Mason:Inked Reapers MC(128)

"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.