Clenching his jaw, he kicked his bike to life and roared off into the night.
Chapter 79
Miles had a plan. It was a flimsy one he had to admit, but it was all he had. It came to him as he stood outside the bar talking with Hank. He thought of Brea held under lock and key by her brother. Miles thought that if given the chance, couldn't he talk to her brother, come to some sort of truce. After all, they had shared a common ground for their love of Brea; they both wanted what was best for her.
"What if I could stop all this?" Miles wondered aloud. Hank cocked his head at him in confusion.
"Stop the fight tonight?"
"Yeah."
"You can't stop it," Hank shook his head wistfully.
"Why not?"
"You think this is all about you? And your girl? And her brother? It's not. This is bigger than us, Miles, it always has been. Old grudges go deep, really deep. You ever wondered why Deacon hates the Blood Pact like he does, or why that little punk got acid thrown all over him? Things between the two gangs will never, ever be resolved."
Miles was surprised by Hank's insight but couldn't disagree with him. He was right – the two gangs were hardly going to shake hands and let bygones be bygones. The hate between the two factions would always burn poker hot, no matter what happened.
"Maybe so, but if I could at least stop tonight - "
"Tonight is already in motion," Hank interjected. "To stop it now would be like standing in front of a freight train. All that will happen is that you'll get yourself killed."
"I fear that we are all just sleep walking to our deaths," Miles looked up at the darkening sky. He was running out of time.
"Isn't everyone?" Hank shrugged and raked a hand through his golden hair. "If we don't die this night we'll die another one. As is the predicament of being alive."
"But don't you want your death to mean something?"
"Death never means anything," Hank declared, his gaze hardening. "It is always just an end. There is no meaning in that."
Miles was starting to feel desperate. He couldn't let the streets of Colridge run red with blood, even if the feud was bigger than him.
"I can't just stand by and let everyone get hurt."
"The way I see it, you got two choices," Hank reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. He plucked one out and placed it between his fingers, elegantly guiding it up to his lips.
"You can either fight with us tonight," he lit the cigarette and took a deep drag on it, smiling in satisfaction.
"Or?" Miles prompted him for his second choice.
"Or, you can go get your girl and get the hell out of town. Like I suggested earlier. Yet here you still remain."
"She won't leave without her brother," Miles sighed, "especially now she knows that he's a part of all this."
"Quite the predicament," Hank blew smoke into the air, letting it billow above him like a dark cloud.
"I have to make her leave with me, don't I?" Miles looked desperately at his pack mate, yearning for some direction.
"Yes, you do," Hank nodded solemnly. "And you need to do it fast because if Deacon catches wind, that you're even thinking of leaving tonight then you're already a dead man."
Chapter 80
Sylar kicked open the unlocked front door and quickly located Smith, who was stretched out across the sofa watching some porn. Two naked women with epic breasts were fondling each other as they kissed with excessive amounts of tongue.
"Hey," he hurried over and grabbed the remote, plunging the screen into darkness.
"I was watching that," Smith objected, screwing up the good half of his face in annoyance.
"Not with my sister here you're not," Sylar glared at him. "Show some respect." He stormed over to the refrigerator and placed the pack of beers he was holding inside.
"She's in her room," Smith shrugged. "And it's not as if she's coming out here to keep me company."
Sylar almost wished that his sister would get involved with Smith. It would be a vast improvement on her current choice of boyfriend. At least being with Smith wouldn't be like signing her own death warrant.
"Beer?" Sylar asked as he leaned into the cool interior.
"Sure." Smith straightened up and raised a hand in readiness for his beverage. "What time we ride?" he asked as Sylar handed him a bottle.
"Soon," Sylar realized. Outside it was already getting dark, soon the Reapers would be assembling out on the streets, their bikes roaring loudly like some sort of ancient dinosaur.
"Well, I'm more than ready," Smith grinned. "Those Reaper shit heads are about to learn that payback can be a bitch."
But Sylar wasn't listening. He was stalking down the hallway towards Brea's bedroom. He swung open her flimsy door without pausing to knock. The room was shrouded in shadow, but he could see his sister sat on the bed, her knees pressed to her chest. He flicked on the light and she squinted up at him in the sudden brightness.
"Don't just sit here in the dark," he told her. "Come have a beer with us."
"I'm okay, thanks," she answered curtly, her tone as hard as flint.
"Look, Brea, I know I said you have to stay here, but it's for your own good. You can't be mad at me about that."
"I'm not mad at you about that," she replied flatly.
"Oh," Sylar straightened in surprise. "Well then … that's good. But seriously, don't just sit here all alone all night."
"Are you going out later?" she cocked her head at him as she asked the question. "Do you need to work?" she emphasised the last word in a strange way.
"Yeah," Sylar shrugged, trying to look casual. "I've got to head to work in a bit. So what?"
"Nothing," Brea narrowed her eyes at him. "Nothing at all."
Chapter 81
"Go now," Hank urged, looking back towards the bar. The tumbled together sounds of the rowdy occupants stole out towards them.
Miles felt taut with adrenaline, which surged through his body. If he turned his back on the Highway Reapers now, he could never come back. He'd be an outcast for the rest of his life.
"Is she worth losing all this?" Hank asked, limply gesturing towards the bar.
"Yes," Miles answered without missing a beat.
"Well, there you go. What are you waiting for?"
Still Miles hesitated. He stared at Hank, weighing up whether or not he could trust him.
"I'll say I know nothing," Hank held his hands up defensively.
"Why are you even helping me?" Miles wondered, cocking his head to the side.
"Because," Hank sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. "You've got something to live for, something beyond the gang. Me? I've never had that. I've only ever been about the pack, there isn't enough room in my life for anything else. I'd gladly die for these assholes, would you?"
Miles was silent.
"Exactly," Hank raised his eyebrows. "And honestly Miles, I don't want someone out there fighting with me who isn't completely committed."
Miles nodded softly, understanding where Hank was coming from.
"So go," Hank prompted again, pointing towards where the motorcycles stood. "Go save your girl and ride off into the sunset together."
Miles felt torn. He looked back at the bar, his sanctuary, the place his Uncle Deacon took him into all those years ago when he had nothing and no one.
"You think because he saved you that you owe him your entire life?" Hank asked, as though reading his mind at that exact moment. "That's how we all feel, Miles. But that's not normal, is it? Deacon, he plucks us out of obscurity and seemingly saves us, but always to meet his own needs. It's never the selfless act it appears to be."
Miles was stunned by Hank's brutally honest assessment of life within the gang. And it pained him to acknowledge how true the other man's words were. Why had his Uncle not intervened with Miles sooner? Why let him live rough on the streets for a few years? It was because Deacon wanted to see if he was tough enough, wanted him to see how bad things could get before he bothered to extend the olive branch of safety. Deacon had willingly let Miles suffer as a teenager just to ensure that he'd make a decent member.
"You're right," Miles felt steeled with decisiveness as he strode over towards his bike. He was ready to leave Deacon and the Highway Reapers behind him and move on with the next chapter of his life. Brea, she was it.