Mason:Inked Reapers MC(126)

"Pretty much. The plan is to go to Ole' Miss, that's where my brother went."



Brea smiled with understanding as she finished off the tattoo. "Your brother still go there?"



"Probably. We're not that close, haven't spoken in like two years."



Brea was rubbing down the new design, the black ink as dark as tar when it was shiny and newly applied.



"Okay, we're all done." Brea pushed back her swivel chair to give the  woman space to get up. She moved slowly as though her limbs were stiff  from lying down for so long.



"Oh, wow," she saw the design in the full length mirror on the other side of the small treatment room. "That looks killer."



"Glad you like it."



The woman took a moment to stand up and admire her new tattoo. "I love it," she declared breathlessly. "Thank you so much."



"You're most welcome," Brea smiled warmly as she applied antibacterial  ointment and bandaged the newly completed tattoo. "Good luck with  college and finding your brother."



"Thanks," the woman wiggled back in to her vest top and tucked her hair  behind her ears. "I just miss him, you know? Family is so important."



"Yeah," Brea agreed with a nod. "It is."





Chapter 61



Miles lingered in the stairwell of Brea's apartment; it was six o clock  and she was due home any minute. Outside the sun was already losing some  of its brightness as the day prepared to turn into night.



He heard the door at the bottom of the stairwell open, followed by  quick, light footed steps. Brea soon appeared below him, her pretty face  breaking out in to a smile when she saw him.



"Hey," she hurried up to his level. "I didn't expect you to come round so early. The film doesn't start for another few hours."



Miles swallowed the guilt that seemed to bubble like bile in his throat,  and waited for Brea to unlock the door to her apartment. When they  stepped inside she turned and placed her palms on his chest, gazing up  at him flirtatiously.



"Or did you think of something we could do before the movie?" she asked, biting her lip.



Miles wanted to go with his instincts and take her there and then. He'd  bend her over the couch and fuck her hard until her legs shook from  delight. But for now, he had to ignore his desires. He had other things  to worry about.                       
       
           



       



"Baby, I'm so sorry," he clutched her hands in his but kept them pressed  to his chest. He liked how it felt when she touched him. "I'm going to  have to take a rain check on tonight."



Her face crumpled, clearly hurt by the rejection, but only momentarily. She quickly recovered and smiled confidently at him.



"Okay, how come?"



Miles wanted so badly to lie. To have her think he was doing something  noble like saving orphans from a burning building. Instead he was going  to be beating up innocent people but she certainly didn't need to know  that level of detail.



"I've got to work," he hung his head against his chest in regretful  shame. "It sucks, I know. But I wanted to come and tell you in person  rather than send a message."



"Oh, well if you've got to work that's fine. I understand."



Miles wondered if she'd be so sweetly understanding if she knew what his  line of work actually entailed. He doubted it. And he didn't blame her.  He loathed what he did. Riding with the Reapers had stopped being fun  twenty bar fights ago. He felt like he was always starting trouble  without good cause and being overly reactive to things for no reason. He  got the feeling that his Uncle just enjoyed seeing people bleed, which  was why he was always keen to start shit in the pack's name.



"You okay?" Brea reached up and stroked his cheek. Her touch as soft and  tender as velvet. Miles leaned in to her. He wanted to stay there in  her apartment, with her, but instead he had to go out and run errands  for the Reapers. It was far from ideal and the worst part was that he  had no choice. If he disobeyed his Uncle's orders all he'd do was shine  the light of violence directly upon himself. And he knew that both Colin  and Hank, would beat the living shit out of him if it was his Uncle's  say so. Every member of the Reapers was loyal first to their leader,  second to one another.



"You seem troubled," Brea continued, tilting her head to the left.



"It's because I'd rather not be working," Miles replied honestly. "I'd rather just stay here with you."



"I'd rather you just stay too," Brea said breathily, leaning up to kiss  him on the lips. Miles kissed her back. It was soft and tender at first.  It reminded him of stolen kisses in the rain when he was younger, back  before he knew the world could be such a savage place.



"I love you," Brea uttered the words with beautiful softness as their  lips parted. Miles wanted to bottle up those words and listen to them  over and over again until he lost the ability to hear. Those three  little words were the greatest thing anyone had ever said to him.



"I love you too." He kissed her again, with more vigor. He wanted so  badly to stay. But as they parted he saw the darkening of the sky. If he  wasn't back at the motel before eight he'd be in a world of trouble.



"I'm sorry but I've really got to go," he told Brea regretfully.



"It's okay," she smiled sadly at him. "Maybe we could do the movie tomorrow night?"



Miles wanted to immediately agree but it depended on how badly he got  hurt later tonight. He couldn't very well explain busted open lips and  black eyes to Brea. What kind of job resulted in such injuries? If the  night at the bar went without too much of a hitch, then yes, he could go  to the movies. But he was reluctant to commit to anything until he knew  and risk disappointing Brea again.



"Have a good time at work," she waved him off from her apartment door  looking impossibly sexy. It took all of Miles' will power to walk away  from her. He loved her, he wanted her so why the hell was he now  willingly walking directly into the lion's den? Miles felt resentment  for his Uncle burning inside him like a forest fire as he jogged back to  the motel, back to Colin and Hank and back to the strange loyalty that  he owed the Highway Reapers. A loyalty which had robbed him of an  evening out with the woman he loved.





Chapter 62



Sylar sat slumped over the bar, nursing a cold beer between his palms.  He was exhausted. He'd driven back home as dawn was breaking overhead,  turning the sky a deep, blood red. He released his beer to wearily rub  his eyes.



"Hey man," he flinched as someone smacked him on the back. Smith hauled  himself on to a neighboring bar stool. He stank of liquor and his eyes  were bloodshot. Sylar bet his friend had been at the bar all night.



"Hey," Sylar nodded at him in greeting and then sipped on his beer.



"Missed you last night."



"Hmm, sorry. Something came up." Sylar briefly closed his eyes and  remembered gripping Gina's waist, remembered pressing her up against the  reception counter at her tattoo parlor. A satisfied smile pulled on his  lips.                       
       
           



       



"Ooh, hey!" Smith raised his beer to him and laughed. "You got lucky! I knew it."



Sylar gave a modest shrug. Yes, he'd got lucky. But he'd also failed to  enlist Gina in helping him get Brea out of Colridge. His sister was  still dating a Reaper, which meant that she was still in grave danger.  The thought chilled him to his bone and he pushed his beer away,  watching it skid across the bar. He no longer had a need for its cold  contents.



"Hey, don't waste it," Smith reached for the beer and drew it close to  himself, grinning like a child who had just acquired a free toy.



"I'm not in the drinking mood," Sylar sighed. The only thing he was in  the mood for was sleep, but the worries which gnawed at the back of his  mind would prevent him from resting. He shouldn't have left Colridge as  hastily as he did, but he didn't dare stay to watch the sun rise. He'd  heard the squeal of sirens late in the night. There was troubling  brewing in the town, he could almost taste its sourness on the air.



"Was the sex that bad?" Smith frowned at him.



"No," Sylar shook his head. "It was good. Very good."



"But," Smith drew out the word, gazing expectantly at his friend.



"But it wasn't the reason for my visit. I went to Colridge." Saying it  out loud made everything about his little trip feel more risky. He hung  his head and sighed.



"This about the Reaper?" Smith asked.