat through the crowd, ignoring the ache in his head from his fresh stitches. Once he was out on the parking lot, the cool air of the late afternoon hit him like a brick wall. The pain killers in his system made him feel woozy and almost drunk. Slowing he reached for the exterior wall of the bar to steady himself.

“Come on, hold it together,” he urged himself. He fumbled for his cell phone and dialled Brea’s number before pulling it up to his good ear. Inhaling sharply he listened to each elongated ring and prayed that she’d pick up.

Chapter 76

Brea jumped in surprise as her cell phone started ringing. Cautiously she removed it from her pocket and glanced at the number flashing up on the screen.

Miles.

Her whole body tumbled off the bed like an uncoiled spring as she hastily closed her bedroom door, being careful not to make too much noise and attract Smith’s attention. She could picture him sat on the sofa down the hall, pretending to watch television when he was actually listening out for her like some sort of prison warden.

For a moment Brea didn’t know whether to take the call. Her finger lingered over the green button as she bit her lip and battled with indecision. Finally her heart won out over her head and she accepted.

“Hi,” she hoped that her voice sounded as brittle and hurt as she felt.

“Hey,” Miles sounded huskier than usual. And tired. What was going on with him lately? A pang of fear streaked through Brea as she considered that maybe her brother was right about him.

“Where are you?” he croaked the question at her.

“I should ask you the same thing!” Brea retorted contritely, hot tears burning in her eyes. “I called you earlier and some…some woman answered!”

“She was just…a friend,” Miles replied vaguely. “I’m sorry if she was rude to you. Where are you?”

“I’m at home.”

“In your apartment?” Miles sounded alarmed by this.

“No, home-home. With my brother and his friend.”

“Why are you there?”

Brea shrugged to herself. “He came to pick me up earlier, insisting I needed to get out of Colridge.”

She heard Miles swallow nervously on the other end of the line.

“A bar in Colridge got turned over last night,” she was shaking as she spoke, hoping against hope that Sylar was wrong. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Brea - ”

“Don’t even think about lying to me!”

“Yes,” Miles sighed in defeat. “I was there. I was involved.”

Brea clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself sobbing loudly. Miles was a monster. She’d fallen in love with a beast. Trembling she scrambled back on to her bed needing to be close to the familiar duvet of her childhood.

“Are you part of some…some gang?” she could barely ask the question.

“Yes,” Miles admitted softly. “But Brea, it’s not like you think.”

“So you don’t go around cruelly beating on people? You don’t throw acid over a stranger’s face?”

“No, to the latter,” Miles’ voice sounded fragile as though it might break. “Brea, I’ve done some stuff I’m not proud of, God knows. I made some really bad choices when I was younger. But my Uncle scooped me up when I had nothing and no one. When my Mom abandoned me, I didn’t have a big brother to step in and take care of me.”

“You’re making excuses,” Brea seethed. “And just last night you were making bad choices. You beat up innocent people, Miles! How could you!”

“Brea, I’m sorry,” Miles said, dejected. “I’m in too deep with this… lifestyle. And I want out. Truly I do. Even before I met you I wanted out but you’ve given me something bigger to hope for. You’ve shown me the kind of life I really want.”

Brea was softly crying. She felt like her world was tumbling around her like a flimsy house of cards.

“My brother was right about you,” she told him tearfully. “You need to stay the hell away from me.”

“Your brother?” Miles sounded angry now. “He’s the one who told you I run with the Blood Gang? I bet he failed to tell you how he knew that.”

“What?” Brea wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “What do you mean?”

“Your brother rides with a rival gang, Brea. He’s part of the fucking Reapers. I imagine running dirty little errands for them was a way to help him make decent money when you guys were younger. I heard about the guy who got hit with acid, I had nothing to do with that.”

“The Reapers?” Brea thought of Sylar’s motorcycle, of how he worked long nights and came back with mysterious injuries. It all made sense and she felt foolish for not having seen it before. She felt like she was drowning in all the lies she was being told by the men who were supposed to love her.

“Tonight your brother is going to return to Colridge to fight with my pack because now we are at war. And I never wanted you to get caught up in this, Brea. You have to know that.”

“My brother,” Brea was shaking her head, not wanting to believe it.

“You need to get out of the house,” Miles urged her. “I’ll come and get you. Together we will run away from all of this. Brea, for you I’d give it all up. Let’s just get on my bike and ride until we run out of gas.”

“I can’t,” Brea could barely talk through her waterfall of tears. “I can’t leave the house. My brother’s friend is keeping an eye on me. I’m supposed to stay here.”

“My pack knows about your brother,” Miles explained grimly. “If things don’t go well tonight they’ll come to your home seeking revenge. You’re not safe there.”

Brea blinked through her tears. In her heart, she knew that her home hadn’t been safe since her parents died. The once vibrant room had dulled, taking with it all its magic and Brea’s childhood dreams.

“I can try and sneak out,” she looked uncertainly at her window. But first she wanted to talk some sense into Sylar, to stop him from going to war with the rival gang. If things went badly that night, she could risk losing both Sylar and Miles and that was just too awful to even contemplate.

“I need some time,” Brea explained. “If you’re right about my brother then I have to try and stop him.”

“I’m coming for you,” Miles promised.