"O-Hannigans?" Brea repeated slowly, her hands twisting in a nervous ball in front of her. "I worked on a girl yesterday who works there."
"Poor her," Oscar rolled his eyes. "About working there, not being worked on by you," he quickly clarified. "But from what I can hear it was pretty bad. Some broken bones, people needing multiple stitches."
"Why … " Gina swallowed nervously. Was this the kind of trouble Sylar was so concerned about? Was her tattoo parlor going to be targeted next? "Why did it happen?"
"Thugs," Oscar's eyes widened. "Although my friend at the police station mentioned it might be gang related."
Gina felt light headed. She leaned against the reception counter for support. Just a few hours earlier it had been the sight of an erotic encounter but in the harsh light of day everything seemed dulled. Gina wanted to pull down the shutters over her store and just close up for the day.
The blonde haired gang member was due in again that afternoon, the one Brea had been working on. What if he was all beaten up because of last night? Because it had to be him and his friends, right? It couldn't have been Sylar because he was with her.
"Colridge is feeling less and less safe these days," Oscar declared, moving past his colleagues towards the staff room at the back of the building, his designer satchel flapping at his side.
"It is," Brea agreed quietly, folding her arms across her chest and fearfully bowing her head. Gina didn't know what to say to comfort the young woman. Brea was sleeping with one of the guys who'd probably caused the trouble at the bar. Gina shivered at the thought.
"I hope that the girl I worked on yesterday is … is okay," Brea whispered, casting a concerned glance out towards the street.
"I'm sure she's fine," Gina lied. She knew from past stories of gang-related violence that members didn't discern between men and women, in their twisted minds everyone was fair game. They'd crack a woman's skull just as swiftly as they'd crack a man's.
"Maybe I should close up early today," Gina pursed her lips and imagined spending the day tucked up safely in her apartment with the dead bolt on. She sensed that it was no longer safe to be out and about in Colridge, not when a gang war was brewing.
"But I've got a client coming in this afternoon," Brea gently objected. "I'd hate to let him down."
Gina bit her tongue. She wanted to point out that Brea might feel very differently if he did show up all beaten and bruised. She'd surely put two and two together. Gina nervously scratched at her forearms. It wasn't safe to have gang members in her store. If she closed up and lowered the shutters, then the blonde would have no choice but to walk away. He couldn't harass them into working on him if they weren't there.
"No, I'm definitely closing up," Gina insisted, trying to sound less panicked than she was. "It's the right thing to do considering what happened at the bar last night."
"But surely we shouldn't give into acts of intimidation," Brea countered, the fear in her face replaced by a look of indignation.
"When it comes to gangs, we need to keep ourselves safe," Gina told the younger woman sternly. "I'll call your client and have his appointment rearranged." This was a lie, but it seemed to have been told convincingly enough to placate Brea. She gave a shrug and then a nod of consent.
"Okay, if you're sure it's the right thing to do. It's your call."
"Yes," Gina felt a little bit relieved to have made her decision. "Go home, Brea," she ordered. "And stay safe."
Chapter 64
Brea felt strange being back in her apartment so early in the day, but Gina had insisted on closing up the store, leaving her little choice. She paced back and forth, buzzing with unspent energy. She kept thinking about the woman she'd tattooed the day before who worked at the bar. Was she okay? Did she get caught up in the fray that had happened there the night before? Brea had no way of knowing and that frustrated her.
She checked the online news stories about the fight on her phone, but they were frustratingly vague. It was as if Colridge didn't want to know about it; Or was scared to. Gina had seemed so scared by the news. She usually loved to gossip with Oscar first thing in the morning. Over a fresh cup of coffee, the pair of them would put the world to rights. But this morning the daily news had shaken her so badly that she'd closed the tattoo parlor.
"Weird," Brea shrugged to herself before calling up Miles. If she had a day at home, she might as well spend it with him.
Holding her phone to her ear, she listened to each ring drag out. She was starting to think that he wouldn't answer when on the seventh ring he picked up.
"Hey." His voice sounded cracked, broken.
"Hey, it's me," Brea declared brightly. "Gina randomly decided to close the store today so I've got some free time and was thinking … " she twirled a strand of hair around her fingers as she smiled flirtatiously. She was about to describe exactly how she'd like to spend that free time when Miles interrupted her.
"Sorry, I can't."
The response was so abrupt that Brea straightened in surprise, releasing the strand of hair she'd been holding.
"You can't?"
Panic began to roll around inside her, making her feel nauseous. Last night Miles had cancelled on her because he had to work and now he was bypassing another chance to see her. What was going on? Brea inhaled sharply as she waited for his excuse, praying that it would at least sound plausible.
"Babe, I'm so sorry." Each of his words was strained as though he were having difficulty saying them. Brea sighed in frustration, releasing the breath she'd been holding.
"You cancelled on me last night." She sounded so plaintive and needy, which she hated, but she couldn't help it. She was desperate to see Miles, didn't he feel the same way about her? Hadn't he said that he loved her?
"I know," Miles croaked. "And I'm sorry."
"So what is it this time? You can't be working again."
There was silence on the other end of the line. Brea could almost hear the cogs in Miles' brain whirring as he frantically tried to think up an excuse.
"You know what? Forget it!" she declared sharply, ending the call and breathing heavily, her chest heaving. Somehow she'd managed to do just as Sylar had wanted. She'd pushed Miles away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Brea willed herself to remain calm, to be rational, but the hurt in her chest was too much. She dropped against her small sofa and buried her head in her arms and sobbed.
Chapter 65
Miles winced as he dropped his cell phone back onto the nightstand beside the bed. Everything hurt. Each breath he took felt brittle and sore. With a groan, he managed to hoist himself up so that he was sitting up in bed. In the dim light offered through the closed drapes, he could see Hank and Colin sprawled out around him. The sheets beneath them were dark with blood.
"Urgh," Miles massaged his neck, all of his muscles protesting at the movement. Using all the energy he had, he slowly got up and made his way towards the small bathroom, needing to access the damage.
When he looked in the mirror above the sink, he was greeted with a grim sight. Both of his eyes were bloodshot and bordered in darkening shadows. A deep cut ran down from his left ear and dried blood had collected down his neck like a dark, inky stain. Turning on the faucets, he began running the water to clean his hands. As he did, he noticed that his knuckles were red raw and when he put them under the warm water it stung. Grimacing he pulled his hands back from the sink. There was no way he could let Brea see him like this.
He needed pain relief and fast. But first he had to make himself presentable. Wincing he undressed and climbed into the shower. He stood beneath the hot water for a good twenty minutes. It felt good and eased some of the pain. When the water around him was finally running clear, he came out and dried off, steam surrounding him like a foggy cloud.
He pulled his jeans back on but grabbed a clean shirt from his duffel bag in the motel room. Hank and Colin still hadn't stirred. Miles felt better for showering, but his temple was starting to throb. Shrugging on his jacket, he prepared to go outside, but as he placed his hand on the door handle something stirred behind him.