Mason:Inked Reapers MC(140)

The scarred friend laughed wickedly at this.



"I've begged him not to fight," Brea said defiantly. "And now I'm asking  you the same thing. Sylar, why does this pack demand loyalty to the  point where it would cost you your life? Can't you see how mad that is?  Please, just cut your ties with them and then we can all be free."



"Sweetheart, this isn't the kind of club where you can just opt out of membership," the friend told her sharply.



"There's only one way you stop being a Blood Pact member," Sylar agreed. "And that is if you die."



"Do you hear how insane you fucking sound?!" Brea raged, her pretty face  pinched with anger. "If Miles can be man enough to walk away, why can't  you?"



"Walk away?" Sylar was staring directly at Miles now, his eyes cool and  impassive. "Is that what he told you? That he's just walking away? Then  why are you two kids having to flee town? It's because you don't just  walk away from The Reapers or The Blood Pact. His own pack will hunt him  down for desertion like the dog he is."



"Desertion? You're talking like this is a war!" Brea blurted heatedly.



"It is a war!," Sylar snapped. "We've been at war for a long time, Brea  and tonight it all comes to an end. One pack will be victorious, and  that pack will end up ruling over the whole state."



"Do you listen to yourself? You sound like a madman!" Brea was starting to cry, tears shimmering as they died on her cheeks.



"Brea," Sylar raked his hands through his hair, calming slightly. "The  Blood Pact, they are my family now. After Mom and Dad died they took me  in, they let us keep a roof over our heads when anyone else would have  forced us into foster care. I owe them everything, can't you see that?"



"No," Brea was shaking her head, refusing to believe her brother's  words. "I'm your family, Sylar. It's always been you and me against the  world."



"Doesn't look that way now, does it?" Sylar's voice hardened as he once  again locked eyes with Miles. "You've chosen your family and I've chosen  mine."



"If they stay here any longer, we're going to be found out," the friend  stated fretfully. "We were supposed to be in Colridge a half hour ago."                       
       
           



       



Sylar groaned in frustration.



"Smith, go load up the bikes," he dismissed his friend.



"You sure?" Smith lingered for a moment, staring at Miles.



"Yes," Sylar nodded. "Go."



Smith hurried outside, the door banging loudly behind him as he left.



"Please, Sylar, please don't go tonight," Brea pleaded, her voice high pitched with urgency.



"If I stay or go, either way I'm a dead man."



"Sylar -" she moved towards him, but he ignored her to hold Miles in a steady gaze.



"You should set her free," he told him. "Walk away from her tonight.  Otherwise, your problems are just going to follow her around as they  will you. You're putting her in danger and you know it."



Miles clenched his jaw and counted slowly to ten. He wasn't putting Brea  in danger, was he? He thought he was finally setting them both free. He  doubted the Highway Reapers would really hunt him down. He was leaving  town as a precaution. After all, his Uncle might not even live to see  the morning. So much was riding on the fight that night, but Miles  couldn't think about all that. He had to focus on what was his and what  was real, and that was Brea.



"I'll always keep Brea safe," Miles swore. And he meant it. He'd sacrifice his own life to protect her if he had to.



"Then get the hell out of here," Sylar gestured towards the door.



"No," Brea flung herself against her brother, her small arms reaching  for his shoulders. "Don't do this, Sylar. Don't fight tonight, please. I  can't lose you."



With one swift movement, Sylar pushed her off.



"Sylar, please," she was sobbing as she folded, drooping towards the  ground. Miles scooped her up, pressing her against his broad chest.



"You understand, don't you?" Sylar looked up at Miles. Brea's brother  looked so drained, like a man resigned to his fate. "They gave me  everything," he continued. "They took me in, they made me one of their  own."



"Yeah," Miles replied gruffly. "I do understand. The Reapers, they did  the same for me. At a time when I had nothing and no one, they stepped  in. Back then, they seemed like heroes, angels even. But now I'm older I  see it for what it was  –  they took advantage of a desperate kid to mold  me to their will. I'm just a pawn in their never ending game of  vengeance. They never cared about me, they just wanted me to believe  they did."



Something changed in Sylar. His eyes misted and his gaze became distant.  Miles dared to hope that he was actually starting to get through to  him.



"We can't be held to promises we made as desperate children," he added  gently. For a moment, Sylar looked like he agreed. But then the moment  passed and he was once again wearing his hardened mask of indifference.



"I don't break the promises I make," he stated darkly. "Now get the hell  out of here while I'm still inclined to remain loyal to my sister first  and foremost. The only reason you're still breathing is because she  clearly cares about you."



"Don't do this," Miles pleaded. "Brea is your family, think about her."



"I'm sorry." Miles wasn't sure if Sylar was apologizing to him or Brea or both of them.



The front door opened and Smith peered inside.



"Bikes are loaded and ready to go," he informed Sylar.



"Okay, good, let's move," Sylar nodded at him. Brea was still sobbing, shaking against Miles' chest.



"Don't do this, man," Miles pleaded again. "Think of your sister."



"I am," Sylar replied tersely as he strode towards the front door. "I always have been. That's the problem."



Sylar was now in the doorway preparing to leave.



"Since you won't leave, then we will."



Miles opened his mouth to object, but his words were drowned out by the  roar of Smith's motorcycle as he drove out of the driveway, shortly  followed by Sylar. All Miles could do was watch them leave and hold Brea  up against him. Sylar and Smith were now en route to Colridge and the  fight that awaited them there.



"You tried," Miles reassured the weeping woman in his arms. "You did your best, Brea."



Looking out at the road beyond the house Miles thought of how Sylar  would rather risk death than defy the pack. Was Miles really making a  terrible decision to underestimate how vengeful the Highway Reapers  might be to him? If Deacon lived to see another day he'd surely be  looking for someone to blame for the deaths of any of the Reapers  members, and Miles' absence at the fight would make him the perfect  target. Fear gnawed at the base of his neck, urging him to move.                       
       
           



       



"We need to get the hell out of town before shit hits the fan," Miles  told Brea, unhooking her from his embrace and gently guiding her back  through the front door towards his bike. They didn't have much time.





Chapter 92



"No," Brea cried stubbornly, wriggling free of Miles' grip. Around them,  the evening was still and silent, Sylar's motorcycle having roared away  into the distance.



"He's coming back," she started to move towards the house, unwilling to leave.



"Brea," Miles turned to her. She refused to acknowledge the pity in his  eyes. Her brother was going to come back. He'd abandon his pack for her,  just as Miles had.



"Sylar is coming back," she folded her arms across her chest and raised  her chin defiantly. "He's just pushing my buttons. Any minute now he'll  come speeding back down this road wearing his usual cheeky grin."



Just like he used to when he was younger. Back then he was always  testing the boundaries with their parents, seeing how far he could push  them. After an argument, he'd leave the house amid a tornado of curse  words and scowls, threatening to leave and never return. Brea would  watch him go, tension enveloping her young heart like prickly thorns.  But Sylar never made good on any of his threats. He'd always return  within the hour like the prodigal son, smiling as though the previous  argument had never even happened. And her parents always forgave him,  grateful that he came back.



"Any minute now," Brea repeated, nodding towards the road which remained  painfully silent. She imagined Sylar pulled over on the roadside  somewhere, laughing with his friend about how upset she'd been, pleased  that he'd put on a convincing display.