Mason:Inked Reapers MC(137)

"Ride hard and fast," Hank advised with a wry smile. "And don't bother  checking over your shoulder because we'll never be there."



"How can I be sure of that?"



"You're just going to have to take my word for it." Hank grinned around the cigarette which was clamped between his teeth.





Chapter 82



"Brea," Sylar gave an exasperated sigh. "I really don't have time for this."



There was so much Brea wanted to say. She wanted to scream at her  brother and demand to know how he could be part of a violent motorcycle  gang. She wanted to voice her bitter disappointment towards him, to cry.  But instead she was stoic. As much as she wanted to convince him to  change his ways, to denounce his pack, she knew she couldn't do that  alone. She'd need Miles' help. So her first priority was stealing away  from the house without Sylar knowing. Outside it was almost dark, she  knew that she didn't have much time.



"I'm just tired," she said with an apologetic shrug. "I need some sleep, that's all."



"Women and their Goddamn moods," Sylar was shaking his head as he backed  out of the door and trudged back down the hallway, satisfied with her  explanation.



When Brea was quite certain that he was gone and out of earshot, she  stood up on her bed and carefully slid open her bedroom window. Cool air  rushed into the room and ran goose bumps down her skin. Once the window  was open as wide as it would, go she moved towards her bedroom door and  listened. She could hear the faint moaning of women who sounded like  they were being pleasured. Brea frowned, wondering where the sound was  coming from but she didn't have time to dwell on it. She reached for her  rucksack and began shoving in a few essential items.





Chapter 83



When Sylar returned to the sofa, Smith was once again watching his porn  but this time he didn't object. He dropped down beside his friend and  watched the two attractive women pleasure one another. He felt his body  start to respond appropriately and he was grateful for the distraction.  If he was getting aroused and jerking off, then he wasn't thinking about  the upcoming fight, wasn't thinking about all the possible outcomes in  this situation.



"I need the distraction," Smith said tightly as if sensing what Sylar was thinking.



"I get that," Sylar nodded. Smith, more than anyone, knew first hand  just how brutal the Reapers could be. In the glow of the television, his  scars looked like an alien landscape stretched tightly across his face.  Sylar wondered if his friend's wounds still caused him pain, but he  never dared to ask. Most of the time they just pretended it had never  happened, which was easier than addressing it.



"Your sister okay?" Smith asked, never taking his eyes off the screen.



"Yeah, she's just resting." Sylar put his feet up on the coffee table,  feeling a pang in his chest remembering how his Mother used to always  object to such a stance.



"Feet off the table," she'd tell Sylar sternly as she playfully swatted at him with a rolled up newspaper.



"You heard your Mother," his Father would chip in from where he was sat in the kitchen reading a book.



With a dramatic teenage sigh, Sylar would drop his feet and glare at his  mother. Looking back, he couldn't believe that he ever wasted even a  second feeling negatively towards her. If only he'd known back then that  every moment with his parents was precious and to be cherished.



Smith also propped his feet up on the table, his face starting to get  flushed. Sylar thought of his sister and wondered if his friend would be  able to resist going to pay her a visit once he was fully aroused.





Chapter 84



Brea pushed her upper body out through the window, grateful that it was a  single story house. She dropped her rucksack out onto the soft grass  and then, as gracefully as possible, she followed after it. She landed  on the ground with a dull thud and froze for a moment, her heart racing,  waiting for Sylar to come bounding into her bedroom demanding to know  what the hell she was doing. She sunk low against the wall to avoid  detection, but her bedroom remained silent and still, no one appeared.



Dressed in skinny jeans and dark green hooded sweatshirt, Brea began to  creep her way around to the front of her house. She'd sent Miles a  message before climbing through the window, telling him to meet her on  the small bridge just outside of town. If she ran, she could be there in  ten minutes but she needed to avoid the main roads. Barely daring to  breathe, she fumbled her way around to the driveway and then sprinted  off towards the road, past the neat row of houses she'd grown up  amongst. She kept running, not daring to look back. Her hair tumbled  into her eyes and she didn't bother to knock it away. All that mattered  was putting as much distance between herself and her house as possible.                       
       
           



       



Each time the beam of a headlight drew up, Brea panicked. Twice she  flung herself into some bushes. But the lights always continued on,  oblivious to her presence.



"Nearly there," Brea told herself breathlessly as the bridge came into  view up ahead. Her whole body trembled uneasily and she yearned to fling  herself into Miles' protective embrace and just remain there forever.  Despite the choices he'd made, the company he kept, she still loved him  and believed that they could have a future together. If only Sylar  weren't caught up in all the gang mess, they could make a clean break  and just run off. But she wasn't about to leave her brother to fend for  himself. With Miles, she would go back and plead with him to turn his  back on his pack, on his life of violence and crime.



Guilt caused Brea to choke and stumble on the road. Rough asphalt  connected with her outstretched hands as she fell. She was the reason  Sylar was involved with the Reapers. It was his feelings of duty towards  her which had made him join the pack, had made him make all his bad  life choices. Brea was softly crying as she clambered up to her feet and  dusted herself off. Her sobs caught in her throat when she looked up at  the bridge and saw Miles standing in the center of it, backlit against  the moonlight, looking so handsome, so perfect.



Her knees buckled, threatening to not carry her the rest of the way. But  thankfully he turned and saw her, his chiselled features warming with a  broad smile and he was running, running to scoop her up into his arms  and spin her around. It was like something out of a movie and for  several blissful minutes, Brea forgot all about the motorcycle gangs and  the fear polluting her veins. She thought only of Miles and how good it  felt to be with him once again.





Chapter 85



The women on the television were still writhing all over each other. The  taller one had lowered herself so that she was now gently sucking the  other's clitoris, her tongue expertly easing against the nub, the  well-placed camera catching every intimate moment.



"Okay," Smith clapped his hands together and stood up. "I'm going to go and check on your sister."



Sylar tensed. He knew what his friend could be like with women. He could  be charming and sweet, he could also be forceful when he didn't get his  way.



"If she's not into it, just back off, you hear me?" Sylar warned tersely  as Smith sauntered off down the hallway, not acknowledging his comment.



Looking back at the television Sylar considered playing with himself  right there on the couch. His hand already rubbing his hard cock through  his jeans, keen to pull them down and give himself some much needed  sexual release.



"Hey," Smith was calling him. With a groan of annoyance, Sylar spun  around on the couch to look at his friend. Smith was in the doorway to  Brea's bedroom, one hand shoved into his pocket.



"What is it?" Sylar demanded angrily.



"We have a problem." Smith explained.



"If she's asleep, just let her rest," Sylar exclaimed.



"It's not that," Smith was shaking his head and intermittently glancing into Brea's bedroom.



"Then what is it?" Sylar had no time for this. He stood up and glared  down the hallway at his sheepish friend. "Well?" he prompted heatedly  when Smith remained silent.



"She's not here," Smith explained softly.



"What?!" Sylar narrowed his eyes and tried not to give into his rising levels of annoyance. "What do you mean she's not there?"



"I mean," Smith gestured in to the bedroom, "that she's not here. The  window is open and the room is empty. There's no Brea. Your sister is  gone."



"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sylar sprinted towards Smith and gazed  into the empty room to see that his friend was right. Brea was gone. All  that remained were the curtains which flapped in the cool night breeze,  taunting them.