Mason:Inked Reapers MC(134)

"Warn her if you must," Hank said quietly, reaching for his fresh drink.  "We'll afford you that, but nothing more. Call her and tell her to get  the hell out of Colridge as fast as she can."



Chapter 74



Brea sat in the bedroom she'd grown up in, with her knees drawn up to  her chest. The walls, once a vibrant shade of pink had dulled to a  rose-tinted hue. She could still remember the summer her Dad had painted  her room for her. How even after they'd thrown the windows open wide,  the house still smelt of paint for days.



"Do you like it sweetheart?" he'd asked her when he'd finished, his handsome face speckled with pink paint.



"I love it," Brea had gushed, beaming madly. Her bedroom now looked fit for a princess.



"It sucks," Sylar had scoffed from the doorway, his hair dyed black and hanging across his eyes like a gothic curtain.



Brea had felt her chin start to wobble before her father enveloped her  in his arms, shielding her from her brother's dark comments. Even back  then, when life was good, Sylar had seemed distant and angry as if he  always knew the terrible fate which awaited them both.



"You okay?" Sylar was once again in her doorway, only now he was a man  instead of a boy. Although the same hidden demons seemed to dance behind  his tired eyes.



"Yeah," Brea straightened against the wall. The narrow bed she was  sitting on now seemed too small compared to the double one she had back  in Colridge. Thinking of her apartment made her insides twist  uncomfortably. What if she never again saw Colridge? Saw Miles? As angry  as she was at him she still missed him, still loved him.



"You need to just hang tight here for a while," Sylar explained,  casually leaning against the door frame. "At least until things blow  over. I am so sorry for this Brea."



"How long will that be?"



Her brother shrugged. "Who knows?"



Brea coughed to push against the tightness she suddenly felt in her  throat. She was once again a prisoner in the family home, being held  there by her brother's will.



"I can't stay here long," she told him briskly. "I've got a job and - "



"You need to forget all about your old life in Colridge," Sylar snapped. "It's not safe for you there."



Brea blinked back tears. She couldn't accept that everything her brother  was saying was true, that Miles was part of some dangerous motorcycle  gang. That Miles was capable of hurting people, that he may have even  hurt the nice girl who worked in the bar in town.



"This is for your own good," Sylar continued. "You'll thank me one day."



"Hey, man. You're out of beer," Smith called from the kitchen. Sylar leaned back from the door to shout to his friend.                       
       
           



       



"I'll run out and pick some more up. Are you okay to stay here?"



Brea tensed. She knew what her brother wasn't saying. Smith was supposed  to stay there and keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't go running  back to Colridge. But why? What weren't they telling her?



"I'll come with you," she dropped off the bed and dusted herself off.



"No," Sylar swiftly extended his palm towards her, his expression severe. "You stay here, where it's safe."



"Sylar, you're being ridiculous - "



"Brea, just do as I say. Okay?" an edge had crept into her brother's  voice which made Brea slowly sit back down on the bed. She was starting  to question who exactly she should be fearing.



"I'll be back in like twenty minutes," Sylar was reaching into the  pockets of his jeans, checking how much cash he had on him. "In the  meantime, Smith is here if you need anything."



"Am I a prisoner here, Sylar? Again? Really?"



"No," Sylar scoffed at the question. "Of course not."



"But I can't leave."



"Brea," he sighed and took a step into her room. His face was softer  now, as too was his voice. He once again looked took on the role of the  concerned brother. "You saw what Miles' pack did to Smith? I'm just  trying to keep you safe, you have to be able to see that."



Brea nodded.



"Good," Sylar reached forward and ruffled her hair the way he used to do  when they were kids. Brea couldn't help but smile fondly at the  gesture.



"Sit tight and I'll be back before you know it."



Sat once again on her bed with her back against the wall, Brea listened  to her brother's departing footsteps, followed by the click of the front  door closing and shortly after that the roar of his motorcycle's engine  as he pulled out of the driveway. Sighing deeply, she tilted her head  towards the ceiling. She'd lost count of how many hours she'd lie in her  bed and look up at the cracks in the paint, daydreaming about how they  might actually be some sort of secret map to a better life. Brea had  been so unhappy in her home after her parent's died. And finally she'd  got out, found somewhere she could truly be herself only to have it all  taken from her; to once again be back where she started. A solitary tear  slid down her cheek and dropped onto her faded duvet. Brea sniffed and  wiped at her face, willing herself to be strong. But she needed Miles  more than ever and he wasn't there. Some strange woman had answered his  phone and now Brea doubted if he even loved her anymore.





Chapter 75



Miles wasted no time leaving the bar. He beat a swift retreat through  the crowd, ignoring the ache in his head from his fresh stitches. Once  he was out on the parking lot, the cool air of the late afternoon hit  him like a brick wall. The painkillers in his system made him feel woozy  and almost drunk. Slowing he reached for the exterior wall of the bar  to steady himself.



"Come on, hold it together," he urged himself. He fumbled for his cell  phone and dialed Brea's number before pulling it up to his good ear.  Inhaling sharply he listened to each elongated ring and prayed that  she'd pick up.





Chapter 76



Brea jumped in surprise as her cell phone started ringing. Cautiously  she removed it from her pocket and glanced at the number flashing up on  the screen.



Miles.



Her whole body tumbled off the bed like an uncoiled spring as she  hastily closed her bedroom door, being careful not to make too much  noise and attract Smith's attention. She could picture him sat on the  sofa down the hall, pretending to watch television when he was actually  listening out for her like some sort of prison warden.



For a moment, Brea didn't know whether to take the call. Her finger  lingered over the green button as she bit her lip and battled with  indecision. Finally, her heart won out over her head and she accepted.



"Hi," she hoped that her voice sounded as brittle and hurt as she felt.



"Hey," Miles sounded huskier than usual. And tired. What was going on  with him lately? A pang of fear streaked through Brea as she considered  that maybe her brother was right about him.



"Where are you?" he croaked the question at her.



"I should ask you the same thing!" Brea retorted contritely, hot tears  burning in her eyes. "I called you earlier and some … some woman  answered!"



"She was just … a friend," Miles replied vaguely. "I'm sorry if she was rude to you. Where are you?"                       
       
           



       



"I'm at home."



"In your apartment?" Miles sounded alarmed by this.



"No, home-home. With my brother and his friend."



"Why are you there?"



Brea shrugged to herself. "He came to pick me up earlier, insisting I needed to get out of Colridge."



She heard Miles swallow nervously on the other end of the line.



"A bar in Colridge got turned over last night," she was shaking as she  spoke, hoping against hope that Sylar was wrong. "Did you have anything  to do with that?"



"Brea - "



"Don't even think about lying to me!"



"Yes," Miles sighed in defeat. "I was there. I was involved."



Brea clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing out  loud. Miles was a monster. She'd fallen in love with a beast. Trembling  she scrambled back onto her bed needing to be close to the familiar  duvet of her childhood.



"Are you part of some … some gang?" she could barely ask the question.



"Yes," Miles admitted softly. "But Brea, it's not like you think."



"So you don't go around cruelly beating on people? You don't throw acid onto a stranger's face?"



"No, to the latter," Miles' voice sounded fragile as though it might  break. "Brea, I've done some stuff I'm not proud of, God knows. I made  some really bad choices when I was younger. But my Uncle scooped me up  when I had nothing and no one. When my Mom abandoned me, I didn't have a  big brother to step in and take care of me."