Ink (The Haven Series) (17 page)

“What the fuck was that twisted little bitch thinking?” Jake ground out. His voice low, lacking the strength to sound as harsh as it might have. This was infinitely harder on Will, but it was a blow to them all.

***

CHAPTER 19

She had no delusions about what to expect from the dark-eyed biker who had somehow ended up in her bed. More or less resigned to waking up alone, it came as no real surprise to Callie when the hand that tentatively reached out grazed empty pillow.

And yet some small shred of hope flickered and died inside her, as her eyes drifted open and she shifted beneath the tangled covers to gaze up with a sigh at the ceili
ng in the early morning light. Maybe this was all she deserved after using Michael all this time. For living a lie.

If she hadn’t already screwed Sketch around enough for one lifetime, she’d have been happy enough to just relocate to the couch and spend the rest of the day curled under her duvet. Get teary-eyed over old movies and comfort-eat her way through a huge bar of chocolate. But, as it was, she forced herself out of bed and into the routine of freshening up before heading to the kitchen.

At the smell of coffee, she frowned in confusion.

“She’ll be there, man. And don’t give her any of your shit,” the distinctive growl, still rusty with sleep and low as it was, carried towards her as she stood frozen in the doorway. Colton’s shirtless form looted her cupboards with a cell phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear, found two mugs and started pouring freshly brewed coffee from the pot waiting on the breakfast bar.

His jeans rode low on his lean hips and ... damn. Guys half his age would have to kill themselves in the gym for those hard planes of toned muscle. Tiny flecks of gray in the barely-there scruff on his head and jaw were the only clue to his actual age.

Shaking off the distraction and taking in his shirt and cut over the back of a bar stool, the phone joining his holster and gun on the counter as he ended the call, Callie could only guess it had been Sketch on the line.

“Never had you down as the domestic type,” the blonde managed, once she’d found her voice. It made him turn to her, no trace of being caught off-guard. He’d probably heard her the minute her feet had hit the floor of her bedroom.

“Mama Greene didn’t raise no fool.”

She processed that – didn’t doubt it for a second - and took the mug he held out to her, curling up on the nearest bar stool with one leg under her. Her eyes dropped to focus on the dark, gently steaming coffee as she realised she had absolutely no idea where this was going.

“You ... okay?” Colton asked, under the distracting cover of adding a spoonful of sugar and splash of milk for her – a gesture that might have been surprising if she wasn’t already used to his attention to detail.

It was the first time she’d heard anything like uncertainty from him and guessed he wasn’t big on mornings-after, her little nod not exactly doing wonders to convince him as he stood there, one hip cocked against her counter. She could feel those knowing eyes on her.

“If you’re thinking about
him, he ain’t gonna hear it from me.”

Him.
The man who loved her and who had never so much as crossed her mind until it was too late. And had he not been brought up, he still wouldn’t have really cost her a thought while she was preoccupied with considering just where she now stood with the man in front of her.

She might not be under any illusions about what had happened between them, but neither of them could deny they’d already established a connection. And that wasn’t something she wanted to lose.

“You’re not going to start asking Sketch to do your ink, are you?” she blurted out without meaning to, before hastily trying to explain. “I mean, you don’t have to worry about me turning into some needy little bitch. I just ... I just don’t want things to be weird. With us. Not that I’m saying there is an
us
exactly ...”

He considered her in silence for a long moment. Looking like he’d known the question, or at least something like it, was coming. But like he had no idea how he’d react until it happened.

“Sketch ain’t nearly as cute as you.”

The gruff words were enough to send her head back up, surprise in the gray eyes that met his in the seconds before his mouth captured hers again. The biker
took her coffee from her, setting the mug on the counter out of the way, and cupped the back of her head to deepen the kiss.

“You need a shower before work?” Colton ground out, barely waiting for her nod before scooping her easily off her seat and into his arms. “Good. Me too.”

***

The pneumatic drills pounding in his head threatened to split his skull as Michael slowly came to on his own couch, still in his suit from the night before. Shoes still on, jacket missing, tie loosened.

Painkillers. He seriously needed painkillers. Or maybe a shotgun to just finish the damn job.

With his mouthed parched and full of the taste of stale whiskey, he fought to his feet and cursed as he immediately kicked over a more than half empty bottle of Jack. He grabbed for it as it spilled ov
er the plush carpet and managed to save the last of the dark liquid. Better than nothing.

Wiping a hand over his eyes and raking his fingers through his hair, he stumbled to the bathroom intent on raiding the cabinet for whatever might restore peace in his thumping head. Flinching at the sight in the mirror, he wasted no time grabbing the little bottle he was after and heading back to the living room.

Once slumped back down against the cushions of his luxurious couch, he washed a handful of the painkillers down with a generous slug of what was left of the Jack. Probably not the smartest move, but since it turned out his lawyer brain wasn’t so damn smart after all, why the hell not ...

FLASHBACK

Forced to endure sitting at a table near the bar with Stefan and Veronica, as she continued to make a show of not-so-coyly running a hand over her date’s thigh, Michael thought his face was going to crack from the fake smile he’d plastered on.

“So, who wants another drink? Veronica?” Stefan asked, moving to get up. “Mike, you’ll take a beer, won’t you?”

“Let me get these,” he protested, reaching in the pocket of his jacket for his wallet. Anything to get away from that damn table. “It must be my round ...”

“Nah, stay where you
are, buddy. These are on me. Gotta visit the little boys’ room anyway,” Stefan grinned. “Back in five – although it looks like they’re five deep at the bar. Can’t blame them. Drinking’s the only way to get through these bloody things.”

And with that, he left them to it. Veronica turned to Michael with a bemused little smile.

“What’s the matter, Michael? You look a little uncomfortable, if you don’t mind me saying. Don’t you trust yourself around your friend’s date?”

“I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you,” he said grimly. “And don’t tempt me to see just how far that is.”

She feigned shock. “The chivalrous Mr Corsada threatening violence towards a woman – you’ve changed, Michael. Is that little girlfriend of yours proving a handful?”

“You don’t talk about Callie, all right? Just leave her out of this.”

“Callie ... Pretty name. But where have I heard it before?” Veronica mused, cocking her head on one side thoughtfully. “Callie, Callie, Callie ... Oh, yes, I remember. My guys took a call at the station from a Callie. Callie Delaney. Hey, that’s your girl’s last name too, isn’t it? Funny coincidence. Still, Haven's not that tiny ...”

Swallowing the flare of temper along with the remains of the nearly finished drink he’d been nursing, Michael tried not to show she was getting to him. Something he did all the time in police interviews, in court. It was harder with her.

“So Callie called for me and you didn’t say anything,” he shrugged. “Big deal. Or you filled her head with shit like some vicious teenager--”

“You really have me all wrong, Michael,” she tutted, re-crossing her long legs. “I’m actually looking out for you here.” She smiled at his scoff as if she’d expected it. “No, really, I am. You see, Michael, I didn’t speak to her. Wasn’t even aware of it until someone mentioned it later, suddenly wondering if it might be important. Because Callie didn’t call for you, honey – she called for your clients.”

“What?” the confused response was out of him before he could stop it. He didn't understand, even as his mind flitting to his girlfriend’s job, both his clients’ extensive tattoos. But that still didn’t explain why she’d call the station ... And, thrown as he was, his mind didn’t even second-guess where Veronica might be going with this.

“Now, why do you think your little girlfriend might have been so concerned about a couple of bikers?” she finally continued, after taking pleasure watching him mentally wrestle with the information she’d given him. “Shall I tell you what I think?” she offered, her voice laced with pseudo-sweetness until it turned to lash out spitefully. As sudden as a viper and just as deadly. “I think your precious Callie’s probably spreading her legs for one of them. Which one do you think, Michael? After all, you know her better. Sam with those baby blues, maybe?”

His stomach lurched, but by now the lawyer’s guarded front had returned. He was just finding the anger harder to contain than usual.

“Shut your filthy mouth, you conniving bitch,” he warned, the fury not quite masked by the confident exterior - to nothing but her seeming amusement. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“No, you’re right. Why would the little slut choose when she could have both of them? I hear those boys like to share ...”

***

Michael winced at the memory and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. He remembered storming out of there, past a gawping Stefan, but the rest of the night was a haze. A painful, messy haze.

He didn’t know why the hell he’d even listened to that scheming bitch, let alone been stupid enough to let her get to him like that. Callie was the only one that mattered and he trusted her. So he’d go round there, see her, talk to her.

Then maybe the pounding in his head would stop.

***

CHAPTER 20

“Sooo ... you two get it out of your system then?”

Callie froze in the middle of sketching her latest design – a pixie, albeit a beautifully artistic one, for the chick Sketch had off-loaded onto her as part of her ‘punishment’ for bunking off. She should have seen this coming.

“Dunno what you mean,” she tried, pushing a stray lock of hair back from her eyes as she looked up. Her long ponytail falling over one shoulder and a look she hoped was suitably confused and not too defensive plastered on her face.

Knowing brown eyes surveyed her from across the room, arms folding across that broad chest. As was his wont when he knew his speculating was on the money, no matter what he was being told to the contrary.

“Sure,” Sketch nodded, the smirk already tugging at his lips. “He goes looking for you, I hear jack-shit all night, then he drops you off first thing - come on, kid, it ain’t exactly rocket science. Although I’m guessin
g there was a biology lesson in there somewhere ...”

Dropping her pencil with a sigh, Callie reached for her takeaway coffee and swallowed a mouthful of the now lukewarm latte before giving a little shrug. “Fine,” she said quietly, playing self-consciously with the cardboard cup instead of looking at him as she broke her own non-disclosure rule. “I slept with Colton. Satisfied?”

“Are you?” he shot back. The question was serious rather than flippant though.

She knew he wasn’t trying to pry, could follow the thought processes firing in his brain and appreciated that it came from concern rather than simple interfering.

“You don’t have to worry, Sketch,” Callie said, managing a small smile for him. “I got no delusions about this. It just ... happened. And that’s it.”

“A one-time thing?”

“Two, if ya want to get technical,” she tried to joke, cheeks flushing just a little at the confession. “But yeah. It’s done. Don’t look at me like that, Sketch. I’m cool with it, honestly.”

“Cal, darlin’,” he sighed, wandering over to sit down on a stool beside her and sling an arm around her shoulders. “I know you. You ain’t some club slut and--”

“No, you’re right,” she interrupted him, misunderstanding. “I’m
not
. And it’s not like I’m planning on making a habit of this. I’m not gonna start hanging round the clubhouse, getting on my knees for Sam or Will or whatever one of them clicks his damn fingers first!”

“That ain’t what I meant!” Ske
tch protested. “I’m just saying you ain’t the type to ... not get attached. I just don’t wanna see you get hurt, doll.”

Callie realised the truth in that and eased up, leaning in to bump her shoulder against his gratefully. “I know. And I love that you care, you know I do,” she sa
id softly. “But I will be okay. I’m not a little girl. And I’m not kidding myself that it meant anything or that anything’s gonna come of it.”

“What about this boyfriend of yours?” Sketch asked, his arm still wrapped around her and all pretence of getting any work done abandoned. At the feel of her head dropping onto his shoulder, he heaved another sigh to see her so obviously struggling with it all. “Oh, darlin’ ...”