Ink (The Haven Series) (2 page)

Glancing from his employee to her client, Sketch groaned and retreated to the office with his hands up. He already had a bad feeling it was going to be another one of those days.

***

“Rough day?”

Callie had gotten good over the past couple of years at not only reading the biker well, but also at phrasing any questions cleverly. Asking what was wrong was a no-no. That wasn’t her business
, especially if there was a chance it had anything to do with his beloved club. Keeping it more casual allowed for his usual style of caginess. And sure enough, she simply got a non-committal grunt that she took as an affirmative.

Given that he’d planted himself on the recliner and then simply sat there with a glare that would have left most people quaking, not even taking his shirt off so she could get to work, assuming that something was on his mind was the only natural conclusion.

“Huh, and it’s not even ...” She broke off to glance at the clock on the wall. “... 10am. Guess it must be one of those days. Right, let’s do this then. See if we can’t both turn things around.”

“Rough one for you too?”

Callie tried not to stare at him as he finally stood up to shrug off his well-worn leather cut and haul his white t-shirt over his head, a little taken aback by the question. She’d quickly learned there was no point ever waiting for a conversational
how are you
from him. But if he did ask, he’d want a real answer. Not the automatic
fine
, regardless of whether you were or not. Colton didn’t ask questions he didn’t want an answer to – but she could only imagine the response if they really got into that.

“Uh, kinda been one of those weeks,” she said, as he sat back down and she perched on her stool to get her ink and tattoo gun ready. “Long story. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

He didn’t push where others might have and she simply turned her attention to her work, pausing when a livid track in his tanned skin caught her eye. The shallow wound snaked from his back to just above his freshest ink. Had to be from a knife. She wasn’t naive enough to think anything else and she’d seen plenty of scars on the expanse of his torso in the time they’d known each other. Hell, she’d even patched him up once ...

FLASHBACK

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Callie sang along softly with the radio she’d balanced on top of a dust-sheet covered stool in the middle of the newly refitted studio. Wiping the delicate brush she’d been using on her already paint-spattered ripped jeans, she tucked it behind her ear and then sat back to assess her handiwork. With her legs straightened out in front of her to stretch out her cramped muscles, she propped herself up on her hands and leaned back with a little smile on her face. Sketch was going to fucking love it.

Sharing his enthusiasm for making the place the best it could possibly be, Callie had helped her boss come up with the designs for the artwork and, once the actual structural work was done, the pair had been working like demons on the decor. But, while Sketch had called it a day early, Callie had been determined to finish her section – only to end up completely losing track of time.

Sparing a glance at her watch, her eyes widened when she saw just how late it actually was and she lay back on the floor with a little groan. Her cropped t-shirt rode up under her unbuttoned checked shirt as she threw an arm over her eyes and tried to muster the energy to get up, pack up and get home.

The bang on the glass of the front door came without warning, making her sit bolt upright. Her head whipped round to stare out into the darkness unsurely, just making out a shadowy figure staring back at her. The sight momentarily robbed her of her breath – until she heard the urgent demand for Sketch to open the fuck up.

Recognising the voice, she clambered to her feet and jogged to unlock the door and throw it open with a scowl. “Are you
trying
to kill me?” she demanded, without thinking. “You scared the absolute shit outta me!”

But the unexpected caller simply cut her dead. “Where’s Sketch?”

“Well, he’s not fucking here--” she started, seeing a flicker of something like doubt pass over his face as he glanced over his shoulder into the night. “What’s wrong?”

She should have known better than ask. He may have allowed her to tattoo him, even been impressed by the results, but she was still a hell of a lot lower down his scant chain of trust than Sketch. And yet, with obvious reluctance, he conceded.

“Needed a favour,” he sighed, lifting the arm she hadn’t noticed he’d kept clamped around his stomach. His fingers came away from his t-shirt covered side slick with blood.

“Oh my god, Colton!” Callie gasped, instinctively trying to cover the wound with her own fingers in a bid to stem the bleeding. “We gotta--”

But she was cut off sharply when he roughly pushed her further inside and to the side of the glass door. “Shut up and don’t move,” he ordered, flicking off the lights and plunging them into darkness, even as he fumbled for the keys in the door and locked it behind them.

“What the hell’s going
on
?” she demanded, in a low hiss. He might not like questions, but she figured having her workplace invaded in the middle of the night and his blood staining her skin entitled her to some sort of answer at least. And it seemed even Colton had to agree.

“Trouble,” he bit out, wincing as he reached to pull his gun from where he’d tucked it into the back of his jeans. “Got fucking jumped outside Reno. Thought I could out-run the bastards, but ...”

“You were on your own?”

“You think I’d hole up in here like a chicken-shit little bitch and leave one of my boys out there?”

She didn’t need to be able to see him to know he was glaring at her through the deep shadows. “Of course not, I just meant ...” But she trailed off with a sigh. Now was hardly the time. “Don’t move - we’ve got a first aid kit in the office.”

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.”