Ink (The Haven Series) Page 2

  She was quick to return, but he’d already slumped to the floor by the door and she frowned in concern. His head was tilted back against the wall, even though the grip on his gun never let up.

  “Let me look,” she said, dropping to her knees beside him and gently pushing the hem of his t-shirt up under his cut. Her hand slid over his chiselled abdomen until she found the source of the bleeding. “Fuck, Colt ... Here, put pressure on this for a second.”

  His large fingers brushed over hers as he held the gauze pad to his side while she searched for something to secure it with, before settling for taping it in place. “That’ll have to do for now,” she said, meeting his dark gaze as they both heard the roar of an engine right outside. “Shit, what do we do?”

  “Fuck all we can do ‘cept sit tight and call for back-up,” Colton said, obviously furious he’d been backed into taking a defensive approach. He pulled out his cell phone out only to find the battery dead and glanced over at her, each of them just making the other out in the darkness.

  Callie could see his face harden and they both knew if it came to the worst, she would be nothing but collateral damage to the bastards who’d already made a good attempt at killing him. And if they thought she had some connection to him, who knew what they might do just for kicks.

  “Shit! Never shoulda fucking brought this here!”

  Seeing his fist clench around the offending phone, Callie recovered enough presence of mind to reach into her own pocket and hand over hers. “Always keep it charged,” she said, keeping one eye on the activity outside. “Go on – you can thank me when we’re outta this shit-storm.”

  But even with a call in to his club and back-up on the way, they were far from in the clear. A shout from the street let them know Colton’s abandoned ride had been spotted and sent them both onto their feet.

  “There another way outta here?” the biker demanded, grabbing Callie’s arm to trail her further from the door.

  “Upstairs. There’s a fire escape out into the alleyway, one of those collapsible ones.”

  He let her lead the way, amid the sound of the front door already being kicked in - glass shattering and wood splintering. “Move it!” he urged, pushing her ahead of him. They both stumbled in their haste as they hurried out onto the fire escape and Callie reached to try to tug the ladder down, unable to budge it.

  “It’s stuck!” she panicked, moving aside to let Colton try. But even he could only force it to drop about halfway.

  “That’ll have to do.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind? I can’t!”

  “Tough fucking shit,” he snapped, seeming to realise he’d have to go first, but that there was a very real danger she wouldn’t follow him. “It ain’t that far.” And despite her protests, he was already pushing past her to clamber down the steel ladder and then let himself drop to the ground. He landed heavily, but in a crouch that cushioned his fall. “Now you.”

  “Colt, I can’t ...” she said, all but whimpering. She hated being forced into the damsel in distress routine – but not nearly as much as she hated heights. She felt sick at the thought of even setting foot on that rickety ladder.

  “Don’t you fucking dare pussy out on me!” Colton stared up at her trembling figure like he expected to see her grabbed from behind at any moment by his aggressors. “Get your goddamn ass down here – now!”

  Biting her lip, Callie manoeuvred herself onto the ladder, clinging on for grim death and too scared to move.

  “That’s it – just climb down as far as you can and I’ll catch you. I ain’t gonna let you fall,” he said, trying to hide a wince of pain as he stretched up towards her and not quite succeeding. “That’s it, nearly there ... Now, let go. Callie, let go!”

  And squeezing her eyes shut, she let herself drop with a muffled squeak of fear. The feeling of falling only lasted for a few seconds before it was broken by strong arms wrapped around her denim-clad thighs and she found herself sliding down Colton’s chest until he’d set her on her feet. He held her to him as her legs threatened to give way, her hands gripping his shoulders and his blood smeared on her t-shirt.

  “Fuck ...”

  ***

  “Ain’t nothin’.”

  Jolted out of her reminiscing of sorts by the gruff assurance, Callie raised an eyebrow at his dismissal of his latest wound, but said nothing as she returned her focus to his tattoo. “Good. I’m not up for jumping off any more buildings,” she said, managing a lopsided grin for him and getting something that might almost have been a smile in return. “And you be careful, yeah? I’d hate to see my hard work ruined.”

  That really did draw a little smirk as he lay back and let his eyes close. The night’s work and morning’s run-in with the cops drifted to the back of his mind as he once again found that this was the place to come to recharge. The sound of her needle was almost comforting in its familiarity.

  Maybe his day could turn around after all. And if hers did too - well, he probably owed her that much. So he simply closed his eyes, losing himself in the hum of the tattoo gun in steady bursts and letting his mind ...drift.

  ***

  CHAPTER 3

  Between the pull of the needle and the heat of the small studio, it was a strange kind of catharsis. Not everyone’s idea of escape. With his eyes still closed against the brightness of the lamp above him, Colton folded his free arm behind his head. A lit cigarette idled between the fingers of his other hand as it hung by his side, health and safety be damned. It was a chance to clear his mind of damn near everything; a rare moment of something close to peace. Or as close as someone like him was ever likely to get anyway.

  The patch that usually adorned his back – the golden eagle soaring above a snarling skull - might as well be embedded in flesh rather than leather, so strongly were the memories of how he’d earned it seared on his mind. On his heart. His conscience, for what it was. No one earned a position like his without picking up a few scars along the way. Some physical, others ... not.

  The jingle of the door chimes had him cracking open an eye before he could take another step down that particular path. But that eye soon closed again at the familiar sound of too-cheerful whistling, even though the needle had stopped moving over the taut tanned skin low on his abdomen.

  “Yo, Sketch, you wanna try dialling it down a notch? Some of us are trying to work here.”

  “Damn, girl, what’s eating you today?” her boss demanded as he returned from a coffee run, throwing the question over his shoulder while trying to close the door with the toe of his boot. “Here - brought ya one of your fancy skinny, frothy, whatcha-ma-call-its.”

  “I’d ask what you did that you’re trying to make up for, but that’s probably quite the list ...”

  He feigned theatrical outrage as he ran a hand over his short dark dreads. “You hear how she talks to a brother, even when I do something nice? Sometimes I wonder which one of us owns this joint.”

  “Funny, me too,” she shot back, but she took the coffee he held out to her with a smirk. “Now, you gonna let me get on with this?” He held up his hands in silent defeat, retreating to the back office again as she turned back to the job in hand – only to find dark eyes trained on her. “Sorry, you know what he’s like.”

  Colton did. There were only a couple of tattoo studios the biker favoured these days and Sketch’s self-named outfit was one of them. He knew from extensive experience that, behind the mouth, the owner was a hell of an artist. Shit, he’d been responsible for pretty much all of his right sleeve at one time or another.

  Then that same mouth had gotten the opinionated tattooist in trouble - again - and he’d had his arm broken in a bar fight. It had put him out of action for weeks and left his customer with an intricate but only half-finished Aztec warrior on his shoulder.

  Cue Callie.

  She’d been on the payroll for a while, but off Colton’s radar and it had taken a hell of a lot of fast-talking on Sketch’s part to convince him to let th
e little blonde finish up. It was just unfortunate she overheard the less than enthusiastic I’ll give the bitch a chance, but she better damn well not screw up. He probably deserved her snappy don’t do me any fucking favours – which was the sole reason he let it slide - but in his defence, she was probably the least likely tattoo artist he’d ever seen. Not that he cared about having a defence.

  That had been maybe five years and many, many tattoos ago and he’d long since come to realise he’d gotten the girl all wrong. They did say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he was a mean-looking bastard and thought that was pretty damn accurate. She, on the other hand – fresh-faced and with that mane of silky blonde hair tumbling right down her back - was harder than she looked.

  At least he didn’t have to admit his change of heart. His unspoken acceptance of her, in the wake of their impromptu run-in with a bunch of Reno gang-bangers, spoke volumes on its own. And beneath that almost-innocent exterior, behind those calm gray eyes, he’d found a fierce intelligence, ready sarcasm and, perhaps most surprisingly, a bold skull and crossbones design at the centre of an elaborate half-sleeve.

  That and she knew how and when to keep her mouth shut.

  FLASHBACK

  Much as his entire being was crying out to attack, to take out those who’d come after him now that he knew back-up was on the way, Colton couldn’t ignore the girl trembling in his arms. He’d inadvertently dragged her into this mess and now he was fairly certain she’d have slumped to the ground if he wasn’t holding her up.

  “You gotta pull your shit together,” he growled, one strong hand wrenching her face upwards none too gently to stare at him with those huge gray eyes. “You hear me? Get it the fuck together.”

  Seemingly numb with shock, Callie reached out to brush her fingers over the bloodstain on the front of his t-shirt and then shook her head as if to shake herself out of her stupor. “My car ...” she managed, fumbling in her pockets before pressing her keys into his hand. “It’s parked round the corner - oh my god!”

  He didn’t have time to be impressed by her forced shift into practical mode, as her voice rose in a little shriek of fear. The first bullet whizzed past them to ricochet off the wall behind, the shots coming from the top of the broken fire escape they’d just negotiated. Even so, the way she managed to do as she was told and get it together didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Move!” Colton barked, grabbing her hand in his and dragging her out of the immediate line of fire. “Car – let’s go!”

  And then they were running, feet pounding the sidewalk. Breathing ragged. Hearts thumping in their chests. They reached the car and Colton threw himself into the driver’s seat, with Callie sliding in beside him - only to be thrown back in the passenger seat with a gasp when he floored it.

  “Phone,” Colton demanded, holding out a hand for it. He never took his eyes off the road as he steered with his other hand, navigating the near deserted backstreets without the slightest heed for speed limits or stoplights.

  Listening to his end of a brief call to one of his club brothers, Callie’s eyes flicked to the biker’s side and widened in concern. “Colt,” she said, something in her tone making him spare her a glance. “You’re bleeding again. Badly. Jesus ...”

  Looking down at his t-shirt, he swore darkly. He realised the adrenaline must have stopped him feeling as much pain as he should, his exertions having taken their toll on the already deep wound. Shifting his gaze back to the girl, he watched as she twisted in her seat to wriggle out of her shirt.

  Without a word, she pressed the wadded up material to his side to stem the flow of blood that had completely soaked through the previous makeshift dressing she had created and simply held it there while he drove ...

  ***

  Watching her skilled fingers as she worked, Colton knew he was hazy on the details of how that night had ended. But one thing he did know for sure, the girl had ended up saving his life.

  And now, inking his abdomen, she was doing a hell of a job. She’d known exactly what he wanted, with minimum instruction from him. She just knew. Saw it in her mind’s eye and recreated it almost effortlessly. And, much as she made it uncharacteristically easy for him to close his eyes and zone out, he realised that he liked watching her work. He appreciated how she lost herself in what she was doing. He could identify with that.

  He still had the bullet those same fingers had prised out of his side. Right before she’d fainted dead away.

  FLASHBACK

  “I ain’t going to no hospital – now one of you just pull the fucking thing out!” Colton hissed through gritted teeth, glaring round at the small gathering of pale-faced women and wide-eyed prospects.

  He didn’t know how the hell he’d managed to get them back to the clubhouse without ploughing the car off the road, but somehow he had. And, with Callie by his side, he’d even stumbled inside and deposited himself on the nearest couch –both their t-shirts and their hands covered in his blood, and her shirt still clamped to his wound.

  “It-It’s really lodged in there, Colt,” one of his brothers, with the less than confidence-inspiring nickname of Dozer, said unsurely, straightening up from surveying the damage. “We could end up making things worse. Maybe we oughta wait for Will and the guys to get back – they’re on their way.”

  “Are you serious? He’s got a bullet in his side!” Callie exclaimed. “What the hell’s gonna be any worse?”

  “She’s the only one talking any fucking sense,” the reluctant patient scowled. “Would one of you bastards just grow a pair already! Jesus Christ ...”

  “That’s just the pain talking, Colt,” Dozer tried, scuttling over to the bar to grab the nearest bottle of Jack. “Here, try a shot of this.”

  “Don’t give him that!” Callie snapped, intercepting the bottle. “Alcohol thins the blood, idiot – you want him bleeding out? Here, I’ll do it.” And with that she unscrewed the top of the bottle and poured a generous amount over her fingers before turning to Colton. “This is gonna sting like a bitch,” she warned, her eyes filled with worry.

  She wasn’t wrong, but he bore the fiery burst of new pain as she poured the alcohol on his side with nothing more than a sharp inhale of breath and a muttered stream of curses. “Just get it over with.”

  “Fuck ...” she whispered, wondering what the hell she thought she was doing and downing a quick slug from the bottle herself before shoving it back towards the prospect. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, over and over, not pausing to think any longer before undertaking the task in hand.

  She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain she must be causing him, her slim fingers probing inside the deep wound until they found slick metal. But he was almost perfectly still, his fists clenched and his eyes locked on her. His dark gaze seemed to silently urge her on, as if trying to tell her it was okay. Not that anything about this scenario was okay to her.

  Then somehow she had it.

  And for Colton, there was a pulling sensation. The pain was almost blinding. He was pretty sure he even blacked out for a moment, but then the room swam back into focus and he was watching the little blonde hold up the bullet. She pressed it into his hand, right before she calmly announced that she thought she was going to be sick and then simply fainted into the hapless prospect’s arms …

  ***

  “You doin’ okay there, tough guy? You looked miles away.”

  Snapping to attention at the sound of her voice, Colton glanced up at Callie and the hard lines of his face softened into something like a smile. “Guess I was,” he admitted.

  “Hey, if it was anywhere nice, take me next time,” she said, an impish little grin tugging at her lips. “Just don’t tell Sketch, ‘cause he’d probably make me take it outta my vacation time.”

  “Is she pulling her woe is me stunt again?” Sketch demanded, passing just in time to hear the comment as he collected a sheaf of tattoo outlines from the front desk. “Girl, you know you walk the hell all over me. It’s those damn doe
eyes ... Guess I better watch it - one flutter of those eyelashes and you’ll have Colt ready to take me out for treating ya so bad!”

  “Oh, I don’t think ya gotta worry – I reckon Colton might be a bit harder to sway than that,” she smiled, not meeting the biker’s gaze as she went back to work, her fingers grazing his tan skin again.

  But he merely shrugged, playing along as his already wandering mind took a new direction at the intriguing thought of her flirting with him. “I dunno, darlin’ - I do owe ya.”

  “True,” she nodded, before a knowing smirk crossed her face. “But as if I’d waste that debt on Sketch.”

  “Christ,” the man in question muttered, glancing from his tattooist to her shirtless client. “I dunno whether I’m offended or just plain intruding now. Someone remind me again who owns this place?”

  ***

  CHAPTER 4

  “So what’s the word on our morning visit?”

  Will looked up from his paper at Sam’s question, favouring his sergeant with a grim look as he threw the copy of the Haven Herald down on the table. The grainy shot of forensics swarming round a shallow grave didn’t need the blazing headline it got for the biker to know exactly what it was.

  “That little shithead,” Sam swore, clenching his fists at the thought of the rookie cop who’d been responsible for dragging him away from the most luscious pair of breasts he’d seen in at least a fortnight. Not to mention the very flexible brunette attached to them.

  “That little shithead nothing, man. You wanna tell me what had you and Colton in such a rush you couldn’t dump the fucker more than six inches below the goddamn dirt? It’s a good job he didn’t bite the bullet in one of those whorehouses he liked so much or we’d have had his damn dick blowin’ in the breeze,” the put-upon president scowled, getting louder the more wound up he got. “Hey, maybe you coulda stuck a fucking flag on it – just to be sure the cops didn’t take too long to crawl up our asses and build a fucking camp!”