Scarred Asphalt

by Blue Remy

  Thorne’s skin prickled as she was immersed in sensory overload. Her hips racked down and back against his hip bones, driving him deeper. Her fingers curled to form a fist against the wall, keeping her from raking her nails against his thighs. He was thick and rock hard, she could feel the pulsing veins against her walls, making her desire go through the roof, as if it wasn’t already.

  “You’re. So. Fucking. Wet.” Dalton grunted each word out with timbre. As his hand tightened slightly about her throat, his teeth drug harshly across her skin. “Come for me.”

  His command was more than enough to send her reeling over the edge. She felt her body convulse and tighten around his thick shaft. Thorne didn’t bother trying to be quiet. Her cries of ebullience filled the room, pressing back and writhing down and against him. Shockwaves of pleasure rolled over her.

  “That’s my girl.” Dalton breathed against her throat.

  His girl. Not likely, but she didn’t need to go there, not now. Not after this. She needed to revel in the glow of the aftermath of being properly fucked. She knew he wasn’t done, he hadn’t come.

  And it looked like he wasn’t going to.

  He pulled out and away from her when she stilled, an empty, hollow feeling left in his wake. When he released his hold on her throat and hair, she nearly collapsed since her legs were pure jelly. Trying to calm her breathing and quickened pulse, she drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, slow to turn around, afraid to face Dalton now.

  Afraid her scars would ruin the moment.

  There wasn’t a moment to ruin, for he wasn’t there. His clothes were gone; it was as if he hadn’t been in the room at all, that it was all her imagination.

  Lashes fluttering rapidly in surprise, Thorne cleared her throat and looked around the room, then to the door. He had made a quick exit. It was better that way. He promised he was going to fuck her and he had done just what he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Romeo sat in the clubhouse chapel room waiting for Mace to get his ass there. They had things to do, shit to discuss. Staring off into space, his thoughts jumbled around in his head while fingers absently rotated his Collins glass around… around… around…

  “Damn it son, fuck a penny for your thoughts, how ‘bout a Benji?”

  Romeo was jerked out of his reverie by his brother-in-law standing there watching him with a concerned look on his face. “Nah, it’s nothing like that.”

  “I call the bullshit flag.” Mace snorted as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it. “Zacky-boy is watching the door and Jan is at work.”

  If Mace had Zack watching the door, something was up and it wasn’t good. “I take it this is a private meeting? I don’t want the deets on your erectile dysfunction man; they have this thing called a little blue pill. Supposed to work wonders.”

  “Hardee-har-har bruh.” Mace rolled his eyes as he pulled out a chair and sat next to Romeo, legs thrown out to cross them at the ankles.

  Romeo studied Mace before he tossed back the contents of his glass, noting that Mace was letting his hair grow out again. It suited him. “So, why all the privacy? Discussing a benefit doesn’t require playing cloak and dagger.”

  “No, but discussing the past does.”

  Talk about dropping a fucking bomb on you. Romeo kept his facial expressions intact, remaining stoic as he stared a hole through Mace. “No, I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”

  Romeo hated to be serious all the time. When the time came, he would be, but this was the past Mace wanted to dredge up. The past was better left buried.

  “I highly doubt that, Rome.”

  Yeah, yeah. Romeo was a man-whore. There was no splitting those hairs. It had gotten worse this past year. The only habit he had given up was the drugs. He needed a clear head now more than ever. Romeo motioned with his hand for Mace to get on with it.

  Mace cleared his throat, dropping his eyes like he had to think about how, or what, he had to say. He lifted them up to meet Romeo’s, his voice hardening slightly into what Romeo liked to call “cop mode”. “They’re calling in the favor we owe them.”

  * * * *

  Apollo’s thumb moved with ease over the smooth glass top of the burner phone that he was given for today’s conference call, his head not in the game. It was visiting last night’s fuck-fest. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a fuck-fest, but she responded to his demands like a true sub would. The more he commanded her, the wetter she got and the more she responded. He was rougher with her, getting the vibe that she needed a good, raw, animalistic romp in the gym.

  Not only had he made her bend to his will, by his actions afterward, he laid claim that he wore the pants, not her.

  There was no denying the fact that he wanted to rail her ass, and he had been given the opportunity to make her feel better about herself, if even only for that moment. He understood her psyche, the fact she hated how she looked now. Thorne was nothing more than gloom and doom, but he looked past the physical beauty. What he saw was a girl who hid behind her workout, who was snarky because that was the only defense mechanism she had left.

  Apollo blew out a long breath with a glance to his watch. They would be calling any second. He moved toward the living room, the disaster before him forced another sigh and a shake of his head.

  “Does she even know how to clean?”

  The place was in total disarray. The curtains closed, the sunlight trying to unsuccessfully peek through the tiny opening in the middle. There was dust an inch thick on the tables, cobwebs in the corners. How long had it been since his mom had been here? Maybe he ought to hire her on full time to watch over Thorne.

  Feeling the phone vibrate in his hand, he swiped the green circle across the screen and pushed the speaker button as he flopped down on the couch.

  Mistake.

  A plume of dust exploded around him, making him cough and gasp for air. “He—hello?”

  Romeo’s voice filtered across the speaker system. “Are we interrupting you and Rosie Red Palm?”

  Apollo was about to answer, but heard flesh hit flesh and Romeo hiss, then curse at who ever hit him.

  “Don’t listen to him, Dalton. He’s grumpy for some reason.” Amy’s soothing voice came through loud and clear.

  Apollo chuckled and leaned back into the couch, trying to get comfortable, but was already feeling dirty from the dust he was sitting on. “I always take him with a grain of salt.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yup, she’s at work.” Apollo confirmed as his eyes wandered about the room, settling on the fireplace.

  “Good, now let’s get down to business. When do we want to do this?”

  There was a lighter area above the mantle that caught his attention. There must have been a painting or something there. “I’d say about three weeks after the block party? That way it’ll give the other chapters time to recoup from the party.”

  Romeo agreed with Apollo. “I like the sounds of that. What kind of run do we want to do?”

  Apollo was about to answer him, but their road captain, Mace, spoke up before he could. “I vote for a poker run. You’ll draw more of a crowd for a bigger pot. Twenty bucks a rider, fifteen for their passenger.”

  “I agree with, Mace.” Apollo spoke up as he restlessly dragged his fingers through his hair, growing antsy at the mess before him. His OCD was kicking in and he was going to have to do something soon or go bat shit crazy in the meantime. “Plus, we could do silent auctions with the donations from stores and what not.”

  Amy squealed happily. “I bet I could get us a ton of donations to auction, too.”

  “Not likely!”

  “In your dreams!”

  Both expletives were in unison at Amy’s volunteering of herself for the job. Guess the guys didn’t want her doing much since she was so far along.

  “Asses.” Amy sighed, a pout evident in her voice.

  “That’s what prospects and hang-arounds are for, Ames. We’ve already
had this discussion.”

  The warning was very clear in Romeo’s voice over the phone line. Apollo couldn’t blame him though. If she had already been told no, why push her luck?

  “I just feel useless.”

  Mace’s voice had a calming tone when he spoke. “We’re just making sure that you’re taken care of, Amy. The baby means more to us than you risking your health over a benefit and party. Take a vacation from being an ol’ lady for once.”

  The silence became deafening over the line, allowing Apollo to speak up. “Trouble, from the Steel Horsemen, said they would barbeque for us.”

  The Steel Horsemen were the SixGuns support club, and they barbequed the best Santa Maria Style BBQ on the Central Coast. They had won cook offs with their BBQ Tri-tip and pork spare ribs, and Apollo wanted the best there.

  “We can charge ten bucks a plate, dollar for cokes and water.” Mace chimed in.

  “That’s great. I got Zacky on donations and social media,” Romeo added. “This kid could sell Eskimos ice in Alaska, he’s that damn good.”

  Pushing out of the dust infested couch, speckles of dirt wafted behind him, making him shiver in repulsion. “Sounds good. I’m going to sign off and do some cleaning here.”

  If he didn’t, he might never make it out alive. He’d die of a sinus infection for sure. Or get the electric chair for killing Thorne over her lack of house cleaning skills.

  Chapter Eight

  It took all of twenty minutes for him to dust the living room, throw open the curtains and make it look like the beautiful beach home was alive. It was a waste of space and money to keep a home like she had closed off from the amazing view she had of the ocean.

  Open her sliding glass door and BAM! There you were, right on the damn beach. And he didn’t mind if he did. The doors were open with screens closed, and fresh salty air was filling the home, pushing out the dank musty smell that had settled in.

  He swept and mopped the hardwood floors to a shine, washed then laid back down the area rugs, smacked the shit out of the couches and chairs to get rid of the rest of the dust, and lastly, sprayed a bottle of odor killer on any and every possible available surface.

  Stone Temple Pilots blared from the speakers as he stared at the blank space above the fireplace, curious about what might have hung there in the past. It might have been a picture of Maggie, for all he knew. Thorne was closed mouthed about her sister’s death, and she had every right to be, but that was no reason to take down a picture of her and get rid of her memory. Apollo was just glad that she did not know the real truth about her death. He’d hate to be at the end of that beat down.

  He paused at the garage door on his way back to his room. There were no mirrors in the home except for in his bathroom and the gym. He wasn’t so sure that he wanted to go into the gym room every morning to see how he looked, or if his shirt fit right. There were tabs on the closet door, indicating that a mirror had once hung there, and he was going to go find it.

  His palm pushed open the door to the garage, and with a quick flip of the light switch, the tinkling buzz of the fluorescent lights was a welcomed hum. As he glanced around, he released a low whistle in surprise. Every fucking mirror was in the garage. A few were shattered, but most were in mint condition.

  Moving deeper into the dank room, Apollo couldn’t help but be in awe at the pictures of her family that she tossed aside like used goods. It looked as if some dated back into the 1700s. He nearly tripped over a box that was in the walkway.

  Apollo glanced down toward the object with a shake of his head, then raised a single brow as he knelt down to closer inspect the contents of the box. “What the hell?” He reached into the cardboard home for odd and ends and lifted out an ornate box of gold, his thumb tracing the intricate rose and its leaves, studying it intently.

  Then he shrugged and reached out for a mirror that he assumed was the one from his room. Mirror and trinket box in hand, he headed back to his room.

  He set the gold box to his dresser and swung up the mirror to his closet door. After maneuvering the tabs to hold the reflective glass, he stood back with his hands on his hips. “Perfect.”

  He scooped up the box once more and wandered to his bed to sit on the edge. Hands turned the box over and around while he looked it over. Apollo could tell that it was old and had been in the box for a while by the dust that had been over it when he picked it up. The gold was tarnished from age giving it a bronze appeal, indicating that is could possibly be an heirloom of some sort.

  The sides were covered in a filigree ivy design; the edges were smooth with no metal nicks. Thorne had kept very good care of the box through the years. It must have meant something to her at one time. But to be so easily discarded, something had to have triggered her to toss it aside.

  The thoughts of Thorne made his mind wander back to last night in the gym. She had been so feisty and defiant, until he took control. He knew that was what she needed, a man to take the upper hand and show her how a woman was to feel.

  Beautiful and desired.

  She thought the scar made her ugly, but he could have given two fucks less about it. He had known the girl before the accident, and she was just as beautiful then as she was now. Thorne was vain. There was no doubt there, most models were, but hers was not the snobbish rich bitch vanity that one would expect from someone like her. It was knowing she was beautiful and strong and not scared to walk with her head held high at the fact.

  She never belittled anyone, always striving to help others. His brother, Saber, always bragged at what an excellent paramedic and partner she was. Thorne would not hesitate to put herself in the line of fire for a victim, several times placing herself in a wrecked vehicle when it could explode at any minute, to calm the victim and let them know they weren’t alone.

  That scar took something from her. Yes, it went vertically down her face, splitting her eye and cheek in half; yes, there was another that showed her throat had been cut. It never took from her beauty though. Not like she thought it did.

  It was making her become ugly though, and he planned on making sure that did not happen. That was why he did what he did.

  When he looked up from lifting and saw the way she was looking at him, he got the biggest hard on he had had in a while. It was a blue veiner and he knew he was going to have to get rid of it. What better way? His testosterone was high from the workout. And her in that sports bra and shorts? What man in his right mind could resist?

  She responded to his dominance like a child starved for candy. The rougher he got, the wetter she became. He made a mistake though, which was why he left her before he could get off. No condom and that was a serious no-no in his eyes.

  Apollo walking out on her with not speaking also sent a message that he was going to continue using the gym, with or without her permission.

  “Please, please tell me you didn’t open that,” a feminine voice begged from his doorway.

  * * * *

  Thorne had just got off duty and planned to go home and work out. She had been deliciously sore all day. Dalton taking her like he did was beyond exciting. He had made her feel alive and wanted. Christ, she was damp just reliving the previous night.

  She tried to use her work as a distraction, not that it did any good. Once she was done with a call, or driving, her mind wandered back to the memories that she wasn’t so sure she’d forget anytime soon. She had been in a particularly good mood that day, even Saber noticing the difference in her attitude by the little comments he made to her. He was lucky he didn’t mention Dalton, or who knows what she might have done.

  All of it came to a screeching halt though when she happened to glance into the rearview mirror to check on Saber and their newest car accident victim. She made the mistake and caught a glimpse at her face. Her positive attitude was immediately flushed down the toilet.

  The damn scars were a constant reminder of the loss she incurred with her sister and a life she had desperately dreamed of having. She knew it wasn
’t Saber’s fault that a member of their little patty-cake club went psycho and wanted to kill everyone, that she was merely an innocent bystander in the vicious cycle of life. Just like Maggie had been. Why did her sister have to die on the back of the bike with Demon? Why couldn’t he have been the only one who kicked the bucket?

  Once she was home, she could hear Dalton in his room moving around as she got ready to hit the gym. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach as Thorne debated silently about whether or not to see if he wanted to work out with her. She wasn’t so sure she would be able to even pay attention to lifting weights. He was a distraction. Always had been when she had seen him in the gym.

  May as well invite the ass.

  She made her way toward his room, busily putting her hair up into a ponytail, when she was hit by a piece of her past that was so private, she had locked it up in her garage away from herself and her broken heart.

  She could feel the heat of anger rising quickly to the surface. Her face grew hot and her vision blurred as her brain tried to deny what she was seeing before her. Thorne couldn’t even find her voice as the emotions ripped through her when she saw Dalton holding the one precious gift from Maggie that she had cherished since she was fifteen years old.

  It had been the day of her Quinceanera, a celebration of her rites of passage from being a child into young adulthood. It was an all-day event and celebration for the Latin community. Every member of the family, along with their friends and godparents were invited to witness the spectacular event. It started out bright and early in the morning, with a Misa de accion de gracias, or mass to give thanks for a completed childhood, where she was dressed in an elaborate pale pink formal dress that could be misconstrued as a wedding dress. She was presented with gifts as she sat in the front pew with her damas and chambelanes, young ladies and gentlemen that were close friends.