Fractured (Devil's SixGuns MC Book 2)

by Scarlett Holloway

  “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 DSMC 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 Colt, 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?”

  Colt 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 SixGuns 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.

  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 SixGunss 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.

  Yelping, she managed to answer him. “Yes! I do.”

  Thorne squirmed against the wall, the rough stucco pattern of it drove her madder as her breasts grew heavy wanting to be touched. She happily obliged. One hand lowered to her right breast, cupped it roughly with a roll of the diamond hard nub between her fingers. That, combined with the rough
handling of Dalton, sent shock waves through her, her hips bucking back against him.

  She was acting like a wanton, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to. Thorne needed this, a free lay, no strings attached. Maybe she wouldn’t get attached, not like he would want to be seen with a monster anyway. He needed a release just as bad as she did, judging by the hard length of him against her lower back.

  Dalton spared no niceties as he removed her shorts. “Spread your legs for me,” he said with quiet emphasis as his fingers dug into her hips.

  The pain was pure pleasure; there was no hesitation to comply with his verbal command. Right leg moved out, the air a welcomed coolness against the heat and damp of her delta. Breast was forgotten as both hands resumed pushing against the wall.

  Thorne could hear the whisper of clothing hitting the mats, her mouth watered in anticipation of what he had in store for her.

  A cry escaped her as his teeth latched onto the flesh at the crook of her neck, biting her harshly. The reprieve was his hand cupping her apex, his middle finger slipping between the soaked slit.

  “Admit you want me,” his voice broke with huskiness, his whiskers rubbing against the bitten area.

  Thorne couldn’t help but wonder what her punishment would be if she refused to admit it. She found out quick enough when he grabbed a handful of hair once more, her head snapped back at a near unnatural angle. His teeth dug into her shoulder blade as his fingernail raked across her most sensitive area.

  Her body kicked back at the assault, driving his finger into her. “Oh!” was all she could muster as he pressed his palm against her hood. As the heel of his hand ground against her, his finger pushed deeper into the warmth of her body.

  Hands slid up the wall, the roughness against her skin was welcomed as her ass thrust back against him. Her hips ground in a circular movement, whimpering for him to insert another finger inside of her, her nub rubbing against the calluses on his hand. The abrasive feel of his warm skin against her caused her to moan in sheer delight.