Mason:Inked Reapers MC(127)

"Yeah."



"You managed to ride him out of town yet?"



"No." Sylar slumped with dismay. He had to keep Brea safe, he had to  keep her away from her boyfriend, Miles. He was a Reaper. He was  dangerous.



"He needs to be gone," Smith noted wisely. "I heard there was trouble in Colridge last night. Were you any part of it?"



Smith looked hurt as he asked the question. If there had been any  trouble involving Sylar, he'd have wanted to have been a part of it.



"No," Sylar clarified. "What happened?"



"Some dive bar got turned over," Smith drained the last of the beer from  the bottle he was holding and wiped his mouth. "No big deal, except  Colridge is our territory. If anyone is starting shit there, it should  be us."



"Then who was it?" Sylar feared that he already knew the answer.



"Who do you think?" Smith scoffed. "Your sister's boy toy, that's who.  Him and some of his cronies. They're making a move, Sylar. They're  taunting us."



"Dammit," Sylar gripped the bar so tight that his knuckles blanched of color. "We need to stop them."



"Tell me something I don't know." Smith was unusually calm about it all.  Normally he'd be filled with rage and eager to break some bones.



"I'm surprised you're not already over there with a crowbar," Sylar noted.



"Ha," Smith grinned widely, appreciating the comment. "I wish I was,  truly. But I'm holding back. We all are," he leaned back in his chair to  glance around the quiet bar. A few rugged men remained in their chairs  from the night before, their eyes glazed over.



"But the Blood Pact aren't about to go charging in when your sister might get caught up in it all."



Sylar swallowed nervously. "Does everyone know?"



He felt shamed by his lack of action. And now the entire pack knew that  his little sister was sleeping with the enemy. He was lucky that he  hadn't received a beating for her treachery.



"I talked," Smith explained without a hint of regret. "Last night, when  word reached us about that bar being turned over everyone here was ready  to leave and reclaim our territory. I had to hold them off and the only  way I could do that was to tell them the truth."



"Shit," Sylar released an exasperated sigh. His name was now surely mud  among the pack. Tears of frustration burned behind his eyes. Why hadn't  he been more strict with Brea? He should never have let her go and work  in Colridge. This was all his fault.



"Relax," Smith reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Everyone was  cool about it. They understood. Bitches be so headstrong these days,  it's hard to keep them on any kind of leash."



Sylar smiled thinly, not relishing having his sister referred to as a  bitch. She was a fool, yes, but no more foolish than any other young  person in love. She'd just fallen for the wrong guy, it was an easy  mistake to make.



"You've got twenty-four hours to get her out of there," Smith raised a fresh bottle of beer to his lips. "Or so I reckon."                       
       
           



       



"Twenty-four hours?" Sylar repeated, feeling panic rise in his chest.  He'd only just been to Colridge. He couldn't very well go back. And how  was he expected to get Brea out of there? He knew she wouldn't listen to  reason, he couldn't very well drag her home kicking and screaming.  Could he?



"Yep," Smith nodded. "Tonight when the bar is buzzing again the pack is  going to be like a bunch of mad dogs. Put a couple of drinks in them and  they'll be baying for blood and payback. I suggest you remove your  sister from Colridge as fast as you can unless you want her getting  caught up in it all."



"No," Sylar's chest felt tight. "I don't want that at all. I've never wanted her caught up in any of this."



"Secrets have a way of getting found out," Smith mused. "You can try as  much as you want to keep them hidden but eventually they come bubbling  up to the surface."



"She won't leave willingly." Sylar could already imagine the  conversation with his sister, how she'd stubbornly defy him, calling  Colridge her home.



"Tell her the truth, tell her she's in danger," Smith suggested logically.



"I can't."



"Because then she'd know the truth about you?" Smith arched an eyebrow.



"Exactly."



"Better she hears the truth from you then her thug lover though."



Sylar groaned. He knew that his friend was right. It was finally time  for his sister to learn the truth about him, no matter how dark it was.  He just had to hope that she'd still love him once she knew. But he was  certain that he wasn't the only man in her life keeping secrets  –  Miles  was too, and for the same reasons as Sylar. And now the web of lies  which had been weaved around Brea was closing in on her, threatening to  strangle the life out of her.



"I need to get her out of there," Sylar slapped his hand down on the bar decisively.



"That's the spirit," Smith toasted him with his bottle of beer. "And I'm coming too."



"What?" Sylar looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion.



"Relax," Smith slapped him on the back as he dropped down from his bar  stool, nut shells crunching beneath his heavy boots. "It's not like I'm  going to hit on her or anything. Although I'm blatantly her type," he  added with a wink.



"I don't need your help," Sylar objected curtly.



"Yes, you do," Smith assured him, gesturing to his face. "I can tell her  the truth about that little boyfriend of hers and the kind of real  danger she's in."



Sylar was speechless. He knew that Smith was right. While Brea might not  believe him, she couldn't deny the physical evidence etched into  Smith's face. He felt humbled that his friend was willing to help him.  He placed a hand on Smith's shoulder in gratitude.



"Thanks, man."



"Though I refuse to be responsible if she falls for this pretty face," Smith joked as they began walking through the bar.



"Very funny."



It was bright outside. Both men squinted against the light as they approached their parked bikes.



"In all seriousness though, you've got to get her out of there," Smith  stated as he hauled himself onto his bike. He'd been drinking solidly  through the night but he was still prepared to ride and there wasn't a  cop in the state brave enough to pull him over.



"There's a storm brewing between the Blood Pact and us Reapers. It's  been brewing for years but suddenly, it feels like it's coming to a  head. Can't you feel the electricity in the air?"



Sylar nodded as he could. Even though the sun was shining and the sky  was clear, the air felt heavy with the ominous knowledge that something  bad was going to happen. Something which would leave the streets of  Colridge painted with blood.



"Let's ride," Smith revved his bike and then roared off towards the  highway, leaving a plume of exhaust smoke in his wake. Sylar swiftly  followed, ignoring how tired he was. All that mattered was getting Brea  out of Colridge before it was too late.





Chapter 63



"Morning," Gina was grinning as she greeted Brea. Her whole body still  felt flushed from Sylar's touch. But seeing her young apprentice in the  light of day reminded her of Sylar's dark warnings and her smile  slipped.



"How's things?" she asked briskly.



"Good," Brea gave a light shrug. She was wearing a navy sundress and  black ballet pumps. She looked beautiful in an understated way. But her  bare arms and pristine skin looked out of place in the parlor.                       
       
           



       



"We need to get you inked up sometime soon," Gina noted, tilting her head at her. "That's if you're up for it?"



She watched Brea glance down her lean arms and then smile. "I'd like that."



"Hey, did you guys hear what happened last night?" Oscar, the weekday  receptionist, blurted as he came through the front door. He always smelt  of a strange combination of vanilla and petrol.



"What happened?" Gina asked, one hand on her hip. For one awful moment  she thought he was going to say that he saw her having sex in the  parlor. The tips of her ears started to burn and she felt a blush  creeping up her chest.



"That little bar down the street, O-Hannigans got totally trashed.  There's like seven people in the hospital this morning," Oscar was  talking fast, his chubby face bright with excitement.