Scarred Asphalt (4 page)

Chapter Five

F to the A to the M, to the I-L-Y.

That’s right, it was family night. Romeo rode over to Mace
and Amy’s for dinner and perhaps a movie.
Star Wars
, that’s what he was
in the mood for. He received a call from Mississippi while he was on the bike,
and quickly returned it as he made his way up to the front door.

“What’s up?”

The voice on the other end was sultry and yet refined, very
much the Southern belle. “Hey, Romeo. Issy wanted me to call and see when you
wanted us there. We’ve got a run around the same time you mentioned the party,
so she needed to know if she had to move the run or not.”

Isabeau “Winter” Shirley, was the vice president of the
sister chapter of the SOMC, the Hell’s Belles. Her sergeant at arms, Nakitra
“Thumper” Beck, always kept her bases covered, making sure that Winter knew
everything that was going on, since Siren, the club’s president, usually
focused on business more than keeping club members informed. It was a give give
situation, and as long as the girls paid their dues and remembered who ruled
the roost, Romeo had no problems with them. They hadn’t paid their monthly in a
while, but Romeo was lenient with it; it was hard running an undercover whore
house.

“It’s in a couple of weeks, Thumper. The twelfth of next
month. How many you got coming?”

“How many girls do you think you’ll need to
come
?”
Thumper retorted in a sing-song voice.

Romeo couldn’t help but chuckle at the girl’s antics. She
was a spit-fire, perfect for the job that she held, an enforcer and protector
of the president and vice president. She was a no-nonsense,
kick-your-ass-then-ask-your-name-after kinda girl. “Quit being cute, Thumper.
We’ll need as many as you can get out here.”

“I got ya covered. Just text me the deets and we’ll make it
happen.”

No good-bye, no kiss my ass, just silence against his ear as
she hung up. Thumper was his and Amy’s cousin, transplanted to Mississippi
after their grandfather died, but the two talked almost every day. He knew he
was one of the select few special enough to see the cute side of the girl,
since she had been forced to grow up at such an early age.

“Honey, I’m home!” Romeo called out as he opened the front
door to his sister’s house, tucking his burner into the front pocket of his
jeans.

“In the kitchen!”

Hearing his sister’s voice, he shut the door and followed
his nose. The smell of lasagna permeated the home, making his stomach growl.
“That shit better be ready to eat. My fucking stomach thinks my throat’s been
cut.”

Stepping into the kitchen, he grinned at seeing his fat,
sassy sister waddling around like a penguin. She was seven months pregnant and
looked like she was carrying a watermelon. Everything about her radiated sheer
happiness.

“Quit whining, Romeo.” Amy glanced over her shoulder at
Romeo, blowing him a kiss as she placed a cut loaf of bread on a cookie sheet.
“Did you eat anything today? I bet you conveniently forgot again, huh?”

“Something like that.” He shrugged, wandering over to the
fridge and yanking it open. “Where’s your ol’ man?” He reached into the fridge
and grabbed a beer. After cracking it open, he took a long drag.

“You need to stop that, Zen. Christ, just find yourself
someone already.”

Light green eyes rolled at his sister’s antics, knowing she
meant well. Romeo just wasn’t quite sure yet that he was ready for any sort of
commitment. He was going through women like water, never keeping one longer
than a week or two. None of them could compare to his Maggie. But that was the
problem, all he was doing was comparing and that was not fair to the women he
was using to satisfy his needs.

“I got someone, Ames.”

Setting down the garlic salt, she spun around, her face lit
with excitement. “Who is she?”

Romeo lifted his right hand and shook it in front of her
face. “Handjalina Jolie. And if I get bored?” He switched his beer bottle to
his right hand, lifting his left. “I get together with Pamela Handerson.”

She growled in good humor at Romeo, tossing her hand towel
at him. “You’re such an ass, Zen James!”

“Thank you.” Bouncing his brows at her, he pulled out a
chair from her kitchen table, and spun it around to straddle it. Draping his forearms
over the back of the chair, he dangled his bottle from two fingers as he
watched his sister move around. “So…” Romeo paused to take a swig of the
cerveza before he finished his sentence. “Do we know yet if it is a boy or a
girl?”

“Mace will be home soon, he had to go bail out someone.” Amy
waddled over to a chair, grasped the back, then lowered herself slowly down
into it. Rubbing over her swollen stomach, she offered Romeo a single
shouldered shrug. “Don’t know and we don’t want to know. We want it to be a
surprise.”

“You’re fucking huge for seven months. It’s a boy.”

Amy laughed then winced, pushing the heel of her hand
against her stomach, just under her ribs. “Well, he’ll be a kicker or a soccer
player if it is a boy. He kicks like a mule.”

Laughing, he took another drink of his beer, setting the
bottle to the table. “Dad would be proud. You know that, right?”

Amy’s face fell slightly at the mention of Stone. Romeo knew
she missed him more than she let on, but she had always been a daddy’s girl.
The pain of separation was harder on her than him. “I guess.”

“Don’t, Ames.” He shook his bald head, reaching out to chuck
his finger lightly under her chin. “Don’t be sad. He’s in a better place.”

He hated to be cryptic, but one never knew if a house was
bugged. Being in a better place was just his way of saying that he was safe and
sound, away from the Tremer Gallo and Muerte.

Amy grunted softly, turning away her tear-filled eyes. Her
voice was shaking, barely audible as she whispered, “I just wish he was here to
see his grand-baby.”

“I know, Amy. I wish he was here, too.”

The club was functioning. That was about it. He had stepped
up, but he wasn’t sure what the fuck to do. He needed advice. He had wanted to
call Duke, the ex-president of the N’Awlins chapter, but that would be a show
of weakness. Maybe Bishop, Duke’s son and now president, would be the one to
ask—but Romeo wouldn’t. He would turn to his cousin Wolf before anyone else. No
one had any complaints, so he must be doing something right.

Romeo was just being a doubting Thomas, nothing more. It’s
natural to second guess yourself; you are your own worst critic after all.

“I hear Mace, let me get the bread in the oven and then we
can eat.” Amy struggled to get up, epically failing.

“Look here,
mamacita
, just sit your ass there. I’ll
handle the bread.” After pushing up off of the chair, he stepped over to the
oven and pulled the door open. Once he got the bread in there, he leaned a hip
against the handle, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Smells fucking delicious.” Mace grinned, walking into the
kitchen, placing his keys on the bar with his gun. Bending over to kiss Amy, he
nodded to Romeo. “What’s happening?”

“Not much, cupcake. Hard night?” Romeo had to tease Mace
about the cupcakes, curious if they kept the robe or burned it to save more
humiliation.

“Not really. I had to go bail out Knucklehead for a bullshit
charge, then I had to go make sure that Apollo made it to the house unscathed.”

Romeo snorted, pushing off the handle to reopen the oven and
check on the bread. “Thorne has claws, but I think it’ll work out just fine.”

“Thorne? Dalton?” Amy looked quizzically between the two
men. “What. Did. You. Do?” Each word was emphasized as her brows bunched up in
obvious disapproval.

“Nothing.”

“Dalton is living with Thorne.” Mace blurted out as Romeo
professed his own version of diplomatic immunity.

“Dude…bro code.” Romeo threw out his hands, staring at Mace.

“Dude.” Mace pointed at Amy. “Pissed-off pregnant wife
trumps bro code.”

“Dude,” Amy mimicked the two men, rolling her eyes at their
antics. “Why is Dalton living with Thorne? Do you not realize he’ll end up
tortured in many ways that you two cannot comprehend? She
is
a
paramedic; she has ways of torturing without evidence, duh.”

“Go ahead and spill the beans, fucker, you already gave the
rest away.” Romeo turned to the bread, grabbing a knife out of the block to
slice it.

“Dalton is on house arrest. The only way he can work,
basically survive, is for him to be within a ten-mile radius of his work.
Thorne is in that ten-mile radius of the club, and his mom and nephew.”

“Uhn uh, what aren’t you two telling me?” She raised a
single brow in question.

Romeo set the bread on the kitchen table, then decided to
dish out the lasagna for them all, allowing Amy and Mace to gossip like old
hens. “Go ahead and tell her, you’ve spilled everything else.”

Mace cleared his throat, glaring playfully at Romeo. “I
sleep with her, you don’t.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Doesn’t mean you gotta give her the
whole fucking burrito.” After setting plates in front of the others, Romeo took
a seat with his own plate.

“Oh my gawd, you two! Just spit it out.” Amy laughed,
shaking her head at the two arguing.

“Thorne needs company, someone to bring her back out of her
shell. I think Apollo can do it. He was sick with worry when she was in the
hospital. Thorne sees herself as a monster, a beast. Apollo doesn’t. So, why
not put the beauty with the beast?” Romeo bounced his brows, quite pleased with
his little shenanigans.

Since Apollo ended the relationship with Gabby, he hadn’t
been the same. He had become bitter and distant from the brothers. He did what
was right, knowing that he couldn’t be with anyone from the rival club,
especially the TGMC. Dalton had told Saber that he was about to end it with her
anyway, after he found out she was cheating on him with brothers from the other
club. Putting on the patches had sealed the deal in getting rid of the girl.

Amy wagged her fork at the two men, a devious smile cresting
her lips. “Oh. You’re good.”

Romeo grinned, taking a bite of the pasta. “Damn skippy.
Don’t ever forget it.”

Mace snorted, which turned into a cough as he choked on a
piece of the bread. Pounding his fist into his chest, he gasped for air.
“Geeze, it’s not like playing cupid is that fucking difficult. Anyway, what’s
doin’ with the party?”

Romeo tilted back his beer bottle, then tossed it to the
trash and got up to get another. “It’s on the twelfth. Every chapter, including
the 82s are coming.” The 82s were the Hell’s Belles, the all-female MC that
their cousin was in. Nevada, Louisiana, and Mississippi had all confirmed they
would make the National St Pattie’s Day party, making this the biggest event
the SOMC had seen since the funerals.

“All of them?” Amy’s brown eyes grew wide as she lifted her
glass, silently asking for milk.

“All of the officers, yes. I believe that every member will
be coming as well.” That was over a hundred SOMC that would be flooding the
streets of Santa Maria, not including the Belles and guests.

“Wow, I guess us women need to get on the ball and make sure
everything is taken care of. Where are you holding it?”

Romeo handed her the milk, then a bottle to Mace, taking his
seat once more. “At the clubhouse, per usual. I’ve got permission from the city
to cordon off the block and make it a huge block party.”

“Have you contacted a hotel to house all of them?”

Mace grinned, patting his wife’s hand. “Babe, we got this.
You don’t need to worry. You are too far along to overload yourself with this
shit. Hawkeye and the new prospects have been handling it.”

They had two new prospects, Zack and Janus, along with three
or four hang-arounds. They were being put to good use, organizing the food and
hotel situations for the party.

Amy’s lower lip pushed out with a little quiver. “Oh.”

“Oh, hell no. That shit doesn’t work with me, Ames. You know
that. Let the FNGs actually do their jobs.” Romeo spoke sternly to his sister.
Since she had come back into the picture and was wearing the PSOL—Proud SixGun
Ol’ Lady—patch, the Fucking New Guys didn’t get to do their jobs like they
should. He didn’t want pussies in the club, loyal to the women and not the
brothers, because they had been catering to the women instead of doing what
they were supposed to. Now with Amy on the sidelines, the prospects were
learning what it was like.

“Fine.”

“Hun, trust us. The boys are going to do great. You’ll see.”

“I know, I just forget at times.” Amy pushed her food around
on her plate.

“Glad you now remember.” Romeo didn’t want to put his sister
in her place, but she had no place in the club. No say. Sure, the women usually
handled the food and what not, but it was not something they needed to take for
granted. She may be his sister, but he would remind her that she was there to
look pretty and support her man. Nothing more, nothing less.

Chapter Six

Two days. It had been two fucking miserable days already and
Apollo was ready to slit his wrists and beg God for mercy. How the hell was he
supposed to live like this?

No mirrors. Covered windows. No cable. No internet. Hardly
any food in the fridge. It looked like all Thorne lived on was protein shakes.
That was completely unhealthy and she, above all, should know that.

When he first moved in, she laid down harsh rules and
expected him to uphold them like they were law.

“You make a mess, clean it up. You come in late? Come in
quietly. No loud music at all hours of the night. No girls. Period. And above
all, do not—” Thorne glared at him with her hand on her hips. “Do. Not. Go into
my weight room. That is off limits.”

She had a weight room? Sweet. Not like she’d know the
difference if he went in there. The way she scolded him was a total turn on. He
couldn’t help it. There was just something about the girl that made his blood
stir. She had been a total class-A bitch as of late and that was completely
unattractive.

Apollo had set up his room, then got bored and rearranged
it; then arranged it back the way it was. He was restless and itching to ride.
Unfortunately, he was not allowed to ride without colors, so he had to cage it
wherever he went and that blew big ass hairy monkey balls.

He was glad that Thorne was not there to witness his
probation officer slapping his pretty new jewelry on. This was not exactly
something to be proud of. It made him feel like a piece of shit, filthy, and
worthless. If he had actually done something worth getting in trouble for, he’d
have worn it proudly. Bogus sexual charges that could ruin his life as he knew
it? Fuck that noise.

The guys were never going to let him live it down. They even
tagged one of the new prospects to hang around him at work, in case something
happened. Like what could happen? One of the girls slipping on the pole and
getting a rug burn on her clit?

Apollo was going crazy sitting in the house. He wasn’t
allowed back to work until tomorrow and just sitting in his damn room, doing
nothing, was going to make him explode. He wasn’t even allowed to go to the
damn gym.

“Fuck it.” Apollo grunted and pushed off his bed. He grabbed
his shorts and a razorback muscle tank that made it easier to watch the muscles
move while they contracted and extended in correct form.

Dalton put in his earbuds, cranked his music up loud, then
dropped his player into his pocket and scooped up his shaker cup. He needed his
pre-workout to get the blood vessels opened up and pumping. There was nothing
more stress relieving than throwing around heavy ass weight, treating it like
someone you want to beat the shit out of; then pushing all that negativity out
with each expelled breath while pushing the weight away.

Apollo felt the familiar tingling sensation of the No3 as it
hit his blood stream. A menacing grin formed with a wiggle of his fingers as
his stark dark blues stared a hole into the door and the sanctuary he was about
to breech. Thorne wasn’t home, he needed a workout.

He stepped through the door as Rob Baily’s commanding voice
rapped about tossing forty-fives filled his ears. A low whistle passed his
lips. The weight room was the most professional set up he’d ever laid eyes on,
next to walking into a Golds Gym. Treadmill, bench-press, squat rack—you name
it, she had it. Even down to a wall of mirrors, the
only
set of mirrors
he had seen in the house, and a punching bag that he would be making use of
later.

Apollo’s specialized weightlifting shoes never left a mark
as he walked across the blue neoprene gym mat. Preacher curls was at the top of
his list this afternoon. The Olympic style barbell was picked up already with a
set of two twenty-fives on each side racked. Apollo nodded, trying not to get
distracted by thoughts of Thorne lifting so much weight and what she’d look
like doing it.

He knew it was a good weight to warm up with as he saddled
up to the preacher stand. He set his elbows to the pad, extended his arms down,
fingers curled around the metal curved bar. One leg set in front of the other,
tightened chest against the edge of the pad, he expelled a quick breath and
lifted the weight, his eyes focused on the mirror before him as he watched his
biceps contract.

“One…”

After counting to eight, he laid the bar down and gave it a
thirty-second rest before he hit it again. Next round he would add weights.

* * * *

Thorne let out an exasperated sigh as she pulled the Tahoe
into the driveway. This shit wasn’t going to work. Her home was invaded by
Romeo’s humanitarianism. She couldn’t walk around her house naked if she wanted
to. Not like she did it often, but damn it, it was the principle of the matter.

She had laid down the rules and expected them to be
followed. She had made it clear that her weight room was off limits, as was her
bedroom. Those were her only sacred places, the places where she felt whole,
not scarred, and actually beautiful. The empty feeling that had become
all-consuming disappeared when she stepped into the gym. She could lose herself
in the weights, allowing everything negative to seep out of her pores with the
sweat that dripped from her.

Thorne hopped out of the SUV, slammed the door, and made a
beeline for the front door. She took a deep breath while her topaz eyes drifted
closed, allowing the salt air to carry her mind away to a better place. She
loved the beach, the way the ocean kissed the sand and the breeze caressed her
skin. But most of all, she enjoyed watching the sun set, blazing across the blue-green
spans of liquid glass.

It was the perfect temperature to go for a run, and that was
exactly what she intended to do. The resistance the sand gave her muscles was
enough to kick her cardio into full gear. She lightly tossed her keys to the
foyer table, but took pause in the living room. All of the furniture that had
been covered with sheets was cleaned up, free of debris and dust. Now the place
looked open and airy—lived in.

Meh.

She muttered with a roll of her eyes as she made her way to
her room. Thorne was quick to change into shorts and a sports bra, and headed
toward the back and onto the sand. Wrapping her hair with a pony-tale holder,
she stretched out her muscles, regulated her breathing, readying herself for
the miles she planned on jogging.

Earbuds in, iPod on Meg & Dia, and she was off.
Footfalls in time with the beat of the music, her mind went blank. Thorne
quickly found her zone that allowed her to push her body to limits most dreamt
of reaching.

Before she realized it, she had run to Devil’s Slide, a two
mile trek from her house. Music had a way of making everything better. Lyrics
and beats during a good run, and you could take on the world. Thorne dug her
feet deeper into the sand with each push off, as she turned back toward the
house while she picked up her pace.

Her calves and thighs were burning as she made it back to
the house; Thorne’s body was on fire, glad for the blood flow that coursed
through her. Trying to catch her breath, Thorne turned down the hallway toward
her gym room. She’d finish off the day with a round of abs.

She swung open the door as Machine Head belted out about the
game being over. She was stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her.

Her initial reaction was to go the slap-fuck off at Dalton
for invading her sacred space. She had told him the room was off limits.
Period. Dot. End of story. But maybe that wasn’t fair to him. He had no way of
getting to the gym they all used because of the ankle bracelet; he was
regulated to only go to work and see family and the counselor that they ordered
him to see. If they tracked him and he was not at places on his approved list,
he would be picked up for violating stipulations placed on him until his trial.

Her second reaction? She got wet. There was no delicate way
of stating the obvious. She felt her very core clench, and then throb with an
ache she had not felt in over a year.

Dalton was an Adonis. His close-cropped hair was the color
of field oats on a bright summer afternoon. The curls were tamed by what she
was sure was product into a mussy yet spiked style. His high arched eyebrows
drew attention to the most intense eyes Thorne had ever seen. Dalton’s eyes
were Nordic blue, lit with azure fire as he watched his movements in the
mirrors that lined the walls, so intent on what he was doing that he did not
notice as she openly stared at him. The shadow of his beard gave him an even
more manly appearance, forcing her to pay attention to his lips, full and
sensual, though set in a stern line while lifting a heavy set of weights. His
powerful well-muscled body moved with easy grace as he set the weights down.

That was when his eyes met hers. Dalton never turned toward
Thorne, casually watching her in the mirrors as she openly studied him.

Thorne couldn’t help but notice how his stance emphasized
the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips, to which he set his
hands. Her eyes traveled up his arms, taking note of the fine blond hairs that
covered his forearms, along with the Mayan style tribal tattoos that led to
arms the size of oak limbs, muscular and virile. The ink work extended over
massive shoulders and around a thick chest and a six pack—no, fuck that, a
twelve
pack
—that disappeared into the scrumptious V at his hip line. She
envisioned her mouth tasting the tattooed SixGuns that graced each hip bone.

As he turned toward her, she noticed a touch of humor around
his mouth and near his eyes. His expression fueled her anger, and her desire
for him, when he started to make his way past her. She felt the power coiled
within him as he walked by her, giving him an air of authority and the
appearance of one who demanded instant obedience.

Her brain malfunctioned, then just in time, her hand
snatched out to grab his forearm to stop him from leaving the room. He was going
to get a piece of her mind, and she had every intention of giving it him.

That lasted maybe twenty seconds.

He stopped alright. His cobalt eyes dropped to look at her
hand on his arm, then slowly rose up to meet her own.

Thorne forgot how to breathe in that instant. There was a
raw, animalistic look across his ruggedly handsome features, his jaw visibly
tensing. His eyes darkened, causing Thorne to drop her hold on him and take a
step back away from him, unsure of what he planned on doing to her.

Thorne’s body defied her; she ought to be frightened by the
darkness that crossed Dalton’s features, but her body screamed with want.

His nostrils flared as he took a step toward her. “You want
me.”

Duh. Wasn’t he Captain Obvious? She could smell her own desire
on her, mixed with the salty scent of the ocean air and the sweat from her run.
“Yeah, right,” she half scoffed at him. “You think every woman wants you.”

“Quit lying to yourself, Thorne,” Dalton stated with a
matter-of-fact tone. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get off.”

That was easy for him to say, he was a guy. For women it was
different. “No, what’s wrong is the fact that you’re in my damn gym. I told you
to stay out.” Her voice held firmness in it, though her body betrayed her by
soaking her panties at the very thought of him inside of her.

It was as if he read her mind. His hand came up and captured
her pony tail, yanking her head back at a harsh angle, eliciting a hiss of
salacity. Hands flew up to his chest to balance her, lest her knees buckle at
his display of complete and utter dominance over her.

Dalton’s head dipped, his nose brushed along her jaw line as
he made a beeline for her lips. When he lifted his head, there was something
feral that lay in his eyes, dangerous and yet so damn inviting. It was pure
instinct to turn her head away from him as he lowered his once more.

“No.”

“No?” Dalton repeated, his voice holding a hint of disbelief
that someone would deny him.

“Did I stutter?” A small cry followed as his hand twisted
tighter in her hair.

Dalton lifted a single brow, his eyes dark and powerful as
he stared at her, then he lowered his head once more. His lips ran across the
meaty part of her ear lobe as he whispered to her, “I’m going to fuck you now,
Thorne, and you’re going to let me.”

She whimpered in felicity, eyes fell closed with a hard
swallow. No one had ever talked to her like he was. She was too intimidating,
she commanded respect, yet here he was telling her what he was going to do and
she was not going to argue.

“That’s what I thought.” A hint of humor was in his tone as
he let go of her hair, not giving her a break from his touch.

His fingers reached into her sports bra, hands grasped the
edges and jerked away from one another. The sound of ripping material was like
a bomb going off in the room. Her body rocked with the force of his movement.
Her hands rose up to hide her now exposed breasts from his view. They were
quickly smacked away as his eyes drank her in.

She needed to fight him, to fight…whatever this was. But once
again, her body was a traitorous bitch. Her nipples tightened under his
scrutiny, hardening from the cool air and the mirth of his gaze. Thorne was
given no time for thought as she was spun around, her back to him, her warm
flesh pressed up against the cool wall.

Ass pushed out to rub invitingly against him, feeling how
hard he was. “Like what you feel, Thorne?”

The growl in her ear made her breath hitch; her eyes fell
closed as she nodded.

“I asked you a question.”

A light smack against her left butt-cheek made her squeak in
surprise. It didn’t hurt, mostly caught her off guard.

“Answer me, Thorne.”

The next smack stung, letting her know just how alive she
was and how wet he was making her. She never dreamed liking a male being so
controlling. How wrong she was. Her hands pushed against the wall in an effort
to move, but she was quickly punished once more by a harsher smack to her other
ass cheek.