Scarred Asphalt (5 page)

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.

The prolonged anticipation was almost more than she could
take. Thorne could feel his restraint as he held her head back, teeth nipping
at her earlobe, his breath hard against her neck. The very air around them
seemed electrified, her skin crawled with foretaste.

Thorne was left with the feeling of emptiness as he moved
his hand.

That feeling was short-lived. In one unexpected thrust,
Dalton gave her no time for adjustment or a chance to relax before he took her.

Between him burying himself between her thighs, the harsh
bite on her collarbone and his hand coming up and around her throat, Thorne
almost came. She could smell her sex on his hand, feel how slippery he was
inside of her as he gnashed his teeth against the meat of her shoulder.

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.

The mass was a solemn ceremony for Thorne with a baptism
welcoming her into adulthood. Thorne then presented a colorful bouquet of
flowers to the
Virgen de Guadalupe
, where in turn, she would present her
friends and family with gifts of remembrance.

That was when the party began.

Thorne had been upset because Maggie had not given her a
gift and tried her best not to show it. She was a junior model and Elks Rodeo
Princess; she was capable of keeping her feelings hidden, right?

She had waited patiently all night for her sister, who she
had looked up to her whole life, to give her a gift, but it never happened.

Finally in bed, she couldn’t sleep, wondering what she had
done to Maggie for her to wish her such ill will in her journey, to not give
her a present into her new passage of life. A quiet knock on her door drew her
attention, and she jumped out of bed and raced to throw open her door.

It was Maggie and she was holding a beautifully wrapped gift
in her hands. She had apologized for not giving it to her sooner, but she
wanted Thorne to pay special attention to her gift, not have it lost in the
hundreds of other trinkets she had received.

And now Dalton was holding that gift in his hands.

Finally finding her voice, though it sounded strained and
full of pain, she managed to choke out her question to him. “Please, please
tell me you didn’t open that.”

The inflection of her question must have startled him as he
looked up to her, his eyes widened slightly. “No, I didn’t. Why was it hidden
in the garage? It’s beautiful.”

His admission to being in her garage was enough to get her
feet moving. Thorne snatched the box out of his hands and cradled it
protectively against her chest, snarling at him. “Don’t you Kilpatrick boys
ever mind your own fucking business?” That was when she caught her profile out
of her peripheral. “Why the hell is there a mirror in here?”

“Whoa there, Thorne. Chill the fuck out.” Dalton rose up,
his brows furrowing as he settled his crystalline blues on her. “You may be
able to function without a mirror, but I can’t. Besides, that is just a damn
jewelry box. I was just curious why you had it boxed up. Not that big of a
fucking deal.”

Not that big—oh yeah, Romeo was about to get a fucking
earful. This shit was not going to work out.

“Maggie gave me this, and I will never be able to open it
because of your fucked up brotherhood.”

“What the hell are you talking about? The club doesn’t have
shit to do with whatever she gave you.” Dalton’s voice was laced with malice as
he snatched the box back from her, like he was trying to prove a point.

Thorne clenched her fists, allowing her nails to bite into
her palms, giving her a temporary reprieve from the anger that threatened to
boil over. Jaw tensed as she ground her teeth together, her voice taking on a
venomous tone. “She gave me that with specific instructions that I can never
open it until I get on the cover of Sports Illustrated Bathing Suit Edition.
The SixGuns fucked that up and now I’ll never know what is inside.”

Dalton’s head flinched back slightly, his hand coming up to
pull at his earlobe as he frowned. “Uh, you have serious fucking issues if you
think the club did this to you. Demon and the TG did this, not me, not Saber,
not Romeo.
Demon
and his ball-licking fucktards did this to
you
and then killed your sister when he wrecked the fucking bike with her on it.
Don’t take your shit out on me, Thorne.”

Thorne physically blanched at Dalton’s verbal assault, only
hearing the words that constantly haunted her thoughts and nightmares:
Demon
killed her sister. When Dalton stepped toward her and away from the bed, he
carefully tossed the box to the mattress and turned his now hard and flinty
indigo gaze toward her. Thorne nearly folded and conceded to him. Instead, she
squared her shoulders and met his gaze head on, lifting her chin to an angle of
defiance.

“You could open that box any fucking time you wanted to.”
Dalton’s hand jutted out from his side as he thrust his finger in the direction
he tossed the golden box. “Just because you’ve got it in your head that you’re
ugly and can’t do shit and are feeling fucking sorry for yourself, doesn’t mean
your life has ended.”

She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. He had no
right to verbally assault her like he was. He didn’t know what she was going
through, or know what it was like when her world came crashing down around her
and her career was tossed out the window over some feud.

Thorne was about to give him a taste of his own medicine,
but he cut her off again, standing boldly intimidating before her.

“You have a fucking scar. So. The. Fuck. What.” His voice
emphasized each word as he closed the space between them, the veins in his neck
popping out as he narrowed his cold, emotionless gaze at her. “Maybe you need
more dick in you to open your fucking eyes that you’re not ugly. It’s your
fucking attitude that is making you ugly and a bitch.”