Scarred Asphalt (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Romeo had just sat down on his front porch with a steaming
cup of pick-me-up when the sun peeked up over the mountains. It was
o’five-thirty and he was one tired son of a bitch. He had spent the night
entertaining three women, and when he left, none of them could move a muscle.
That was around two in the morning. Two and a half hours of sleep was not
enough to get his brain functioning.

That was what coffee was for, right?

He had to be at the shop to wrench away on Saber’s bike by
eight. Something in the crank case was broken and, since Saber was working
overtime, Romeo told him he’d take care of it. Wolf was back in town, the book
nerd of the two business owners, which relieved some of the stress of being the
mechanic everyone knew him to be while also maintaining the shop’s books.

As Romeo held the warm cup between both hands his eyes
drifted closed, and he allowed the morning sounds to sooth his over-taxed
brain. Romeo felt himself drift into that bliss between sleep and meditation—a
comfort zone for him where he could catch a quick cat nap and refresh his
brain’s circuits.

He was jolted out of the twilight zone when his leg
vibrated. Hot coffee sloshed onto his chest causing him to yelp and jump up,
which caused him to spill even more of the coffee on himself.

“Fuckin’ aye!” He threw the the coffee mug into the yard with
a yell. His pocket would not quit spasming against his hipbone. Romeo tore off
the T-shirt that was scalding his chest and tossed it to the side, then he
reached into his jeans pocket to dig out the burner that was wreaking havoc.

“What?” Romeo barked, not bothering to check who might be on
the other end of the line. Right now, he couldn’t give a fuck, his chest was on
fire and his nuts were tucked up in fear of the hot liquid that had soaked
through his jeans, making it look like Romeo pissed his pants.

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line, and
then a throat was cleared. “Ro—Romeo?”

“Who the fuck do you think this is? You’re the one who
fucking dialed the number.”

“It’s Zack, Romeo.” The voice grew stronger as he spoke.

“Okay, and?” He knew Prospect SixGun Zack was smarter than
the average bear and to call him at such an ungodly hour meant that something
was up, but since he had burned himself, Romeo’s good-mood attitude had flown
out the window and he wasn’t exactly thinking about being nice to the male who
was currently on the other end of the phone.

“So, you know how I have to be at work early, right?”

Romeo licked his lips as he yanked the screen door open. He
stomped toward his room, trying not to lose patience with the prospect and his
lack of getting to the point. “Yeah, and what’s that got to do with the price
of rice in China, bro?”

“I always ride by the clubhouse on my way to work.” Zack
paused and cleared his throat. “I think you need to get here and like, as in
ten minute ago.”

His brows furrowed together as he cradled the phone against
his shoulder—which tilted his head at an odd angle—so he could take his pants
off and slip on a new pair of jeans. “What’s wrong with the clubhouse?”

The shop and the clubhouse were on the same property,
allowing a place for the bikes to be stored if any of the guys got drunk. Plus,
it gave the guys a place to stay if they needed to. Each patched officer had
their own room, then there were larger rooms upstairs for the other brothers
who needed to stay, or to accommodate Nomads or other chapters who came in for
a visit.

Zack’s voice was strained as he answered, “Just get here.”

It took twenty minutes to get there. Ten to get dressed and
warm up his beast of a bike, and ten on the road. As he approached the club
house, he saw blinking red and blue lights in the distance, bouncing off of
surrounding businesses, forcing Romeo to swallow down his heart that had risen
up to his throat.

As he pulled into the parking lot of the shop, all Romeo saw
was cop cars and bikes. The lights were blinding in the early dawn, making it
difficult to see exactly why the police were there.

As Romeo strode toward the chaos, Zack appeared out of
nowhere, grabbing his arm. “Dude, seriously. This is some sick shit.”

Romeo stiffened at being touched, but understood why Zack
was trying to warn him. Trying not to yank his arm from the prospects grasp, he
turned his cold pale greens on him. “Explain.”

“It’s the TG man.”

That was all Zack had to say. As he turned his head back toward
the clubhouse, it took everything Romeo had not to bellow in pure rage. His
eyes had adjusted to the lighting and he could clearly see what had Zack so
upset.

Through gritted teeth, Romeo instructed Zack to gather all
officers and tell them to be on scene in thirty minutes.

Once Zack acknowledged him, Romeo headed toward the main
officer on scene, an old buddy, John McKinney.

“How much longer are you guys going to be here?”

McKinney glanced toward Romeo and shrugged. “I’m not sure;
they’re dusting the place now. You must have really pissed these guys off,
Zen.”

“What’s new? We tend to piss a lot of people off.”

McKinney chuckled and clapped Romeo on the shoulder. “You
haven’t seen the inside yet.”

Romeo blinked and watched McKinney walk away, leaving him
with his dick in his hand. The outside was trashed. The Tremer Gallo had
defiled the clubhouse to the best of their ability. And they had done a damn
good job.

The structure that was painted white with black and gold
accents to declare that it was SixGun property was covered in TGMC tags,
symbols and pictures depicting gravestones stating for the SixGuns to rest in
peace. On top of the crude artwork, it looked like they got happy throwing
chicken shit and feathers on the walls and around the building. Even the door
handles had shit rubbed on them.

Romeo’s fists were clenched at his sides, ignoring Zacky-boy
as he walked up and stood next to him, unable to peel his eyes away from the
destruction that the TG had left behind. Sayings of
Get Out!
,
TGMC
Territory
, and
RIP Six-Pussies
.

Volatile emotions choked Romeo as his hands opened and
closed, his jaw clenched then relaxed, taking everything he had to keep from
exploding. His father’s legacy was defaced, right along with Wolf’s. Romeo took
in a large breath and held it as he headed toward the front entrance in
trepidation. It was as if his legs were moving of their own accord.

He had to still be asleep. This was nothing more than a
fucking nightmare and he knew he was going to wake up soon. There was no fucking
reason for the TG to go all out like this…unless they wanted to start a war.

War had been avoided seven months ago. Why the fuck wait
until now to retaliate like this? What was the deal breaker that made Muerte
decide it was worth going against the treaty they had reached? More than
likely, it was greed.

Zacky-boy grabbed the door before Romeo could put his bare
hand on the shit covered handle, his brain barely registering that Zacky-boy
still had on his riding gloves.

Once inside, the dense fog lifted from his head, his vision
cleared and the emotional light switch turned off. That was a good thing
considering.

The inside was just as bad, if not worse, than the outside
of the building. Tables were broken, chairs ripped apart and tossed around,
windows shattered, glass strewn everywhere. The stationary bikes that the girls
danced on were completely trashed: seats were ripped to shreds, the handlebars
looked like a metal grinder was taken to them, shavings riddling the bars
begging to give some unsuspecting girl splinters. The bar top was blackened,
the thick smell of liquor permeated the air, letting Romeo know they wasted it
all on the top and lit it up. What wasn’t wasted was broken behind the bar, a
mixture of liquid and glass lay thick on the concrete.

Romeo’s released pent-up breath came out as a low growl that
filled the silence in the room. What wasn’t covered in black and green spray
paint was covered in the black shit that the cops used for dusting prints.

“Fuck me sideways.” Romeo shook his head and rubbed the back
of his neck as he stared at the malicious destruction laid out before him.

Romeo was about to head for the chapel room when he heard
the all too familiar rumble of a pack of bikes heading their way. He knew his
brothers just by the sound of their bikes. There was no other sound like it,
deep and full of throttle.

He debated making his way out to greet the crew, but he
wanted them to experience the emotional heartbreak, then anger, that he felt
when he saw the TG’s handiwork. He could hear the exclamations and anger
through the shut door, full of obscenities, threats of death and ass raping.
Those threats grew in volume when the officers stepped inside.

Saber was in first, followed by Mace, Axe, Talon, and
Hawkeye, with Wolf taking up the rear.

“What the fuck?”

“Jesus Christ Almighty!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Those and a few more expletives were heard, followed by more
threats of death, ass raping. Finally, castration was added…with a frozen rusty
butter knife.

Romeo could hardly contain the anger that was fixing to
explode like a case of dynamite as he listened to the astonished men that now
surrounded him. The only one who kept quiet was his VP, Wolf.

Wolf was always stoic, which made him the best VP around. He
tended to think things through before he let his emotions get to the better of
him. Six foot one, a hundred and ninety pounds, he was not one anyone wanted to
meet in an alleyway. He was trained in four different styles of combat,
including knife defense and offense, and was an expert marksman to boot. He was
lethal and it seeped off of him. Long and wavy, deep-chestnut hair reached down
mid-back, matching the cold, calculation of his hazel eyes. Wolf wore a beard,
cut close and trimmed neat, which hid most of his facial expressions from view.

He always wore jeans and a T-shirt, or a bowler’s
button-down shirt, and each finger of his hands was decorated with silver
rings, giving him more ability to damage someone in a fight. He was muscular,
but not massive, just your normal everyday Joe. Or so he liked people to think.

“I haven’t walked the Hall of Fame to the chapel room yet.”
Romeo didn’t care that his voice was thick and slightly slurred, giving away
emotions he was trying to keep in check for his brothers. Strength was needed
right now, a clear head, not shoot now and ask questions later. No matter how
fucking bad he wanted to.

“Get to it.” Wolf motioned for everyone to head toward the
hallway, taking up the rear per usual.

The silence was deafening as Romeo led his club into the
memorial for past patch holders. Pictures were smashed, faces scratched out and
drawn on. Spray paint decorated the walls and the few frames that were still
intact, adding to the wreckage of the building.

None of what they witnessed outside the chapel room prepared
them for what they walked in on. The sight before them hit them like a sucker
punch to the balls. There was a collective mixture of gasps and retching that
echoed through the sacred room.

Romeo wasn’t sure if it was tears of fury or sadness that
blurred his vision as he glanced around the maelstrom left behind in the wake
of the TGMC. He was choking, he couldn’t breathe. Romeo felt his chest tighten,
unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His brain denied everything he was
witnessing, even while he listened to grown ass men vomiting behind him.

The death grip on his shoulder brought him out of the shock
that was consuming him, forcing vile air into his lungs, forcing him to gasp as
it burned his throat. Romeo glanced to his right and met Wolf’s gaze, not at
all surprised to see dead eyes staring back at him. He often wondered if Wolf
had emotions at all. The miniscule shake of his head kept the apoplexy in
check.

As Romeo turned back to take stock of the damages, he had to
tune out the comments from the peanut gallery to focus on his own inner
turmoil. The main table had puddles of piss on it mixed with splotches of what
he could only assume, by the putrid scent that lingered, was burnt dog shit…or
so he
hoped
. Spray paint seemed to be the Mexican club’s forte,
Spanglish slang tagged on top of the varnish, letting the SOMC know exactly who
they were dealing with. Each of the officers chairs were shredded and pissed
on, except the president’s chair. That had taken the worst of it.

The message they were sending was loud and clear with the
casualty of his chair. The chair was not ripped to shreds, no piss or shit on
it, and it had been moved aside and out into the open where it would not be
missed.

Romeo stepped toward the captain’s chair for closer
inspection. “I’m going to fucking kill them.”

It was a simple fact, really. Said and it would be done. No
ifs, ands, or buts. Romeo was going to kill each one of the TGMC single
handedly. Or so he thought in that moment as he stared at his chair. His seat
was covered in a milky white thick substance that required no help to figure
out what it was.

None of the brothers made a move to console Romeo or give
their condolences. This was a personal attack against Romeo and it would be
dealt with as he saw fit.

He closed his jade-colored eyes closed as he tried to find
inner peace before he said another word. Then he took a deep broken breath and
slowly expelled it as he reopened his eyes.

Nope, still seeing red.

“Bone out. Meet at the safe house.” Romeo’s voice was
strained as he glanced over his shoulders at his brothers.

* * * *

Romeo and Wolf rode together, detouring the long way around
to the safe house. The house was in an undisclosed location that only patched
brothers knew of. In cases of war or acts of violence toward any brother or
their family, the cabin out in Paradise Canyon was to be used as a safe house.