Mason:Inked Reapers MC(130)

"Yes, I'm alone," she replied tersely. "Why would you even ask me that?"



"And you're in your apartment?"



"Yes!" Brea was getting wound up with all her brother's strange questions. What was he even getting at?



"Stay where you are," he ordered.                       
       
           



       



"Don't go telling me what to - " Brea stopped talking when she realized  that the line had gone dead, Sylar had hung up. Her heart fluttered  nervously in her chest as she stood up and tentatively approached the  window, which overlooked Colridge. She couldn't see the street outside  from her apartment, only the backs of the buildings. She wondered what  was going on and why her brother was asking such strange questions. And  for a sickening moment she wondered if it had anything to do with what  had happened at the bar the previous night.





Chapter 68



Miles popped two ibuprofens in his mouth before leaving the grocery  store. He was about to make his way back to the motel when he froze. He  saw two parked motorcycles outside the closed tattoo parlor across the  street. Both of the riders wore leather jackets and looked well-built  but from this distance he couldn't discern their faces. Inhaling  nervously he stepped back inside the shop, away from view. He watched  them from within the safety of the store. He could immediately tell that  they were Blood Pact members. They had the club's emblem proudly  displayed on their bikes.



"Shit," Miles breathed as he watched them, praying that they'd soon  leave. If they saw him he was done for, he was certainly in no state to  defend himself. He wished he'd been smart enough to take Colin and Hank  with him. Colridge was now a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.  Even a wander down the street could be dangerous.



After a few minutes, the riders pulled off and disappeared down the  street. Miles wasted no time hurrying off in the opposite direction. He  had to get back to the motel and fast.



"They're here," he declared as he pushed open the door. Both Hank and  Colin glanced up at him in surprise. They were both freshly showered  which made their wounds seem less dramatic.



"Who is here?" Colin asked, wearily rubbing at his eyes.



"Blood Pact. I just saw two of their members in town."



"Well I say we go roll out the welcome wagon for them," Hank grinned, baring his teeth.



"No," Miles raised a hand of objection at him. "We don't do anything until we hear from my Uncle."



As if on cue the telephone in the room began to ring. The three men  shared wary glances before Miles stepped forward and picked up it,  placing the receiver against his ear.



"Hello," he tried to make himself sound as foreboding as possible.



"Miles, that you?" he instantly recognized the craggy old voice of his Uncle Deacon.



"Yes, Uncle, it's me." Still holding the phone Miles lowered himself  onto the bed. He could see Hank and Colin sharing worried looks.



"You boys did a nice job at that bar last night," Deacon complimented.



"Thanks." Miles' wounded ear started to throb so he switched sides with  the telephone. As he did so, he noticed that it was spotted with his own  blood. He might need to consider getting stitches on his cut if it  didn't stop bleeding.



"I think you really stirred up the hornet's nest there in Colridge," Deacon continued, clearly amused.



"I think so too. I spotted a couple of Blood Pact members out on the streets this morning."



"Good, good. Well then, I need you boys to high-tail it back here as quick as you can."



Miles tightened his grip on the phone. Go back? But why? Going back  would mean leaving Brea. Miles closed his eyes in frustration as he  recalled how she'd hung up on him. He couldn't leave without making  things right with her. But if he saw her now how would he ever explain  his wounds without letting her think he was a monster.



"Come back?" Miles choked out the words. "But why? Don't you need us here in Colridge in case they retaliate?"



"No, I need you back here," Deacon clarified sternly. "There's a war  coming, Miles. We need to batten down the hatches and prepare."



A shudder of fear flew up Miles' spine. He hadn't intended to start a  war. Was that what it was coming to? Pack against pack? Where did Brea  even fit into all that. He couldn't leave her in Colridge when things  were getting so dangerous there.



"I need to bring someone else back with me," Miles stated.



"If it's that girl you're fucking, you can think again," his Uncle  replied coldly. Miles felt his body tense in shock. He looked over at  Hank and Colin, expecting to see their guilt ridden faces, but they were  both avoiding his gaze.



"Uncle - "



"Her brother rides with the Blood Pact. Don't think I don't know. I know everything, Miles. I've got eyes everywhere."                       
       
           



       



"She doesn't deserve to get caught up in this," Miles pleaded, feeling panicked.



"I don't have time to listen to you whine about some girl," Deacon  raged. "I need you and the others back here by this evening. We need to  start planning how we're going to ruin the fucking Blood Pact once and  for all."



Miles swallowed nervously. The rivalry between the two gangs was intense but never before had one sought to destroy the other.



"War really is coming," Miles realized, tasting bile in his mouth.



"You bet your ass it is," his Uncle swiftly agreed. "And you want to  make sure that you're on the winning side, Miles. So be here before  sundown. Just the three of you, no stragglers. It's high time the  Highway Reapers Gang proved that we're the fucking authority in these  parts."



With a shaking hand, Miles lowered the phone back down. Hank and Colin still refused to meet his gaze.



"I hope you're both happy," he addressed them flatly. "We're going to war with the fucking Pact."





Chapter 69



"This has been a long time coming." Miles listened to his Uncle Deacon  address the crowded bar. Every available member of the Highway Reapers  had packed inside the flimsy building. The air was thick with sweat and  cheap beer.



Miles stood towards the back beside Hank and Colin. His head still  throbbed from the wound he'd picked up during the bar fight back in  Colridge.



"Too long have the Blood Pact taunted us," his Uncle raged to his  enraptured audience. Pack members hollered in agreement, raising bottles  of beer to the air in a toast. "Too long have they crept into a  territory that isn't fucking theirs."



"Your Uncle is certainly fired up," Colin whispered quietly to Miles.  All Miles could do was nod stoically in agreement. He had hoped he'd  have time to talk to his Uncle, privately, before the entire crew  assembled. He wanted to do all he could to discourage his Uncle Deacon,  from going to war with the Blood Pact. But as soon as he pulled into the  bar's parking lot, he knew he was way too late. Almost a hundred  motorcycles were lined up outside, glistening in the early morning  sunlight, like precious polished toys. All members of the Highway  Reapers were in residence; his Uncle was preparing his troops.



"I like where the old man is coming from," Hank growled with delight,  folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall.



Miles said nothing. He continued to gaze over at his Uncle, who was  decidedly more animated than usual as he addressed the packed bar.



"I say tonight we show The Pact who really runs things around here!"



People were cheering, salivating at the prospect of spilling blood.



"We'll run them out of Colridge, out of the state with their tails between their legs like the pathetic dogs they are!"



"Ooow! Yeah!" men howled like wolves



Groaning, Miles tried to disappear into the shadows of the bar. He  couldn't stop thinking about Brea, about how his old Uncle had known  about her all along. Surely she was now in danger? But he couldn't go  back to her, not at the risk of turning the entire pack against him.  They'd tear him apart before he'd made it to his bike. No, he needed to  tread carefully, especially now.



Finally his Uncle dismissed his audience, insisting everyone go home and  rest up before the big night. But this dismissal hadn't included Miles,  which he realized as he headed for the doors with the others but was  promptly pulled back by a strong pair of hands which clamped around his  shoulders like a vice.



With a sigh of resignation Miles stopped and turned around, letting the  other members pass around him on their way out, as though he were a rock  in a stream. The heavy hands which had stopped him belonged to one of  his Uncle's most favored cronies, a six foot five rider called Jasper.