Ink (The Haven Series) (13 page)

“Hi,
” she whispered unsurely, the way she bit her lip quirking the corner of his own mouth upwards.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Michael smiled, more determined than ever to find a way to keep her.

***

Sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed, Colton’s face hardened as he reached for the folded t-shirt on his pillo
w. She’d been here. In his room; in his bed. He could smell the faint trace of her perfume on his shirt, on his sheets.

But now she was gone and he had no idea why.

If seeing him hauled off in cuffs had sent her running, he’d have understood. But to tuck herself up in his bed, especially after the way she’d wrapped herself around him outside, and then just take off in the early hours ...

Something wasn’t right. And he’d had enough of bitches and their games for one night.

***

CHAPTER 15

Mid-mornings at the clubhouse were a world away from what usually passed for normality within its walls. Without the raucousness of liquor-soaked nights or the endless traipsing out of skanks during mornings-after, now was the time something closest to peace could descend. Relatively speaking.

The quiet was marred only by the occasional roar of an engine out in the yard or a burst of music drift
ing in through an open window; shouts between his brothers as they came and went. Nothing he couldn’t filter out though, as he focused on the dull thump of his wrapped fists on the well-worn leather of the punchbag.

A word in the ear of one of the prospects had ensured he had the club’s makeshift gym to himself and now that steely glare was focused on the target, grim with determination. A sheen of sweat glistening on his inked skin and soaking through the light cotton of his wifebeater as he worked the bag over like it had dared insult his mother.

His shoulders ached from the force of his punches, his knuckles long since numbed. But still he kept going.

It had been a long and frustrating
weekend. Will being holed up in the office with their lawyer was not what he called handling things. He was a man of action, not words and his version of handling things would have involved a lot less talking and a hell of a lot more shooting.

He wasn’t stupid though. He knew and supported the club’s think-first-shoot-later stance – even though he was usually first port of call when the latter became the necessary course of action. But, as it was, the pent-up tension drove his fists harder and harder into the bag. And the relentless blows found their target every time.

“Jeez, dude, get laid already!”

Sam was probably the only guy on the planet who could make a crack like that at that very moment and live to tell the tale – which was okay, because he was probably the only one besides Will who’d dare in the first place.

And because he had a point.

Instead of throwing a punch in the sergeant’s direction, Colton finally grabbed the bag to steady it on its chains. His breathing was heavy, but not out of control, as he rested his forehead against it. “Any news?” he demanded, sparing his brother a sideways glance before straightening up and towelling the sweat from his face. He rolled his shoulders experimentally and felt the muscles protest only a little. Not bad for a guy in his forties.

“Nada,” Sam grimaced. “And this
playing-the-waiting-game
shit’s driving me up the fucking walls. I still think Will should let us head out. Retrace our steps, if you know what I mean.”

Colton both knew and inwardly agreed. But he also knew how it would go if that blew up in their faces – witness intimidation, show of guilt ... And with their current run of luck, that would be a hell of a gamble.

“But you got the right idea, man. I could do with some kinda distraction myself,” Sam was continuing as he ambled around the gym, a twinkle creeping into those sharp blue eyes. “Didn’t figure this would be your first choice though.”

“Oh yeah?” Colton drawled, though he was pretty sure even a blind man could see where this was going. “And what ya got figured as my first choice?”

“Oh, I dunno ... blonde, ‘bout yea high?” came the grin, Sam holding a hand at just about shoulder height. “Sweet little ass, great rack, looks like she could distract the hell outta anyone ... Damn, Colt – why the fuck
aren’t
you tappin’ that?”

Why indeed.

But while Colton didn’t really have an answer for him anyway, they were interrupted by the low ring of a cell phone. The spiky-haired biker reached for his brother’s cut to fish it from an inner pocket for him and lob it easily across the room.

“Sketch - oh, tell him he’s welcome, by the way,” Sam grinned, having glanced at the caller id first and then at Colton’s blank face. “Friday night? Hooked him up with the lovely Sasha. That broad could suck ice-cubes thro
ugh a straw.”

Colton snorted at that. “Hooked him up? Palmed her off more like.”

“Yeah, well, bitch was getting clingy,” Sam shrugged. “Gotta nip that in the bud real quick, man. Else they start getting all up in your shit all the time. She’s good – she ain’t
that
good.”

Turning his attention to the call with a shake of his head, Colton answered with his usual “S’up?” Passing a hand over the scruff of stubble on his head as he listened, a frown crossed his face. “Nah – why would I?” he asked, ignoring Sam’s charade-like attempts to find out what was going on. “And you had to call me ... All right, I’ll check it out. Fuck, man, I said I would, didn’t I? Later.”

“Problem?” Sam raised an eyebrow, seeing the look that had crossed his friend’s face.

“Callie ain’t turned up for work. Sketch ain’t seen or heard from her since Friday night.”

“And he thought she might be with you,” came the infuriating nod. “Funny that ...”

***

Eying the cluster of twenty-somethings giggling like schoolgirls in the corner, Sketch turned to glower less than subtly in the direction of Callie’s empty work station. He was gonna have a helluva hard time not stringing that little brat up when he got his hands on her. Friend or not, she’d completely dropped him in the shit and not even that innocent-eyed act of hers was going to save her ass this time.

“Ladies,” he
said, forcing the lingering hangover from the night before to the back of his mind and plastering an enthusiastic smile on his face as he threw his arms open in welcome. “What can I do for your fine selves?”

“Well, we were kinda thinking ...”

Sketch doubted that, but let it fly as he waited patiently for the rambling brunette, fidgety with nerves, to get to the point. But apparently one of her partners-in-crime also felt time was a wasting.

“We totally want tattoos,” the redhead blurted out, practically bouncing in her cork wedges. “We all went to school together, now we just got a place together and we thought it would be fun. And totally cute, you know?”

Totally.
Sketch just about managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. “So all of you want a tattoo?” he asked, getting nods of varying degrees of agreement from the four BFFs. “And d’ya got any design ideas?”

Cue Red launching into some tangled tale of playing dress-up, high school nicknames and pixies, amid more headache-inducing giggles and hair tossing worthy of a shampoo commercial. Pixies. Fuck that shit.

Excusing himself and leaving them to discuss with each other the finer details of what to get tattooed where, Sketch first turned up the radio in the hope of drowning out the chatter and then whipped out his cell phone to make yet another call.

“Callie, I swear to Christ if you don’t get down here pronto ...” he hissed darkly, looking around for suitable inspiration to finish his threat effectively. “I’ll ... I’ll ... I’ll tattoo a pixie on your fucking ass – and don’t you go thinking I won’t!”

Hanging up as the chimes on the door jangled again, he heaved a what-fresh-hell type groan and threw his phone down at his work station to go greet the newcomers. “Halle-fuckin-lujah!” he exclaimed. “Did you find her?”

“Ain’t been looking,” Colton shrugged, as Sam - his eyes lighting up – started introducing himself to the admittedly pretty enough girls who’d practically swooned on the spot at the sight of two denim-and-leather clad bikers. “Thought we’d swing by, see what the hell the fuss was about.”

“The fuss? I’ll tell you what the fucking fuss is!” Sketch ranted, evidently insulted by the suggestion he was overreacting. “I’ve been
abandoned
and, unlike you two swanning around as you please, some of us got a business to run – and I don’t mean into the goddamn ground!”

Looking up from where Red was trailing her fingertips over the ink on the bicep he just happened to be flexing at the time, Sam shot the irate studio owner a bemused grin. “Hey, we’re damn lucky to be swan
ning anywhere, in case you forgot. And seriously, dude, you need to chill out. What happened to all your usual zen go-with-the-flow shit?”

“Ask Callie!” Sketch snapped, before all the fight drained out of him and he waved C
olton towards the back office, leaving Sam more than willing to entertain his customers in the meantime.

Slumping down at his desk, he watched as the dark-eyed
biker simply cocked a shoulder against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. Waiting for an explanation. “It’s just been a rough morning, man. Barbie and her buddies out there aren’t exactly high on my hangover cure list. But seriously, I’m ... I’m kinda worried, Colt. This ain’t like Callie.”

“Ain’t that all the more reason to cut her some slack?” Colton frowned, still not getting the need for the dramatics. “She’s late one morning and you’re acting like she’s skipped the damn country with the safe.”

“We’re way past the
oh-I-slept-in
kinda late for a start,” Sketch insisted. “It’s past lunchtime and she shoulda been here to open up first thing. And whatever’s going on, I still don’t get why she wouldn’t just call. Girl knows I can’t say no to her – I’d
give
her as many days off as she wanted! But I’ve tried ringing and ringing and I ain’t heard a peep ...”

“So why call me?”

“Really? You’re gonna make me spell it out? Dude, I
saw
you. Friday night?” Sketch laughed wryly at the blank look he was getting and shook his head. “No way, bro, I know there ain’t nothin’ wrong with my eyes – you had your tongue so far down her fuckin’ throat, I thought we were gonna have to surgically separate ya!”

The blank look turned to a glare, as close as he was going to get to an admission of guilt. “And what? You think I got her stashed away, tied to a bed somewhere?” Colton demanded, trying to ignore the fact that was a damn tempting prospect.

“Nooo ...” Sketch said, the suggestion – however sarcastic – bringing a hint of uncertainty suddenly creeping into his voice for the briefest of seconds. And it disappeared just as quick when the glare hardened. “Nah, man, that’d be crazy. Look, Colt ...”

“What, Sketch?” The rough voice dropped dangerously low. Making it clear, even to his near life-long friend, that he was already on shaky ground here.

“I know I ain’t patched, man, but we’re still brothers – I trust ya and you know I always got your back,” came the attempt at an explanation. “But that kid’s like my baby sister and she ain’t got no one else to step up for her. She just ... she ain’t some club skank, Colton.”

“Never said she was.”

“I just think maybe she’s ... having a hard time. Working things out. In her head.”

“Sketch, for someone worried about spelling things out, you sure talk a lot of shit. What are you trying to say here, man? ‘Cause I’m starting to feel like maybe I’m getting accused of something,” Colton growled, beyond exasperated by this circling and stalking forward to lean his hands on the table.

“I’m just saying ... I know you two got this vibe going. I knew long before I even caught your little show at the clubhouse,” Sketch smirked in spite of himself. “But you need to know Callie ain’t as tough as she lets on. Not by half ...”

FLASHBACK

He’d gotten in the car the minute he’d ended the call, but his studio’s front door was already boarded up by the time he screeched to a halt in front of it. A vaguely familiar prospect was inspecting his handiwork under the glow of the streetlights.

“Goddammit,” Sketch muttered, surveying the damage. He didn’t even want to think about the state of inside. But all that paled into insignificance when he spotted the bullet holes and thought about how shit could have gone down. “Yo, Reef! It is Reef, ain’t it? Where’s everyone else at? Got a call to say the cavalry was patching things up.”

“I’m it,” the prospect nodded, looking almost as glum as the trashed studio’s owner at having been left out of the action. “Will took a few guys to
send a message
, if ya get my meaning. Rest of ‘em went back to the clubhouse.”

“What about Callie? Chick who works here – little blonde?” Sketch demanded. “S
he was still here when I left. I’m hoping she missed the action ...”

“Nah, man, I know the one,” Reef confirmed, blue eyes wide as he shook his head almost disbelievingly. “Bitch got balls ...”

“What? Why d’ya say that?”