This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Female Model: Faith Frisco
Photographer: Pamela Nicole
Makeup Artist: Linda Wagner
Previously published under another pen name in 2014
Fractured (Devil’s SixGuns MC Series, Book 2)
Copyright 2019, Scarlett Holloway
Thank you Faith Frisco for being such an amazing and beautiful person to grace my cover and making it even more beautiful.
Just Write Creations! Wow, you seriously rock my socks when it comes to your designs and the ability to take an author’s dream and manifest it into a beautiful cover. <3
My readers – I can’t say thank you enough. YOU are the reason I continue to write. Your encouragement is forever helpful and I am grateful for each and every one of you.
Fractured is dedicated to all the hopeless romantics who know that true love exists in all forms through the ages, even as the last petal falls.
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
EPILOGUE
ABOUT
HOW LONG HAD IT been since the shit went down?
Seven long damn months.
Alan “Stone” James’ death went down in the history of the MC world as one of the biggest sacrifices any man had ever made to the brotherhood. Every Devil’s SixGuns brother wore a patch on the right side of their cut, displaying proudly their love for Stone, right under the black and gold diamond that spoke volumes.
And you thought that was bad? The funeral was epic.
Romeo lost count of the bikes that rolled behind him and his Ultra with the casket in tow. Hundreds of bikes thundered down Betteravia Road in beautiful Santa Maria, California. Cars pulled over to show respect to the fallen. The local police department escorted the funeral procession, blocking off Stowell Road for six blocks in every direction—a large enough area for the bikes to rest their kickstands and the crowds to make their way to the grave site.
There were no colors that day. It did not matter what cut you wore, you were blood in spirit. The only club that did not show was the black and green. Tremer Gallo. There would have been blood spilled that day if any member had shown. Other rival clubs put aside their differences to mourn a man who was the precedent for California MC life.
There was not a dry eye during the service. The California Originals sat together, their thirteen original cuts worn to bare threads, stained, bloodied, dirt packed, and displayed with pride. Once the Motorcycle Ministry was done, Romeo watched as each one of the original thirteen rose and walked over to the coffin and unhooked a specific pin off of his cut: white wings. With a fist, each brother hammered the pin into the top of the coffin, then reached over to the small table beside the gravesite and poured two shot glasses full of Stone’s favorite tequila: one to drink, the other to pour into the dug grave. A last drink with the fallen brother.
Coherent thought was impossible through the wake. Everyone stopped to give Romeo condolences at the loss of such a great man, knowing that he would follow in his old man’s footsteps and lead the club to greatness.
One could only hope.
It was hard knowing Stone was alive, safely locked away in some other state while Romeo sat there lying about it all. What killed him the most was watching his sister barely function because she thought the man she was in love with—along with her father and best friend—was dead. He knew that Colt was alive and Stone was on his way to a cushy new life where he could start over. Not telling Amy while she lived like a zombie was a punishment he could barely stand.
Maggie’s funeral was what sent him into the pits of despair.
Romeo just wanted to die. He had plenty of chances to step in and get Diablo off Maggie’s back, to stake claim on her, but he was too much of a pussy to man up and say something. She was one of his sister’s friends, a little girl who bugged the ever living shit out of him, always watching him with large brown eyes but never saying a thing.
Maggie was that girl next door that no one paid much attention to. Why bother? She was thick, tomboyish, and…Romeo had fallen in love with her.
He wasn’t sure when it happened, but it hit him in the balls at the funeral. He couldn’t function; thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess that sloshed around in his head. At times, he even found it hard to breathe. Air became non-existent as they lowered her coffin into the ground; it took everything he had to keep it together. Tears stung his eyes as he struggled to keep from clawing at his chest, his clothing suddenly constricting.
He knew Amy didn’t understand his need to move back into the ranch house, but he had to be alone. He couldn’t watch her suffer the loss of three people in her life as he battled his own depression over his stupidity and need to mourn a woman he never gave a second glance.
The day of Sam Dean’s funeral was the worst. There was a knock on the door and every fiber in his body screamed at him not to open it. Ignoring the warning bells playing pin ball in his head, he opened the door.
Bad, bad idea.
A registered letter from a ghost: Maggie.
Feeling like he was sucker punched in the balls, Romeo grabbed a bottle of Fireball and sat down in the living room, staring at the letter, a war raging inside of him. Should he open it? Burn it? Give it to Amy and let her deal with it? Yeah, what a fucking ass he’d be if he did that.
He drank directly from the bottle, letting the cinnamon whiskey calm his nerves, and listened to the angel and demon arguing their sides of the rights and wrongs of reading whatever that letter held.
The fucking angel won.
Romeo snatched the letter from the table top, ripping the cardboard envelope open, then tossed it aside and stared at the familiar scrawling cursive that was all Maggie.
For a moment, his eyes blurred as he read his name on the heavy paper that came from Amy’s shop.
Romeo,
If you’re reading this letter, then I am and will be just a memory in everyone’s mind. I wish there had been a different outcome of the events, but I guess you can’t win them all.
I know you’re probably wondering why you are holding this letter in your hand, more than likely growing more pissed by the moment, but there are some things that you need to know.
First and foremost, you were always the one. I know that might be something you don’t want to hear, or give a shit about, but I have to say it, and make you understand why I did the things I did.
I love you.
I have
loved you for as long as I can remember.
I know you won’t believe me because of Diablo, but after that night you never looked at me again. I know we were young and drunk, and it was a onetime thing, but it meant everything to me. I am reminded every day of how you made me feel, and for that single moment, you made me feel like someone truly wanted me. When my parents sent me away for that year, I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest, but I know they just wanted what was best for me, and they thought my aunt could handle me.
Diablo could never compare to you, he could never take the place in my heart that solely belongs to you. But we both know that he didn’t want to. I guess I was just reaching out for someone so I wouldn’t be lonely. Maybe a part of me was trying to make you jealous, to notice me again.
Diablo has invited me to his house tonight, and I have a feeling I know what he wants. He’s been pressuring me to give him information about the club. I guess he thinks that Amy tells me things. He’s even tried grilling me about you and Stone.
If I don’t give him whatever it is he wants, I don’t think I’m going to make it out alive. So, this is my good-bye. I will not give him any information about you or the family. I could never betray you, or the family for that matter.
Please take care of the girls. They’re going to need you more than ever now. Ti amare en la vida y en la Muerte.
Maggie
Romeo was shaking by the time he finished the letter. Unable to focus, he picked up the liquor bottle and threw it against the wall with every ounce of strength he had, never flinching as the glass shattered into tiny fragments, just like his heart, over and over again.
Maggie had unselfishly sacrificed herself to save Stone, him, and the club. He felt like a total fucking asshole, like a man whose soul had just been torn out of his body by death itself.
Seven excruciating months later, his heart had not yet mended. He wasn’t sure if it ever would. Romeo was an ass, a man-whore, and he openly admitted it. But one thing he couldn’t live with was hurting someone unintentionally. He had all but ruined Maggie.
At least his life was the one in the pits. Sam Dean was dead and left Amy everything in his will, and Colt was resurfacing to claim Amy as his own. The only ones in the club who knew the real story behind it all were Saber, Wolf, Colt, and Romeo.
Wolf had to be let in on it since he was the vice president and he was Colt’s “cousin”. In order to keep up the ruse, he had to know everything. Saber knew about the ordeal because he was on the same helicopter when they airlifted the ATF agent to the Santa Barbara hospital where his real identity came out. Romeo almost couldn’t keep the beast at bay when Saber exploded in the waiting room, but when everything was explained, he saw the light.
They were now moving on with their lives, Romeo as president, Wolf as vice president. Talon remained secretary, Saber sergeant at arms, and Colt road captain. Dalton was voted in as a fully patched member, alongside Axe and Hawkeye. Now, they had two more prospects and a couple of hang-arounds, the club growing just like Stone would have wanted.
Hell, even the other chapters, Reno, N’Awlins, and Mississippi, were growing. Everything was quiet for now.
Almost too quiet.
One couldn’t help but wonder when the last shoe was going to drop.
REALLY?
Jail?
Saber was going to kick his ass.
Who do you call? Definitely not the Ghostbusters in this case. Especially when you’re in jail for some trumped-up charge of sexual voyeurism.
Dalton “Apollo” Kilpatrick, baby brother to Johnny “Saber” Kilpatrick, was pacing his tiny so-called “jail cell” patiently—alright, who are we kidding? impatiently—waiting for his one phone call. There was only one problem. He wasn’t sure who the fuck to call.
Call Saber? Get your ass kicked.
Call Romeo? Get your ass kicked.
Call Mom? Get the guilt trip, and then get your ass kicked by your older brother.
That left only one person: Colt. At least he was the club’s personal bail bondsman. After Colt was shot and went through his recovery, he got his license for bounty hunting and bondsman. It had come in quite handy as of late.
Six-foot-five frame paused mid-stride to glance at the clock on the wall. Two in the fucking morning. No wonder his face felt like sandpaper. Meaty hands rose up to rub over whiskered cheeks; near-violet eyes watered as he yawned then stretched.
“Fuck me running,” Apollo growled under his breath.
Fingers curled around the cool steel bars that imprisoned him, his sigh was slow to release, though it was followed by a bellow. “When the fuck do I get my one phone call?”
Earlier that day—oh, about ten hours ago—he was taking pictures out at Pirates Cove, a nude beach in Avila. Not that big of a deal. He was a damn photographer. He had won several awards for his pictures and was recruited by top agencies in the nation, but he chose to remain freelance, liking the fact that he worked for himself.
As of late, he had been doing landscapes, and Pirates Cove had beautiful scenery—and no, he wasn’t focusing on the nude kind. But someone obviously thought he was.
He was gazing through the lens of his Canon AE-1, about to get a great shot of a seagull swooping down upon an otter, but before he realized what had happened, he was kissing the trunk of a black and white.
And when he looked back to see exactly who grabbed him and was slapping handcuffs one him? Yeah, knuckles met jaw, snapping his head to the side. Now add a bogus charge of assaulting an officer to the list, and he was looking at a felony and serious jail time.
Total. Bullshit.
Oh yeah…and since it happened behind the cruiser, it wasn’t caught on tape. It was his word against the cop’s, and as we learned in Waco, they always believe the cops.
Grinding his teeth, Apollo felt his blood pressure rise at the memory of the day. When he got sucker punched, his camera fell to the hard packed ground, cracking the lens and breaking open the film carriage. It would cost him thousands to get a used box; they didn’t make the AE-1’s any more.
Feeling the anger seeping back into his system, he rolled his shoulders back and yelled louder. “If you’re going to fuck me, at least give me the proper courtesy of a reach around!”
“Shut the fuck up, Kilpatrick,” a voice growled as a shadowed figure moved into view.
The deputy was someone from his past, a high school memory that he’d rather forget. Apollo was second string in football, and when Walker was hurt, Apollo was thrown in the game. The coach never put Walker back in.
“Oh, look, it’s Deputy Barney Fife to the rescue. No wonder I haven’t got my phone call yet. Don’t they teach you anything in the academy?”
Walker slid out his ASP and swung at the metal bars. “What was that? Did you just threaten me?”
Apollo’s fist clenched as he rolled his shoulders back. The prick was about to slap another charge on him. At this rate, he was going to spend his complete adult life behind bars.
Sardonic smirk crested thin lips allowing Walker to bare his teeth. “That’s what I thought.”
“Exactly what did you think, Deputy Walker?”
Both men went rigid at the gruff voice that spoke from the entry way to the holding cells room. An older balding gentleman stepped deeper into the room, the air of superiority thick around him. Apollo’s left brow quirked up in silent question.
“Sir.” Walker cleared his throat as he backed away from Dalton, trying to slide the ASP from view. “I was just telling Mr. Kilpatrick that I thought he’d want to make his one phone call.”
“And why has it taken eight hours for him to get to make that call?”
Trying not to smile at the ass reaming Walker was about to receive, Apollo shifted his weight, then crossed his arms over his chest and cocked head to the side. Couldn’t happen to a better fucktard.
“We’ve been busy, sir. Haven’t been able to get to him yet. Had to break up a few parties, and had a chase.” Walke
r rocked back on his heels as he spoke to the man who was obviously in charge.
The older man nodded and motioned toward Apollo. “Get him on the phone. It’s Friday night; we’ll need these cells for the DUIs and real criminals.”
Apollo smirked as he watched the man turn and walk away from them. “Yeah, Walker, you heard the man. Real criminals, not one who was just taking pictures.”
Walker glowered at him, snarling low. “Pictures of nude women, and without their permission.”
Apollo opened his mouth to smart off to Walker, but thought better of it, considering it could be used against him, and all that bullshit. Shaking his blond head instead, he cleared his throat and looked away from the deputy.
“That’s what I thought, piece of perverted shit. Think those damn colors can protect you? You thought wrong.” Keys jangled as Walker unlocked the cell door and banged it open. He stepped aside to allow Apollo to pass by.
Pinching his lips together, Apollo almost gave pause mid-stride as he stalked past Walker. He had accepted the patches two months ago, which meant the prick had been watching him for a while. That bothered him, and he made a mental note to tell Romeo that the local fuzz had an eye on them again.
After coming to a stop at the phone on the cement wall, he lifted the receiver from the hook and dialed Colt’s cell. He knew an ass chewing was coming, but right now he didn’t give a fuck.
Trying to roll the tension out from his shoulders, his near-violet eyes quickly glanced around the small room as Colt’s familiar voice came across the wire.
“Jail, at this hour? If you were drinking on two wheels, not only will I kick your ass after I bail you out, but so will Saber. Which brother do I have here?”
“It’s Dalton, man.” A large sigh erupted as his hand rose up and rubbed across his face, trying to push the unnamed emotions back where they belonged.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Colt growled through the phone.
“Dude, it’s not like that. No drinking and driving. I need you here like ten minutes ago.”
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