Ink (The Haven Series) (33 page)

***

“... it’s been a tough few weeks for all of us,” Will concluded, from his usual seat at the head of the table. They were in session early, but his brothers hadn’t been hard to drag from their beds given the subject on the agenda – even those with a warm body to keep them company. “I know most of you were speaking to Frankie in person, but he just wanted to officially put his thanks on record for the turn-out at Stevie and TJ’s funerals.”

“Reno always got our backs – least we could do was give the boys a good send-off,” Johnny said, a united rumble of agreement rising over his gruff tones.

Even Sam muttered his support, though his mind did flash to the much lower key service he’d forced himself to go to later that same evening and the contrast that couldn’t have been much starker. No-expense-spared glossy black caskets, draped in cuts and flanked by bodies in club colours, compared with the plain wooden box that had been lowered into the ground in front of a mere handful of people.

He’d gone alone, no cut and with the cool steel of his gun pressed against his back where he’d tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, hidden by his long-sleeved navy shirt. At least the burn of his left bicep had given him something to focus on, as the priest’s voice rose and fell in the quiet of the graveyard.

FLASHBACK

The hum of the tattoo gun mixed with the classic rock on the radio to finally give him some kind of peace from the noise in his head. He was starting to see just what Colton got out of that kind of catharsis. Escape.

His eyes trained on the needle and the skilled hand that held it, he folded his free arm behind his head as he leaned back in the recliner and watched the progress that was being made by the pretty little blonde. Under her ministrations, a dark tribal-style band had started to wrap around his bicep – a reworking of a design he’d sketched crudely from memories of a more delicate, more feminine version etched on smooth tanned skin.

What had once been a mere tramp-stamp would now be a tribute of sorts. One only he and Callie would know the truth about, hidden in plain sight among the rest of his ink. No name, no hearts or flowers, just bold dark lines.

“Looks good,” Sam said, flexing his arm experimentally when she’d sat back to wipe off excess ink and check how her artwork was coming along.

“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Callie said, though her soft smile didn’t quite disguise the slight wince when she turned to reach for her tattoo gun again.

Part of him wanted to keep going. He was more than used to the sensation of getting inked and didn’t consider it pain, especially compared to laying his bike down or getting into it with some shithead. While the work was extensive and his raw skin burned from the drag of the needle, he actually kinda relished the feeling.

But no way was he going to be the one responsible for making his brother’s girl keel over.

“You okay, doll?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just haven’t been sleeping too well and it’s just my first day back working since ...” She broke off to tap her head, her stitches still kept hidden – this time by a headscarf that also held her long wavy hair back from her face. “It’s surprising how quickly you get out of the way of things. Plus, I hold a lot of tension in my shoulders when I’m working, so ya know ...”

“Killer been playing nursemaid? Got himself healing hands to go with that Glock?” Sam asked, quirking an eyebrow at the look on her face. “I’ll take that as a no comment.”

He let her get back to work, the silence that never seemed to feel awkward descending over them.

“Cal, can I ask you a favour?” came the sudden question.

“Uh, I guess ...” she said unsurely, obviously wondering what the hell he could possible want from her.

He had been reluctant to ask but, figuring it was the last good thing he could do for the redhead who’d somehow worked her way under his skin, he steeled himself to go ahead.

“I thought maybe you could ... come to Ashley’s funeral? She ain’t got a lot of people and it just don’t seem right.”

The sergeant glanced up just in time to see the taken aback expression on the tattooist’s face and his own eyes hardened at once. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have ...”

“No, Sam, wait,” the girl broke in, laying a hand on his arm. “I’ll ... I’ll be there.”

***

“... we’ve had our time to re-group, re-focus. Now it’s time to take back control,” Will continued, eying those sat around him as if assessing them. He took in the hardening of eyes, the nodding heads. Every man there was resolute. “No more playing games. We go in hard, we come out whole. Trust me, shit just got real for those jumped-up little bastards. Got something to say, Jake?”

“Just wanna be sure we know what we’re getting into here,” his brother answered, toying uneasily with his unsheathed knife. “Listen, man, I hear ya on not letting this go unanswered. But are we being too quick to write these fuckers off as an easy take-down? We’re used to flying under the radar, keeping our shit on the down-low - turf wars ain’t our bag and I don’t wanna be seeing any spaces round this table any time soon.”

Sam definitely got that, much as he was gunning for those behind the attack on his club every bit as much as Will was. But he’d spent years earning his sergeant’s patch – he knew better than to let lust for revenge get in the way of club preservation. That didn’t mean they could allow such an attack to go unanswered though. Not when it had cost them so much and put so much more at risk.

It was taking a long moment for Jake’s concerns to sink in and every man around the table was weighing his words. It reminded Sam of the uncertain pause by the graveside before the priest seemed to realise there was no one to make an emotional speech for the young woman who had just been lowered into the ground in front of him. No one to weep and throw flowers on top of the simple box before the gravediggers came to fill in the hole.

The light touch on his back had almost made him start, but he’d half-turned to find Callie pressing a dark pink gerbera daisy into his hand. He hadn’t noticed her arrive and had assumed she’d had second thoughts.

“Roses seemed too cliché,” she had whispered softly.

But, finally, Jake was to get his answer – just not from the president.

“We ain’t goin’ out to start a war ...” Colton spoke up from where he watched and listened in near silence, his eyes dark with still unspent anger and his words hanging heavily in the air. “We’re gonna end it.”

Amen to that, Sam thought. Amen.

***

CHAPTER 38

They may have laid those they’d lost to rest, but the weight of an attack as yet unanswered still lay heavy over the clubhouse. Chip could feel it, even as he jammed the tiny buds in his ears and cranked up the music playing on his laptop to drown out the day-to-day noise of the clubhouse.

He could have squirreled himself away in Will’s office to work on gatheri
ng intel on the Norteños, but distracting as it could be out by the bar, he still preferred it to being cooped up in the quiet. That just tended to make him jittery and jittery wasn’t good. That stopped him thinking clearly; or just made him a pain in the ass for his brothers and tended to earn him the odd clip round the head like he was still some kid looking to patch.

Already feeling his focus start to drift again though, Chip hunkered over his screen and drew the hood of his navy sweatshirt up, trying his best to concentrate on finding any scrap of information that they could use to their advantage. He’d had to give up on looking into th
e club’s lawyer for the moment, having found only one shred of anything remotely interesting that he’d have to follow up, to check out the Norteños instead. But it actually wasn’t proving as difficult as it might have. Galling as it was, given that they’d managed to shoot up the club, they really were dealing with small-time gangbangers looking to make a name for themselves. Not some more professional outfit, shrouded in secrecy and motivated purely by cold hard cash.

In fact, he was pretty sure he’d already identified the key players they were after.

Antonio Cervantes, suspected leader of La
Eñe
14
and well-known to the cops. He had a string of priors as long as Chip’s arm, mostly drug related but with rape and battery thrown in for good measure. He’d actually spent more of time in jail than out of it, which had at least given him a prime opportunity to gather followers. And his known associates seemed equally charming individuals – primarily, a serial arsonist named Armando Delgado and violent car thief Mateo Ortega, backed up by a few willing and experienced foot soldiers.

But the rest of Cervantes’ gang were barely out of their teens. They weren’t so much career criminals by choice, but had probably rather been sucked into the life in a bid to survive the streets. Just because Chip knew the score didn’t mean he didn’t want to see their two-bit little operation taken out though. They’d made their choices and targeting the Fallen was simply the biggest wrong choice of their miserable, and now inevitably shorter, lives.

“Earth to Chip ... Bleedin’ hell, son, you were miles away then!” Shay grinned down at the intel officer, having already startled him back to the here and now by unceremoniously yanking his hood right down over his eyes. “C’mon, time to take a break – Will doesn’t want your wee eyes goin’ square sittin’ at that thing.”

“Where we going?” Chip asked eagerly, already starting to shut down the programs he had open.

“Thought we might go let off some steam,” the Irishman shrugged. “Maybe grab Sam and Colton, see if they wanna show a couple of visitors what Haven has to offer. No point in us sitting here stewing. A dose o’ cabin fever ain’t gonna work in our favour when Will gives us the word to go waste these wee bastards.”

“You got somewhere in mind?”

“I’m open to suggestions, kid, but there used to be this great strip joint downtown. Charley’s, I think it was called. Now those lasses could show a man a good time, if ya know what I mean,” Shay said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Distraction could be good for Sam,” Chip admitted. “But I dunno if Colt’s gonna be real interested right now.”

“Are you shittin’ me? Listen, buddy-boy, this place makes Cherry's Bar back home look like a bloody convent – you seriously tellin’ me any man ain’t gonna be down with that?”

“Uh, where the hell you been, dude? Colton don’t gotta go chasing stripper pussy these days. Not with that sweet little blonde around. I’m tellin’ ya, Shay - and if you hadn’t been so distracted by that Sasha chick before shit went down at the party, you’d have seen it too - he’s real into her.”

“I really do gotta see this meself,” Shay mused. “I manage to keep missin’ this wee lass every time she shows up, by the sound o’ it. What’s she like? Real looker, accordin’ to Will.”

Chip thought back to the young woman the club’s hitman had shown such unprecedented affection towards. “Not what I expected,” he said after consideration. “Hot, but not like in-your-face trashy hot, ya know? Looks young, cute smile ... Great body, but shit, man, don’t tell Colt I said that or he’ll seriously cut my balls off. She actually just got here a few minutes ago. Headed to the gym, I think.”

“You don’t say ...” A curious expression flitted over the Irishman’s weatherbeaten face and his eyes brightened mischievously.  “Reckon I mighta left me lighter in there, better go have a wee peek ...”

Chip rolled his eyes with a grin and kept packing up his laptop. “I’ll see if I can find Sam, check Will’s okay with us heading out for a bit and meet ya out front. Want me to go ahead and get some ice for the black eye Colt’s gonna give ya when he thinks you’re perving on his girl?”

But Shay simply laughed and flipped his friend off as he headed forth on his little mission.

***

Having strolled into the makeshift gym of the clubhouse, already in simple loose white sweatpants and a cropped white vest, Callie quickly clocked Colton waiting for her. The tall biker was leaning on the ropes of the boxing ring as he stood inside the squared circle, shirtless and with his navy sweatpants riding even lower on his hips than his usual jeans and, even though she knew he was waiting for her, she did feel more than a little out of place.

The whole place seemed steeped in testosterone and she was pretty sure the only time chicks hung out in here was to watch the big fights that inevitably got set up at club parties. Watch and console the losers with their own special brand of TLC, reward the victors either in public or otherwise ...

But Colton had planted a foot on the ropes to allow her to climb into the ring, so she decided it was best not to keep him waiting. “Hey,” she smiled in greeting, noting the slight softening of his face before he was all business again. “So ... how we gonna do this?”

He hadn’t been overly impressed by her eagerness to get back to her keep-fit classes, but seeming to realise she was still desperate to put the whole episode regarding her head injury to rest, he’d let her talk him into making good on his previous intention to show her a few moves in the ring.

Grabbing a set of pads, Colton held up a hand just beside his head. “Think you can hit that, little girl?”

Without heels, she had to be a good eight inches shorter than his 6’2 frame but, knowing those toned curves as well as he did, he had her figured to be in pretty good shape. And she was smirking at him, confident in her own ability. He liked that and was only too
happy to watch her take a few moments to pull her hair into a long ponytail and stretch out, quirking an eyebrow at the display of flexibility and then stepping back when she was ready.