Fractured (Devil's SixGuns MC Book 2)

by Scarlett Holloway

  Apollo’s head snapped to the side, his body rocked back, but he managed to maintain his position. He slowly turned his head back to face the fucker who just hit him, Apollo moved his jaw back and forth to see if it was broken. “That all you got? You hit like a fucking bitch.”

  Apollo was poking the bear and doing it on purpose. He had to stall long enough for backup to arrive. It was either that or him and Styx were going to take on the whole mother fucking burrito.

  Just fucking great.

  Taser started to circle him, his posse moving to surround him like a pack of hyenas about to attack their prey.

  Apollo’s eyes never left Taser as he moved around him, trying to keep tabs on the others as well. This was going to hurt, but he’d take it like a man. He may get his ass handed to him, but Taser was going to know what hit him by the time Apollo was done with his ass.

  “I thought I smelled fucking grease in here.”

  Apollo let out a sigh of relief when he heard Romeo’s voice split through the tension. He glanced over to his president as Romeo lifted his head to sniff at the air.

  “I thought I fucking told you to keep the garbage out on the street, boy.” Romeo glared at Taser as he spoke to Apollo.

  Apollo grinned like a madman as Taser and his crew froze at hearing Romeo, They turned to face the ten SixGunss that just walked into the club. “I was about to grab Styx and round the bags up and toss them to the street.”

  Talk about relief. Seeing his brothers standing there battle-ready was a sight to behold. Romeo was in the front with Saber and Wolf just behind him. Staggered out behind them were Ghost, Hawkeye, Axe, Zacky-boy, Joker, Ethanol, and Reaper. Not one of the men was under six-foot tall or two-hundred pounds. Add Apollo and Styx to the mix and it was an even fight against the TG.

  “You talk big, having that many men at your back, Romeo.” Taser sneered at him.

  “Is this all this mother fucker’s been doing? Talking you to death?” Romeo ignored Taser, speaking directly to Apollo.

  “Pretty much. He got one good lick in.” Apollo lifted his shoulder and let it drop.

  “Then I think you need to return the favor and get this fucking party started.”

  Apollo needed no more encouragement. Taser was positioned just right, and happened to turn to face Apollo just as he shifted his weight and rolled his shoulder back. When he stepped into Taser, Apollo let every ounce of pent-up aggression loose in that one swing.

  The feeling of his knuckles as they cracked against the center of Taser’s jaw line was almost orgasmic. The force that followed the hit was enough to snap his head to the side. Apollo watched the near-black eyes go blank as Taser pivoted on the balls of his feet, then sank to the floor like a bag of potatoes.

  Seeing their sergeant at arms fall before them sent the rest of the TGMC into motion. There was a wave of movement in one surge, bodies crashing against one another. Between the women screaming and the men shouting, fists swinging and bodies flying, it was sheer chaos in Throttle Boss.

  Apollo only caught glimpses of his brothers in action, holding his own against one of the larger Gallos, but seeing Wolf in action was something he didn’t want to miss. He was poetry in motion, every movement fluid and graceful, like a dance and the dumbass in his way never held a candle to him.

  The rest of the men were battling their own foes, some coming out on top, others finding themselves on the bottom, personal punching bags to the TG. Not one of the SixGunss backed down though. Tenacious as the pit bulls they helped rescue, the SixGunss were not backing down from beating that ass.

  Taser had finally woken up and was heading toward the door, whistling for his brothers to follow. Every one of the men listened, picked their asses up off the floor, detached from whoever they were fighting, and bolted for the doors.

  Even though he was bleeding from nearly every orifice he had, Apollo’s chest rose and fell with each labored, adrenaline-filled breath. Wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t help but laugh as pain knifed through his side.

  “Now that was fun.” Romeo’s voice was laced with sarcasm as he glanced around the club sighing.

  Tables were broken, chairs smashed, the stage splattered with blood. There wasn’t a brother that wasn’t bleeding…well, maybe except for Wolf. Apollo wasn’t sure if that fucker had blood in his veins or pure ice. But he was pretty sure that wasn’t his blood he was sporting.

  “This is probably a dumb question…” Axe cleared his throat with a nod to Star for the wet towel she handed him. “Why the hell did the TG come here of all places? I can see hitting the clubhouse again while we’re getting ready for the party and all, but here?”

  Several of the girls had come out from the back and were tending to the wounded males, the other customers having fled the scene as it began. Styx had called in a favor to the PD to keep them from coming out to see what the commotion was, leaving the club to fend for themselves.

  “Oh my God, Dalton!” Gabby cried out frantically as she ran and jumped onto Apollo, forcing him to grab her for balance before he fell over. “Thank God, you’re safe!”

  Apollo flinched as her hands flew over his face, pseudo worry blanketing her own. “Get the fuck off me.” He thrust Gabby aside; disgust flowed through him as he stared in disbelief at the bitch who had started it all.

  Romeo’s face filled with anger as he stepped forward, his index finger thrust toward Gabby, his voice thick was emotion. “This is why the TG were here. They came to get their president’s daughter and bring her fucking ass home.”

  Gabby’s eyes grew wide as she was tossed aside, followed by the onslaught by Romeo. “My dad doesn’t rule me. I do what I want.”

  Apollo scoffed, throwing his head back laughing. “What a fucking crock of shit, Gabby. That man owns you. He says jump and you ask how high.”

  “Fuck. You.” Gabby spit out.

  “Been there done that, babe. Wouldn’t touch that shit again—even with Romeo’s dick.”

  Romeo snorted and motioned for Zack to take ahold of Gabby. “Get her out of here.”

  Zack nodded and reached out to take her elbow, but she slapped his hand away, snarling at him. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you piece of shit.”

  Romeo shook his head, a soft sigh of frustration given. “I have never hit a woman, Gabrielle. But you are coming very close to being my first. You tell Muerte that Hell is empty because all the devils are here, and we’re coming for him.”

  Gabby recoiled with a frantic glance at Apollo, like he was going to save her.

  “Don’t look at me.” He pointed to the exit. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

  Styx wiped his face with a towel, looking over the terrycloth at her. “Oh, yeah. By the way, you’re fired.”

  “You…you can’t fire me,” Gabby stuttered as she slowly backed away from the men and the women who were advancing on her.

  “He just did, honey.” Star grabbed Gabby by one arm, Cinnamon swept up from the rear to take hold of Gabby by her hair. “Let us show you the way out.”

  “Dalton?” Gabby nearly tripped and fell as the twin’s dragged her to the door, her voice questioning. Then it turned into sheer anger. “You can’t do this!”

  Cinnamon giggled as they tossed her out on her bare ass. “We just did, sweetie. Get over it.”

  “You haven’t seen the last of me!”

  The rest of whatever she was screaming was cut off when the soundproofed door slammed shut, leaving the club to try and pick up what was left of the inside of Throttle Boss.

  THORNE TRIED TO GET into the bathroom to see how the pictures turned out, but the bastard had locked the door. Technically, it was her house, she could kick the door down, but she might ruin equipment or something, and she didn’t want to be held responsible for that.

  So she spent the day cleaning instead. That’s right, cleaning. The house looked livable! She had Stella bring back her plants and place them strategically around
the home, giving it a spa-like feel with the new eggshell-colored furniture that she bought after the spoiled bitch from hell decided to play dodge ball with a brick and her picture window.

  She had finished the job that Dalton had started with opening more shades and allowing light in, dusting and vacuuming. The only thing she couldn’t build the courage to do was to bring the mirrors back in.

  Baby steps.

  She had just changed into her night clothes, a simple pair of boy shorts and a tank top, when she heard Dalton’s Blazer pull up and the door slam. She pulled her hair up into a high pony tail, then padded barefoot to the foyer to greet him, but stopped short when he stepped into the light.

  “Hijo de la chingada!” Thorne’s eyes grew wide as she rushed over as Dalton closed the door.

  He was covered in blood. Everywhere. She had no idea if it was his, but by the bruising on his face and the cut on his forehead that was bleeding like a sieve, she could only assume that at least some of it was.

  “I sure the fuck hope that the other guy looks worse.”

  Dalton grimaced when he laughed at her slight jest. “Yeah, I slapped him so hard that Google won’t even be able to find him.”

  She reached up and gingerly touched his face, feeling for any broken cheek bones or fractured skull, or whatever. “I hope so, because he did a number on your ass. You’re going to need stitches for that cut on your brow.”

  “Really?” Dalton whined and stomped his foot like a child. “Do we have to?”

  Thorne giggled, yes, she actually giggled, and the sound almost frightened her. “Quit being a baby. I’ve got the materials to do it here. And you do realize that you have violated the condition of your stay here, right?”

  “Fuck it, I don’t care,” he grumbled while walking to the kitchen table to sit down.

  “I want to know what happened, Dalton.” Thorne called out as she walked back to her room to grab her medic kit and the lidocaine that she had “acquired” through certain means. “There better be a damn good story behind it for you to throw away your freedom so easily.”

  Luckily enough, she found a couple old towels and a washcloth, which she quickly grabbed then walked back to the kitchen and set the kit on the floor and the towels and lidocaine on the table. She glanced up at the wide-eyed Dalton as she squatted down in front of him, following his gaze to the syringe then back to his paling visage.

  She couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious? All your fucking ink and you’re scared of a tiny needle?”

  “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kick your ass,” Dalton threatened lightly, scooting slightly away from the needle.

  “I have to numb the area I’m going to stitch up, so suck it up, buttercup.” She stood up and set a sterile package on the table.

  “The fuck you say.”

  “I didn’t stutter, Dalton Kilpatrick. Wipe the sand out of your vagina and man up. It’s a couple of sticks to numb it and we’re done.”

  With a shake of his head, Dalton pushed up out of the chair to move to the freezer. Opening it up, he yanked out an ice pack and wrapped it up in one of the towels that she had brought out. Placing it onto his swollen right hand, he cleared his throat. “You have tequila, right?”

  Thorne leaned her hip against the table, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared at him. “You’re breaking out in a sweat. Can’t handle the heat there, big guy?”

  “Fuck you, Lopez.”

  Thorne burst out in deep hearty laughter. “Ohmuhgawd,” her words ran together, unable to breathe from the laughter. “This is unbelievable. Who would have thought you, of all people, were scared of needles.”

  She moved over to her liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Cuervo, and set it on the table. She pointed to the seat that he had recently unoccupied. “Sit down and take it like a man.”

  “No numbing. Just stitch the shit up.” Dalton moved with exceptional slowness to the seat, snatched up the bottle, and opened it rather quickly.

  “That’s going to be more painful than the shot, Dalton.”

  “Don’t give a fuck. That’s what the ‘takillya’ is for. Be like Nike: Just Do It.”

  Thorne shook her head as he guzzled about half the bottle down, his eyes watering as he pounded his chest, trying to breathe from the burning liquor. “Dumb ass,” she muttered to herself as she pulled on sterile gloves then ripped open the package to lay out the forceps and curved needle. She opened another smaller package, and decided on four gage thread. After threading the needle, she pulled her chair closer to him, and straddled his legs.

  “You got some s’plaining to do, Lucy.” With a quirk of her brow, she glanced to him, then picked up a cotton swab with iodine on it. She knew that this was about to hurt, and prayed she was quick enough to move if he decided to swing.

  Thorne tried to dab the swab around the cut to clean the area, biting down on her lower lip as she blotted gently across the open wound.

  “What the fuck!” Dalton yelped, his head jerked back away from her. “Are you trying to hurt me on purpose?”

  “I have to clean the wound before I can stitch it, numb nuts.” She finished cleaning the area, following his movement with ease. “Quit moving around so damn much, or I’ll hog tie you like I have some patients of mine. Now, tell me what the hell happened.”

  Dalton sighed; his hand lifted the bottle once more to take a swig from it. “The TG showed up at the club.”

  Thorne gave pause as she stared at him in disbelief; her eyes searched his slightly out of focus ice-blue eyes. “Do they have a death wish?”

  “They did tonight. They found out Gabby works there and decided to pay a visit.” One shoulder lifted and fell as he continued. “The girls are ready to kill her, but Styx fired her, and the twins physically removed her and threw her out.”

  “Uhuh,” Thorne grunted as she gently felt around the cut, her tongue darting out and sweeping over her lips before she stuck the needle through the skin.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph on a pogo stick!”

  “Don’t you fucking dare move, especially if you want a tiny scar. You don’t need to be looking like me.” She glanced at him from under thick lashes then refocused her attention back to the small stiches, using the forceps to grab the end of the needle and pull it through the skin. Then she tied off a miniscule knot. “That doesn’t explain how you ended up looking like you went rounds with George Foreman.”

  “They rolled in thirteen deep, so we called Romeo and got some back up. I knocked out their sergeant at arms and they didn’t like it too much. It started a brawl. The fucker I tangled with cracked a glass against my head.” He winced and took another drink. “They look a shit-ton worse. Trust me.”

  “Mmm, I bet they do.” She tied off another knot and made another round through the skin. “At least the bitch doesn’t work there anymore. Now maybe you’ll be drama free.”

  Snorting, he nodded then yelped as she stuck him again.

  “Quit moving, I’m not going to tell you again.”

  It took three more stitches and he was patched up. She reached past him, wet the wash cloth and gently wiped it over the now-closed wound. After she threw away the remnants of the impromptu surgery, she sat back down and placed her bare foot on the edge of his seat, between his legs.

  Thorne plucked the bottle from him, nodded, took a drink, then gave it back to him. “Hey, we match now.” She pointed to her facial scar then to his.

  “Not funny, babe. At all.” He frowned and leaned back in his chair, draping his arm on the table as he accepted the bottle back. “How are you dealing with this?”

  “Dealing with what?”

  He motioned to her then to his own face, making a circling gesture. “All of it, the scars, the healing process.”

  Thorne wasn’t so sure she wanted that can of worms opened. It was a sore subject, obviously. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and gave a shrug in response. “Okay, I guess.”

  “That’s
not an answer, Espina.”

  Thorne glared at him for using her real name and pushing on a subject she didn’t think she could talk about. It was going to open up an emotional flood gate she wasn’t sure she could handle. “I’m not sure.” She held up a hand as Dalton looked like he was about to scold her again. “Let me finish.”

  She grabbed the bottle from him once more, took a long swallow, and then gasped as it burned all the way down to her stomach. Thorne wiped her eyes free of the tequila tears and sniffled. “I don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve lost the only thing in my life that I ever dreamed about. That’s a hard pill to swallow. On top of the physical scars, I have mental ones, too. I lost Maggie while still in the hospital, I wasn’t allowed to go to her funeral because of the chance of infection; I had to watch it through a fucking video. The only ties I have to Maggie now are in Amy and Antonia and the shop she worked in.

  “Sure, Hawkeye is my uncle, but he’s not Maggie. He can only do so much. Then, seeing the physical scars every day is a reminder that my modeling career is gone. I feel ugly; I get stared at on a constant basis. I even had a kid scream in his mom’s arms, in fear of the ‘lady with the bad face’ when trying to take care of him.” Thorne lifted her hands and made quotation marks in air at the child’s comment, still holding the bottle.

  Liquid courage.

  After another drink, she passed the bottle back to him. “I know I’m used to being stared at, I got it even when not being the poster child of a science project gone wrong, but it’s different now. People look at me with pity or fear in their eyes. I don’t need that. It fucking hurts.”

  “Stay put.” Dalton got up and pointed his finger at her, swaying where he stood. “Ugh, got up too fast.” He pointed at her again. “I mean it. Stay.”

  “Woof woof?” Both her brows lifted in question. “Got up to fast, my ass. You’re buzzed. I bet you didn’t eat today.”

  “I decided to be like Thorne today and live on protein shakes.”

  “Asshole.” She chuckled and shook her head while she coyly watched him walk away from her.