Scarred Asphalt (11 page)

“C’mon.” He took her hand and led her off the porch onto the
warm sand. “I want some pictures of you on that rock,” he pointed to a rounded
rock that was jutted out of a wading spot, the sun directly behind it. “Then
I’m going to want you in the water, then some on the sand. Okay?”

Her smile was nervous, but Thorne nodded her head, clearing
her throat. “Alright.”

Apollo gave her hand a squeeze before he let her go. “Need
help climbing the rock?”

A single brow arched as she glanced over her bare shoulder
at him. “I usually sit on this rock in the mornings and have my coffee while
watching the tide go out. I got this.”

He should have known.

Apollo watched her move with ease and assuredness as she maneuvered
her way up the rock. Just for the hell of it, he snapped a few shots of her
movement to test out his shutter speed. At least that was what he was telling
himself.

Once she was on the flat part of the surface, he motioned
for her to take a seat. “I want you to extend your legs out, but keep the right
one slightly bent. I want to see the sun through your leg. Rest back on your
elbows and arch your back a touch, angle your head back, but not too much.”

She must have known the exact pose he sought because in a
matter of seconds she was in the position he wanted. He knew with the way the
sun backlit her that she would be nothing more than a soft silhouette against
the stark blue of the sea. The sky had exploded into various colors of pinks
and oranges, almost giving it a dusk feel.

Apollo took several shots from different angles, allowing
her to adjust as she saw fit, noticing that she never once looked directly at
the camera. It was always over his shoulder or down at herself, but never at
the lens.

“Okay, let’s do the water.” He offered her a hand, helping
her down from the rock, catching her in his arm as she stumbled off the last
ledge. “Easy there.”

Looking down at her, his breath was almost stolen by the
vulnerability that lay in her turbulent gaze. Her succulent lips were parted in
a silent breath, so fucking inviting. Apollo couldn’t stop himself. Nor did he
want to. His head dipped, closing the space of a few inches between them,
allowing the barest of touches between their lips. He could feel her breath
catch and the slightest of shivers as her fingers curled into his T-shirt.

He could not stop the huskiness of his voice, making the
longing evident in what he was about to say. “You need to get wet for me,
Thorne.”

Her laugh was throaty and deep as she stepped back from him,
and heat ignited behind the golden eyes. “Just how wet do you want me, Dalton?”

Apollo watched her as she backed up toward the water,
coughing into his hand as he tried to find his voice. Her flirtatious manner
was new and exciting and he wasn’t sure just how far to take it. “Oober goober
wet.”

Thorne burst out laughing as she spun around in the sand and
jogged toward the water as if she had no care in the world.

Chapter Fourteen

Apollo had spent the afternoon locked away in his bathroom
developing the pictures from earlier that day. Being alone was a bad thing
right now. It was taking everything he had not to sit there and rub one out
thinking of how the day’s events transpired.

Once she was in the water, the shoot became playful and
light hearted. The developed pictures revealed a side of Thorne that Dalton had
never seen. Her face radiated happiness and her body language screamed that she
was being nothing more than herself. Her smile was wide and full of laughter
and her eyes spoke volumes of that sassy side he was growing to love.

One of the pictures that stood out was one he had accidently
caught. She had ducked under a wave, and when she came up, she had thrown her
head back, her hair a wild fan with streaks of water following its path. She
looked ethereal, much like a nymph, perhaps even a mermaid coming up for air or
to spy on the sailor that had caught her eye.

His other favorite was one where he had asked her to pose on
the sand. It was the old Demi Moore pose from
Striptease
. One leg
crossed over the other, her foot of the lower leg was tucked just under her
butt cheek. Torso was leaned forward to hide her chest from view, her hand
cradled on the lifted knee. The silken strands of black were caught in a tiny
breeze, floating across the left side of her face, giving her a more mysterious
appeal. From the pose alone, you couldn’t tell if she was nude or not, and the
angle of light against her skin was breathtaking.

Everything had gone perfect today, until she saw the crowd
forming. That was a damper. Thorne had been so fucking carefree, and with the
umbrella lighting and the metal plates he had laid out, since the sun was
moving, the beach crowd was eventually going to notice. Which they did. Then
they came to see what was going on.

What did she expect? She had a banging body, a beautiful
face, and her laughter was infectious. No one who stood there saw the scars she
was so ashamed of. Apollo wished he knew how to get her to see that. This was
something she was going to have to work through all on her own.

Yes, the club could strong-arm an agent to get her modeling
jobs, but what would that accomplish? The feeling of winning all on her
lonesome was what drove her, he had seen it on her face too many times to
mention.

All of it was shut down when she saw the lookie-loos. Thorne
froze up and it was over. Luckily, he got the shots he did.

Apollo took the last picture out of the solution, lightly
shook it off, and hung it up on the clothing wire he had rigged in his bathroom.
Snapping off the red lamp, he flipped on the regular light and stood there
gawking at the pictures. He had not realized how many he had developed.

Apollo was about to call Thorne into the bathroom to show
her, when he heard shattering glass. He was frozen for a millisecond, though it
was the terrified scream that set his feet into motion.

“Thorne!” Half barking, half yelling out her name as he
raced down the hallway in the direction the sound had come from. His heart was
in his throat, the pounding sound deafening as he careened around the corner to
the living room.

It didn’t take long to assess the situation.

The picture window, a double-paned storm window, had been
shattered by a brick that now lay in the midst of the now-broken glass from the
coffee table. Debris covered the couch and floor, with Thorne curled up in a
ball between the table and couch, blanketed in shards of glass.

Sheer panic tore through him, completely stealing his breath
at the very thought that she might be hurt, or worse. The blood that coursed
through his veins turned to ice as he stepped toward her at an unsure, slow
pace.

Dalton Kilpatrick had never felt anything like this in his
entire lifetime. He hadn’t cared enough about anyone, other than his family.
Now, seeing Thorne curled up into a fetal position, not knowing if she was
alive or dead, all but stole the life right out from under him.

He reached down and grabbed the metal railings of the coffee
table and slung it aside as if it were a rag doll, his only thought was to get
to Thorne and make sure she was alright.

When Thorne lifted her head and turned the tear-filled amber
eyes toward him, his heart shattered, though he breathed a sigh of relief. She
was alive. That was all that mattered.

He sank to his knees with no regard for his own safety and
gathered her up into his arms. “Shhhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Thorne nestled into him, with a wrap of her arms around his
neck, burying her face into his chest. “I can’t go through that again,” was
muffled by his shirt as she spoke to him.

No one should ever go through what she did, ever. But to
relive it because some fool threw a brick through a window? Was total and
complete bullshit. Hearing the glass shatter had triggered a form of PTSD in
her, and she trembled in his arms.

Rubbing his whiskered cheek against the top of her head, he
sighed as he glanced around the glass-covered floor. “You don’t need to go
through it again, Thorne. And you won’t. I promise you that.”

Thorne pushed away from him, half scoffing, half laughing as
she wiped at her eyes. “You won’t be around me all the time to play hero,
Dalton. I’m a big girl and shit happens.”

She slammed that wall up as soon as she realized it was
down. He thought he had been making progress.

Two steps forward, ten back.

Go fucking figure.

Women: can’t live with them, sure as fuck can’t shoot them.

Apollo released his hold on her and gently brushed the
shards of glass off of her shoulder. “I’ll get the vacuum and clean this up. Go
shower and try to calm down and relax.”

“Who the fuck would do this?”

He felt her gaze follow him as he rose from the floor to get
the vacuum out of the closet. “I don’t know, but this is what did it.”

Apollo bent over and scooped up the brick and turned it over
in his hand.

…
what the fuck
?

His stomach sank. He knew exactly who threw the rock. Gabby.

Thorne plucked the brick from his hand, leaving him fumbling
to try and grab it before she could read the word brazenly written across it in
what looked like blood.

Punta
.

Thorne grew still as Apollo watched her, trying not to show
the fact he was in full-fledged panic about what she might do when it
registered. He didn’t want to have to stop her from killing Gabby, but he knew
that it would come down to that.

Thorne’s face became unreadable as she dropped the brick,
clearing her throat. Tongue darted out across her lips, then inhaled—opening
her mouth as if she was going to say something, and then thought better of it.
Thorne shook her head then waved her hand in the air, like she was dismissing
what ever thought it was she was having. She left the room without so much as a
kiss my ass
or
fuck you
, or even an
I’ll kill her
.

The silent, pissed-off Thorne scared him more than the
hot-headed in-your-face one. This one felt more lethal and way more
calculating.

The quiet click of her bedroom door shutting was an
explosion in the silence of the living room, putting Apollo into motion.

He picked up his cell and dialed Romeo’s number.

Chapter Fifteen

Everything was FUBARed.

How the fuck was he supposed to keep shit together when the
TG were attacking like they were and half the club was screaming for war, the
other half screaming for retaliation?

Romeo needed thinking space. Sure, he had the whole fucking
ranch to himself, but he needed someone to talk to that wouldn’t talk back.
Someone to just listen and let him vent until his little cold heart was
content.

Just where would that be?

Stone’s grave.

Caged today, he didn’t feel like going around and announcing
to the world just who he was and what he was doing.

Currently, he was sitting with his back against the
gravestone that was gloss black and engraved in white with the back patch of
the club. His name, Alan “Stone” James was centered above his picture, to the
left was his birth date, to the right, his “death” date.

Aviators covered the pale-green eyes from public view,
ripped jeans and a ribbed tank covered by a flannel was his dress code. No need
to scream biker right now.

“Well, old man. I hope you’re having a blast wherever the
fuck you are.” Romeo sighed, rubbing his calloused hand over his bald head, a
frown marring his features. “I have no fucking idea what to do any more or
where the fuck this club is headed. The TG are trying to lay claim on the
territory that we’ve held for over twenty fucking years. First, Demon and his
shit, then losing Mags, lying to Thorne. All of this shit adds up and quick.

“I’m feeling caged in, like I can’t even fucking catch a
breath any more. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. We have a prospect that
is MIA, a brother that is looking at twenty-five to life for a fucking trumped
up charge, Amy is pregnant, Dad. You should have been here for that. If
anything,
that is what matters. You should have been here to see your grandbaby.

“I don’t even know if I’m even doing this shit right. I’m
trying to lead like you, but fuck. I’m not you. I do shit differently. My
initial instinct is war. I want to kill those assholes for everything they’ve
done. You know that shit isn’t over with. Hitting the clubhouse is just the
beginning. We’re sitting here with our fucking dicks in our hands waiting for
the other shoe to drop.”

Romeo pulled up his knees, laid his forearms on his legs,
and allowed his head to drop down in defeat. He was so self-absorbed that he
never heard the footsteps approaching from behind.

“Are we done with the one-man pity party? Cause if not, I’ll
go wait by the truck until your tears dry up and your fucking balls drop.”

Romeo lifted his head to stare out at his best friend and
brother from behind the sunglasses. “Do you ever make a fucking sound when you
walk up on someone?”

“Do I ever?” A single brow rose up, the cold hazel eyes
hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“Point.”

Wolf rocked back on his heels and nodded before he squatted
down in front of Romeo. “You need to pull yourself together, brother.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that, Colin?” Romeo growled
at Wolf with a push to lift himself up from the ground. “I’ve held myself
together this long, but I’m allowed to vent, too.”

“Yeah, you are. But vent to someone who can tell you to keep
your shit straight. Not to a ghost who doesn’t give a fuck.” Wolf jutted out
his hand, index finger pointed to the gravestone. “Wherever that man is, he’s
trying to live a semi-normal life. He’s probably wondering every fucking day
how his family is, what he’s missing out on, what he left behind. Put yourself
in his shoes and think about what the fuck he must be going through. He’s
alone. You’re not.”

Romeo stared down Wolf, who never flinched or looked away.
Bastard. Romeo knew that Wolf was right, Stone had to be going through some
serious shit having to start his life completely over, never seeing his family
again or having any form of contact what so ever. WitSec was a bitch, but Stone
wanted to protect his family.

That had been the only way out.

“Stare at me all the fuck you want. I’m not scared, Zen.
Never have been, never will be. You know I’m right.” Wolf lifted his hand once
more and dragged it through his long wavy strands before it dropped and hooked
his thumb through a belt loop on his jeans. “You might not like what I’m about
to say, but you’re going to fucking listen, and listen good.

“You lost out on a woman who worshipped the ground you
walked on. Maggie was perfect for you and she waited as long as she could while
you stuck your dick in everything that had a slit. And that was before the
night you two hooked up. That shit just sealed the deal. We all lose people we
love. But seriously? Dude, you got to let go. It’s not like you two were in a
relationship. You threw her away, and Demon scooped her up. Count your fucking
losses, lick your fucking wounds, grab your fucking balls, and man the fuck up.

“You sitting here whining about how you lost your
daddy—boo-fucking-hoo. At least you fucking grew up with a dad. You have
memories; you got to spend your birthdays and Christmases with him. I got a mom
who fucking wasted her life on prescriptions and any fucking piece of ass she
could fuck and hope to trap in a marriage. You weren’t a fucking punching bag
to the man who was dumb enough to think your mom’s pussy was gold.

“Dad may have left everything to me, but that shit never
went into effect until I was eighteen. You’ve walked away looking pretty
fucking good. You got the ranch, you have family that loves you and you got the
fucking club. You’re a good president, you listen and you think before you rock
it out with the gut instinct. Plus, you listen to advice and you give a fuck.
Me?” Wolf patted on his cut, then down to his thighs. “Oh wait—” Wolf reached
into his jeans pockets and as he pulled his hands out, he pulled out the pocket
material, too. “Whoops, I don’t have any to give.”

Romeo chuckled and shook his head. He knew everything that
Wolf was saying was true. Perhaps he had felt sorry for himself for too long. Maybe
that was why he felt inadequate being the president of the club. He had lost
himself somewhere along the way.

Not anymore.

He had to man up and get back to the old Romeo, minus the
drugs. The women? No, he loved women too much. The single life was for him. The
incident after Tasha had sealed that deal.

“Whatever, Wolf. You give a fuck or else you wouldn’t have
just given me a king’s speech.”

“Plausible deniability.”

“No worries, I won’t let the boys know you have feel goods.”

“Suck my dick, bro.”

“Nah.” Romeo slapped Wolf on the back, giving him a quick
pat for good measure. “I’ll leave that to the women that fall at your feet.”

“You must be thinking I’m a Hollywood man like Saber. They’d
have to be blind to want this ugly mug, or deal with my ass.”

“Bitch, please.” Romeo snorted as he started the trek back
to the truck, Wolf falling into step beside him. It would take one hell of a
woman to handle Wolf, that was for sure. Most left him within a week or two of
being with him, unable to handle his mysterious trips and the secrecy he lived
by.

“We may have a situation,” Romeo continued. “Muerte’s
daughter is working at Throttle, and she’s Apollo’s ex.”

“Okay and? Just another piece of ass he’s railed.” Wolf
lifted one shoulder and let it fall.

“She threw a brick though Thorne’s window, almost hit
Thorne. They’ve had a run in already, and he’s worried she’ll do something
stupid.”

“She? As in the ex or Thorne? And did they see his ex throw
the brick?”

“No, but the name on the brick was in Spanish and—”

Wolf shook his head and interrupted Romeo. “No ands. No
assumptions. We do this, we do it right. Period.”

Romeo leaned against the door of the truck, glanced toward
the bike that Wolf rode in then back to Wolf. “I can see that. But Thorne is
ready to kill the bitch, and I doubt Apollo will be able to stop her when it
goes down.”

“One less TG in the world then. No skin off our back. If no
one saw the shooter on the knoll, it wasn’t the CIA.”

“Bad analogy, bro.”

“And?”

“And…” Romeo grinned at Wolf with a shake of his head. “And
nothing, I guess. You ready for the party?”

“I guess. I’m ready to see the girl’s.” Wolf bounced his
brows in a suggestive manner.

“And you call me the whore.”