Scarred Asphalt

by Blue Remy

  He had to have some self-respect, even if it cost him a set of blue balls. He wasn’t attracted to her any more, but the memories of the good times—mixed with the stress and need to get a release—played havoc with his desire to just get off.

  “How about just giving me a taste?” Gabby dropped to her knees in front of him, deft fingers unzipping his jeans and reaching inside to try and destroy what little dignity he had left.

  He almost let her.

  “Stop.”

  That one word reverberated through the room and was laced with an authority he didn’t like to use. It gave her pause as she lifted those deep-brown eyes to meet his.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not interested in used goods, Gabby. I’m not fucking dumb about the club life or you.” He had heard she spread her legs for quite a few of the brothers in TGMC and didn’t feel like being just another conquest. But most of all, she was the enemy now.

  Shoving away from him, she all but growled at his dig. “It’s not going to end here, Dalton.”

  * * * *

  “Sure it is.”

  Thorne had seen the whole interaction between the two, quite surprised at the will power of Dalton against the bella morte. It was easy to see that the two of them had history, and he didn’t want to rehash it.

  Thorne to the rescue.

  “Excuse me?” Gabrielle’s brows shot up at the intrusion. “Who the hell is this piruja?” Gabby snarled as she pointed at Thorne.

  Slut? Really?

  Sigh.

  Thorne didn’t have time for petty antics from a scorned female. Rolling her toffee eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest, exposing her biceps to the two. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  Dalton, visibly blanched at his ex ridiculing Thorne, looked up while lifting his hands in a why-me position. “Lay off, Gabby. Go home, where ever that is.”

  Thorne watched as Gabby bared her teeth, nostrils flaring out in anger.

  Gabby pointed a shaking finger directly at her, speaking to Dalton as if she wasn’t even there. “You’re going to stick up for…” Gabby paused, obviously at a loss for words. “For this caballo?”

  Did she just really just get called a horse? In literal terms, yep. In slang, she basically got called a bloody tampon.

  Joy.

  Thorne remained silent as Dalton came to her defense. “I said back off, Gabby. I’m not going to ask you again.”

  “Or what?” Gabby sneered at them both, her eyes darting between them.

  Thorne had enough of playing patty-cake with Dalton’s ex. She was hungry, tired, and still had to go work out in the gym.

  Reaching out, Thorne wrapped her fingers in the Latina’s hair, swinging her around to face her. Letting go, she used her body weight to push into Gabby, forcing her back, slamming her spine into the wall. She brought her forearm up and against Gabrielle’s trachea, letting her know that she meant business.

  Leaning into the girl, Thorne deepened her tone. “Or I will be forced to wipe the floor with your ass. Listen up and listen good.” Thorne shifted her weight, applying a bit more pressure to the trachea as she glanced at Dalton then back to Gabrielle, trying not to smile at the shocked look on his face. “I really don’t want to have to get my hands dirty with your blood, but I will. Leave him alone, he obviously wants nothing to do with you. Take a fucking hint and move the fuck on.”

  Pushing off of Gabby, Thorne looked pointedly at Dalton, trying not to laugh at his look of astonishment. “That was your cue to leave, Gabby.”

  Dalton did not dispute Thorne’s order for Gabby to leave. “You might want to listen to Espina, Gabby. I have a feeling that was your one and only warning.”

  Gabrielle was white as a sheet as she looked between the two of them, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy out of water. Not bothering with a comeback, much to Thorne’s surprise, she darted out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  “Well.” Thorne wiped her hands down the front of her jeans. “Wasn’t that fun?”

  “Not really. Did you have to threaten her?”

  Her brows shot up as she dragged her eyes over him: ripped jeans tucked haphazard into combat boots, white V-neck T-shirt that hugged his thick chest like a second skin, allowing the dark ink to play peek-a-boo with the collar. His hair was mussed, his square jaw scruffy from lack of shaving, and his blue eyes were dark and brooding as he silently watched her.

  Thorne knew he could bench-press a car if he wanted to. He was a beast in the gym; she had watched him from afar, partnering with Saber. The clothing he chose to wear showed off his physique, though she would keep her appreciation to herself. It’s not like she had a thing for him. He was going to be an intruder in her home. Her sacred place.

  “Yeah, I did. She didn’t get the hint until I laid it out there, so what’s the problem?”

  Dalton ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair, giving a shake of his head and smirking. “There isn’t one. I just know her. This isn’t over.”

  “It is in my eyes.” Thorne grunted as she picked up a piece of his luggage. “Hijole! What the hell do you have in here, princess?” His luggage weighed a ton—the only other people who had heavy luggage like this were females.

  “Clothes, camera equipment, boots, books. Name it, it’s packed in the luggage.” Dalton shrugged as he grabbed two more suitcases. “I’m living with you for three months, I still have to be able to make money, Thorne.”

  “The judge said you have to limit your picture taking, so why all the equipment?” she griped as she made her way out to the Tahoe to load the luggage into the back. Stepping aside, she angled her face just right so that her hair would hide the scar from view.

  “I develop my own film, though Romeo has pretty much ordered me to go digital.”

  “Fuck Romeo.”

  Dalton coughed and laughed at the same time, his cobalt eyes dancing with humor. “No thanks. I’ll leave that to you women.”

  “Don’t bunch me in with those women.” Thorne lifted her hands, imitating quotation marks, emphasizing the word women. “He’s not my type.”

  “Who’s your type? Saber?” Dalton’s jovial voice was gruff and low as he cajoled her.

  “Yeah, totally want an STD. Where do I sign up?” Yanking open the SUV’s door, she climbed in, not bothering to look in Dalton’s direction, not pleased with where this line of questioning was going.

  She was a fucking monster. No one wanted her and it was something she would live with for the rest of her life.

  “Harsh, Thorne,” Dalton called out to her as she started up the truck.

  “Truth hurts,” she barked back as she put the Tahoe into gear, muttering under her breath, “like a bitch.”

  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 A
pollo 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.”