Scar
Asphalt Gods’ MC
Morgan Jane Mitchell
Scar, Asphalt Gods’ MC by Morgan Jane Mitchell
Copyright © 2014 Morgan Jane Mitchell
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, Morgan Jane Mitchell.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, business, organizations or locales is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.
First published in Bad Boys of Romance – A Biker Anthology September 2014
http://www.themorganjane.com
Contents
Scar, Asphalt Gods’ MC by Morgan Jane Mitchell
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Leave a Scar
Guilty
I Want To Kill You Like They Do In The Movies
Bonfire Heart
A Friend of the Devil
Wish
Seven Sunsets, Asphalt Gods MC (#2)
About the Author
More from Morgan Jane Mitchell
If you loved Scar, check out:
Note From the Author
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the wonderfully talented authors of Bad Boys of Romance – A Biker Anthology, Kasey Millstead, Nina Levine, Abigail Lee, Vicki Green, Shantel Tessier, Casey Peeler, Dee Avila and Rebecca Brooke. I would have never published this story without you all. You broke my biker book cherry!
Thanks to Glenna Maynard for beta, proofreading and consulting.
Dedication
Even though there are plenty of humans in my life, this story is dedicated to the best dog in the world, Miss Penni Lane.
Leave a Scar
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but that’s bullshit. What doesn’t kill you leaves a scar. More than the eyesore down my torso, I was a scar, the jagged, fucked up remains of a tragedy. Out of every bar in every town, she had to walk into mine. The quote’s something like that, and that’s how this story would’ve started if it were an old movie, but it wasn’t. This was my fucked up life. I’d been through hell and back and I’d survived, paying the price, but tonight I met the woman who’d be the death of me. One minute I filled the beer cooler and the next she sat at my bar, even if it would only be my bar for another day.
Beautiful with golden blonde hair down to the crack of her ass, she slammed her tiny, jeweled purse on the bar, causing me to cringe. Despite my own plans, I’d grown attached to the place and found myself tenderly buffing the wood. I slapped on my bartender face. “What can I get for you this fine evening, Miss?”
Pouty lips, positioned over two perfect tan globes, peeking out over the plunging neckline of her snug blouse, opened and breathed, “Five shots of bourbon, Jim Beam.” She placed her gold credit card in front of me.
My eyebrows raised for a moment before I laid out five shot glasses and filled them. Back home, the request wouldn’t have surprised me at all. Even here, in this tourist trap of a beach town, I’d expect the order from a gaggle of barely legal girls during spring break but not from a woman so refined.
Her coral polished nails wrapped around the first glass. Stretching her delicate neck, she leaned her head back, lifting the glass to her mouth and pouring until the bourbon disappeared. Lips puckering, her face twisted as her neck snapped straight, confirming my suspicions. She wasn’t a hard drinker.
When our eyes met, I took the opportunity to speak. I cleared my throat. “May I make a suggestion?”
“What?” She hissed, clearly frustrated.
“Something to go down easier, a cocktail, a couple of rattlesnakes, something tastier?”
Ignoring me, she downed the next, trying real hard to keep the distain off her face.
“A chaser at least?”
This time she nodded as she exhaled, recovering from the burn. I grabbed a frosty mug and pulled the handle on one of our local draft beers. Her face relaxed and she smiled as she took a sip, so I turned away, finally swiping her card. Emery S. Jenkins, it read.
Laying her card back in front of her with a smile of my own, I dried a glass. “Emery, what’s a pretty lady like yourself doing all alone this evening?” Evening was a stretch, it was one a.m., and I’d close down at two.
Her face grew serious for a second, forlorn and anguished before she artificially brightened. “Just trying to end a bad… day.” Emery whipped her neck around like she was searching for someone before she threw back her third shot. The uneven smile widened on her face, and I could tell her head was swimming. She was a lightweight alright. Drumming her fingers on the bar, she glanced over her shoulder again.
“Waiting for someone?”
“No,” she spoke quickly.
The off-season loomed over Daytona Beach, and only local scum and dedicated alcoholics lingered around the bar. I knew them all by name, knew when they’d leave, how much they’d tip and when they’d be back. Emery presented a puzzle, her mere presence an unwelcome distraction. Was she a friend or foe? Was she just a hottie down on her luck?
Examining her body, what I could see of it in this light, I admired her tiny waist, giving way to thick thighs. Her jeans were expensive and her heels high. If I was lucky, she came here to forget about a man who broke her heart. I had just enough time to help her forget before I had matters of my own to attend. The thought of relieving some stress between Emery’s thighs sprang my johnson to life, and I adjusted myself under the bar. “Let me guess? Who’s the jerk?”
“My husband, the fucker.” Her fourth shot was gone.
I glanced at her hand. There was no ring. Grabbing her petite fingers, I felt the indention around her bare ring finger. She didn’t yank her hand away. Her eyes met mine, deep brown eyes I finally noticed, but they didn’t cast off the desire she read in mine. Her chest heaved like she was mulling over the possibility herself. Downing half the beer next, her eyes twinkled as she finally swept them over all of me. Yes, I was a hunk of a man, I’d been told. Natural wavy, sandy locks swept back on my head and just enough manly stubble on my chin to drive the ladies wild was nothing compared to my rock hard, bulging six foot two body. Women had sworn they’d seen me on the cover of GQ, but it’d never be me. I didn’t take my shirt off often. Tonight I wore long sleeves to hide my many tattoos.
Not to mention, flattery would get them nowhere. During my time as owner of Shark Baits, I had to keep it in my pants. I’d made it this far, had three days to go and was jonesing for an early reward. Pouring a shot for myself and enjoying the burn in my throat, I remembered the General always said my impatience would dig me an early grave, but fuck, Emery looked like one hell of a reward.
I rubbed my thumb over her hand. “Some men just don’t know how to treat a lady.”
“Excuse me.” She let go of my hand with a jerk and walked to the back. I followed her, clasping her hand again, turning her around before she could reach the bathroom. Before I could question it, my lips crashed onto hers. I palmed the back of her head while I nibbled, encouraging her to part her lips. Soon her tongue melded with mine as I pressed my body to her, my cock against her. Like butter, she melted into my hold. Still holding her hand, I ran it down my torso, down to the bulge in my pants. Breaking our kiss, I whispered, “Let me make you feel better, if just for tonight.” Emery responded, stroking my throbbing erection up and down. Sticki
ng my tongue in her ear, I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her ass.
Emery lurched away before my hands could explore more of her.
“Forget that asshole,” I stressed.
Her words slurred, as she shook her head and broke down. “He left me, and I’m the big idiot. I reported him missing and everything. I was worried sick.” She clutched her stomach and excused herself to the ladies’ room, hesitating for a minute. “It’s the clam not the shrimp.” I pointed to the ambiguous gender sign to let her know which door to enter. A little puke wouldn’t bother me none. Strolling back to the bar, I’d pour myself a congratulatory shot. Emery was a sure thing. She’d never make it out of here without my help. I’d help her all the way to my bed. Eager, I began wiping up the bar and settling all the tabs I could while she was gone. “We’re closing up, Joe.” I patted the old man’s back, handing him a paper bag. He could take his beer with him for all I cared. “Celia sugar, go on home.” I didn’t have to tell the one barmaid left to leave twice. She was out the door in the next five minutes, along with the last guest. I locked the big double doors behind them, but Emery wasn’t back. Her purse and untouched fifth and final shot still sat on the bar, so I knew she didn’t get away while I was cleaning up. I lit a cigarette and waited, imagining forgetting the bed in my dingy hotel room and just fucking Emery right here in the bar on the pool table. Fuck, if she took too much longer I could just surprise her in the ladies’ room while her pants were already down.
My cigarette dangled from my lips, half-finished as the thought hit me. Fuck! She could be passed out in the bathroom. Hell, I knew I could be having sex with a very inebriated woman but I didn’t need a lawsuit. Entering the little clam’s room slowly, I wasn’t surprised when I saw her sprawled out on the floor face first, her blonde hair circling her. “Shit.” It looked like I wouldn’t be getting my dick wet after all. Squatting down, I turned her over. “Emery,” I tried loudly, patting her cheek, noticing I’d streaked red across her face. Red… I studied my hand. Covered in her blood, my hand must had landed in it at some point. I jumped back the same instant, realizing she’d been lying in a puddle of her own blood. My stomach twisted, not because of the blood but because of the flashes, the memories, vivid and clear as the day they were made. Closing my eyes, I tried not to remember. “Fuck!” I breathed in deep, trying to snap out of it. I checked her pulse. She had one. Searching her body frantically for a wound, I found her right wrist slit, dripping blood. How could this happen? I thought briefly before spotting the small nail scissors on the floor beside her. Hunching down, I searched for feet under the stalls and considered the untouched window over the sink leading to the alley before I realized the obvious. Taking off my shirt, I ripped until I produced a long strip, tying and tightening it around her wrist to stop the bleeding before leaving her to go call 911.
Wiping my bloody hands on my jeans, I stopped dead in my tracks on the way to the phone. There was no way in hell I could call the cops. I couldn’t afford the exposure. To be in the paper right now would ruin my plans. To be questioned by the police, could ruin my life. She’s breathing, I assured myself and instead of grabbing the phone, I seized the first aid kit from under the bar, a bottle of our highest proof whisky and opened the store safe for my own bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed back to try to save Emery. I’d have to save her or dispose of her dead body. Needless to say, my woody was gone.
Guilty
Opening the door to my hotel room, I found Emery just were I’d left her this morning. She breathed steadily, her chest rising and falling. Clean and sutured up, she looked just as beautiful as when she walked into the bar. I sat on the bed beside her and caressed her wrist, studying my handy work, thinking about how my life might have been different if I hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could I have been a surgeon or something else, someone who could meet a woman like Emery and really make her forget about her husband, make a life with her? Who knows what possibilities my life could have held before Satan found me. No, I wasn’t possessed by the devil but his sons had ruined any hope I’d had of a normal life.
Just like me, Emery was now in the wrong place at the wrong time. The difference between her and I was she’d wanted to die. I’d never wanted to die. She needed to wake up and get the hell out of my life or she might just get her wish, I thought sourly. Her eyes fluttered awkwardly, and suddenly I knew she’d been playing possum. My head snapped around, taking in the food I’d left her on the table, gone, and then more importantly to my bag, the one I took from the bar’s safe so I could sew up her wrist. It lay open at the bottom of the bed, spilling out all of its contents. I snatched her upper arms so she couldn’t get away. “Snooping bitch. Thanks I get for saving your life.”
Her eyes flew open. “Who the fuck said I wanted to be saved you fucking idiot. I slit my wrist, I wanted to die,” she spewed hatefully before she started to cry.
Pulling the covers off her with a jerk, I found she was just as naked as I’d left her after I’d washed and trashed her bloody clothes. Last night, I’d dunked her in the tub and cleaned all the blood out of her hair and from under her nails and everywhere else. “If you wanted to die, why do you keep failing at it?” Tiny, slender cuts like the one she put in her wrist covered her body. She yanked the sheet back up, hiding herself. Clutching her wrist, I turned it over, showing her what she’d done. “You’re doing it all wrong if you really want to die. You need to go vertical rather than horizontal. You’re just scarring up your body, not going deep enough.”
“Then you do it. Kill me. I’ll pay you.”
“What?” This bitch was crazy. I stood, backing away from her and began piling my shit back in my bag. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”
“You’re a hired gun, of some sort. Guns, a silencer, lots of cash. A paper trail.”
I glared at her.
“In your bag. You’re following someone, a Mr. Amun, planning something. And you didn’t call me an ambulance. Plus your vest says Nomad, I looked it up, means you’re an enforcer for one of those outlaw motorcycle gangs.”
“Motherfucker!” Scanning the room, I found a white smartphone plugged into the wall beside her open purse. I threw it to the ground and destroyed it with one stomp of my boot. Those things were a hazard. Sure, you could get the best deal on a cheap hotel room in the blink of an eye but you could also be tracked a little too easy for my taste. I shoved my cut and everything else back into my bag, zipping it up tight. Emery could blow my cover. Inhaling to calm down, I finally asked. “Who’d you call?”
“No one. Don’t worry. I don’t want to be found.”
“No, you don’t worry. No one’s going to find you,” I warned in my meanest tone.
She didn’t back down but jutted out her chin. “So, I’m right. You’re a killer. I have money if that’s what you’re looking for. Lots of money.”
Shaking my head as my hands balled into fists, I stepped toward her. First of all, this bitch went through my shit. She’s right about me. I am a killer, and I should kill her right now but it’s not that simple. I don’t even know her. I’m not as dumb as some other thugs or even as dumb as some of my brothers. She could be somebody. She’s white and she’s not poor. That’s enough for me to fry. Besides, it was a shameful fact, I’ve never been able to kill a woman. I closed my eyes trying to stop the haunting memory from resurfacing. I blocked out the black, long hair, dripping with blood, the scream and the silence that followed it.
“If you don’t help me, I’ll go to the cops. Tell them about your plans to off this Amun guy.”
Tightening my fist before I relaxed it, I slapped her square in her proud jaw. Spitting blood, she howled, cradling her chin. Emery cowed before me, shocked. I laughed. I was being nice; I should have whooped her up one side and down the other. Women outside of the club were all the same, all surprised and shit when you backhanded them. They never knew what they were getting into fooling with the likes of me, thin
king I was a normal man, a good man. Deep down, they always thought I was a good man, but they were dead wrong. “Really, you want to die? I don’t think you could take the pain, honey.”
Emery wiped at her bloody lip and the tears forming in her eyes again. “That’s why I want to hire you. I want it to be quick and painless, and I don’t want to know when it’s coming. I just want it to be… successful. Fifty thousand, it’s all I have and it’s all yours.”
It was as if she could see into my mind and knew exactly how much more I needed. With the help of the Miami Mutherfukers, I’d taken over Bob’s Shark Bait Bar as Johnny Stevens. The real Johnny Stevens, a loner, died before his old man died and left him the bar. The Mutherfukers knew that because they’d killed them both. I’d cashed in a favor for intel and got one better. Johnny and I, we’d looked enough alike, so I’d assumed his identity for this gig and no one was the wiser. All this time, I’ve been watching Amun, coming up with my plan. You couldn’t kill someone like him without a plan, and I didn’t plan to leave a trail. Killing Harrow Amun would pay fifty grand. It wasn’t nearly enough for the risk, but I was desperate. Besides, I owed Shirley a favor. Amun was a son of a bitch, small potatoes mob boss who pissed off the wrong woman. Shirley was too smart to kill him herself and bring heat onto her own. He deserved to die and the world would thank me for it, but after all that, I’d still need another fifty grand to pay off the Sons of Satan.
A hundred grand and the SOS would finally give in. I’d tried everything else, lost brothers fighting and burned too many bridges to count. A Nomad, one of the most distinguished titles in the Asphalt Gods MC, I was nothing but a killer now, dispensed whenever the Gods needed to clean up a mess. Truth was my brothers had grown tired of fighting my battle and didn’t want me around. I always seemed to be the last one picked for anything. I was starting to feel like the God’s little fat kid. Tired of it, I decided to go off on my own. If the General wasn’t my adopted daddy, they’d stripped me long ago. If they knew I made a deal with the devil himself, the President of the Sons of Satan, they’d shred me of my Nomad status right quick, no matter what the General said. He’d skin me of my ink himself and piss on my hide.
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