Scarred Asphalt (2 page)

Apollo chortled, scratching at his whiskers once more. It
had been a while since he had grown out a goatee-slash-beard. Maybe he’d keep
it for a week or so, just for the hell of it. “I don’t mind.”

“Good.” Mace yanked open the door to his truck, looking
pointedly at Apollo. “That’s your peace offering.”

* * * *

Thorne’s life was topsy-turvy. There was no other way to
explain it. She was bitter and distant to everyone around her, not really
caring who she hurt in the process. If she was hurting, so should others,
right?

Thorne wanted to die the moment Antonia and Amy told her
about Maggie’s death—too much to bear on top of Stone and Mace. She and Mags
had been inseparable since their parents were killed, but as of late, with
Maggie being so far up Demon’s ass, Thorne had stayed away from everyone,
throwing herself into her work and her aspirations of modeling.

She knew about the club world from Saber being her partner;
he talked a little bit about the parties and whatnot, but he never delved into
the rules or club business. She was thankful for that, not wanting anything to
do with illegal activities. The less she knew, the better off she was. Thorne
could never understand Maggie’s draw to the life, but tried not to judge her
for it.

Shit, who was she to judge when she was nothing more than a
hermit herself? She was even debating quitting work at this rate. Her hair had
to be pulled up when she was working, policy and all. That displayed the pink,
puckered, jagged scar that traveled down the left side of her face, cutting her
brow and cheek. Oh, and let’s not forget the long scar running across her
jugular.

Bride of fucking Frankenstein that is exactly what she was.
Thorne wanted to wallow in her own sorrow and self-pity, not have others stare
at her like she came from a freak show. That, in itself, was making her even
more bitter.

The first few weeks after her release from the hospital, she
stayed locked up in her house, shades drawn, not answering her door when
visitors came to call. Those days were filled with tears, panic attacks, and
temper tantrums; she was unable to see past the ruin of all of her hopes and
dreams. Thorne wanted desperately to blame Saber, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t
in her to blame anyone other than Demon. He ruined her life. He had stolen her
sister from her, Maggie’s tragic wreck had finalized that loss. If she had
taken that night off to be with the girls, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

She was a workaholic. There was no other way to put it. When
she wasn’t working the ambulance, she was working a modeling shoot.

Not anymore.

Those days were over.

Buh-bye, adios, mutha fucka.

When she had tired of staring at her broken face, when her
brain couldn’t fathom any more emotions and her heart was at its heaviest, she
broke her fist trying to destroy a mirror in her room. After that, all the
mirrors went into the garage, covered up, away from her view.

Out of sight, out of mind.

The drapes remained closed, the windows latched shut, a gun
always stashed under her pillow. She couldn’t help it. The night terrors were
so bad that she woke herself up screaming, drenched in sweat and her own tears.
She wanted someone to lean on, she truly did, but she was nothing more than a
burden in her eyes, and that was not acceptable. Locking herself away fixed
that issue.

Sure Ms. Kilpatrick, Saber and Dalton’s mom came in and
forced herself on Thorne. Okay, not really forced…but it was close enough.
Stella would let herself in when Thorne was at work and fling open the drapes,
open the windows, and clean her house. When Thorne got home, she’d find her
fridge and freezer full of ready-made meals for two weeks. She loved Stella and
how she tried to help her, but at times it really got on her nerves. She wasn’t
ungrateful by any means, but sometimes it just felt like they all thought she
couldn’t take care of herself.

Well, maybe she couldn’t. She hadn’t really even mourned the
loss of her family. Sure, the funeral for Maggie was beautiful, and more people
than she knew were there, but watching Romeo pissed her the fuck off. She
wasn’t dumb. She knew the look.

The funeral wasn’t about him, it was about Maggie. No one
else caught it but her, she was sure of it. Yes, she understood that he loved
Maggie and was mourning her—just as much, if not more, in his own way, than
Thorne—but Maggie was her blood, and blood was thicker than water.

Day-to-day life was a routine: get up, work out, go to work.
Twenty-four on, seventy-two off was the usual shift, but of late, it was the
normal Panama schedule. Her routine was get up, work out, go to work, be a
bitch, go home, work out, go to bed. Repeat.

She had no complaints.

Until now.

She had just finished with leg day, and was rubbing ointment
on her calves to keep them from cramping when her phone rang. She ignored the
cell earlier, after seeing it was Romeo. He called seven damn times during her
work out. She had made a mental note to get a stereo system installed in her
home gym and not to use her phone any more. It was seriously distracting when a
call came through.

Now, her house phone was ringing off the hook.

After yanking it up off of its base, she hit the talk
button. “What?”

“Don’t hang up, Thor—”

Too late. The moment she hurt Romeo’s voice, she hit the
little red button and disconnected his voice from her world. Too bad he
couldn’t take a hint. The phone rang again.

To ignore or not to ignore. That was the question.

Sigh.

She hit talk again and put the phone to her ear, but didn’t
say a word.

“Thorne? Just hear me out. Please.”

Silence ensued.

Romeo sighed. “Thank you. Look, I’m going to need your
help.” His words were rushed as he tried to get it all out before she hung up
on him again. “It’s for Saber, okay? Not me. I don’t know what you’ve got
against me, but we…the club needs you.”

Still silent.

Romeo took that to mean “keep going”, so that’s exactly what
he did. “Please meet us at the courthouse on Monday at eight thirty in the
morning. We need you there.”

Thorne’s lips pursed as she listened with trepidation. Why
did the club need her help? She wasn’t anyone to the black and gold. That was
Maggie. Was Romeo trying to replace Maggie with her? She wasn’t one to just
jump when someone demanded it.

“Why?” Her voice was lilted with a light Hispanic accent, a
cultural intonation, husky and all feminine.

“I can’t get into it over the phone, Thorne. I know you can
understand that. It’s nothing illegal, I promise you that.”

He must have known that would be her next question. She was
not one to compromise her values for anyone. She didn’t think Maggie ever did
anything illegal, but her guard was up, and it was going to take more than
niceties to lower that bitch down.

“Fine.”

End button engaged.

Placing the phone back on the base, Thorne sighed and turned
around to look at her barren home. It was beautiful: a Spanish style beachfront
home in Guadalupe. It couldn’t get better than that, but all of her furniture
was covered in sheets since she never used any of it. Hell, the only three
rooms in her house that were used were the gym, her bathroom, and her bedroom.
Those at least looked lived in. Otherwise, it looked like someone had died in
the house and the belongings were being packed up.

It was a thought, a momentary brush like butterfly wings
across her mind, to just say screw it and clean up the house, to open it up and
let the sun shine through.

It was gone as fast as it came.

Chapter Three

Coffee. Must. Have. Coffee.

Life was not complete, or for that matter even started,
without that glorious warm, wet, delicious cup of mouth orgasm called coffee in
the morning…especially when it was oh-fucking-six-thirty.

Apollo’s apartment was a simple one bedroom with a single
chair, a small TV, and a coffee pot with two mugs in case one got dirty and he
was too lazy to clean it. He used to cook, but since he had broken up with the
bitch, he had given up the ghost and started going to his mother’s
hole-in-the-wall diner in Guadalupe, The Chipped Cup. At least he could get a
good meal there, and it’s where all the guys hung out anyway. His mother had
pretty much become club mom when Saber was patched in, and she couldn’t have
been happier or more proud when he got his patches as well. Now, all that left
was Saber’s son, Dallas. Thank God the kid was only fourteen.

Apollo had managed to stuff his large bulky frame into his
suit, trying to keep it as professional as possible, since his lawyer seemed to
think they were going to throw the book at him. May as well look good if he was
getting ass raped, right?

He had trimmed his beard close for the scruffy bad boy
image, then mussed his blond hair to bring out his stark dark blue eyes even
more. He knew he and his brother were dubbed pretty boys, and he never lacked
for female companionship, but this wasn’t one of those times when he wanted to
gain female attention. He needed the respect of the judge.

He needed to look the part, professionalism was the key. The
lawyer had told him that his portfolio hinged on everything with this rap.
Apollo had provided all of his contracts with magazines and newspapers, along
with his album of photos that would show he was not some deviant.

Apollo would never forget the meeting that took place after
his brief incarceration. Romeo was beyond livid that he was thrown in jail over
some stupid shit like that. Like it was his fault or some shit that Walker had
a hard-on for him. He had never seen him explode, but holy fuck me running, the
man had lost his shit.

“Why the fuck would you be out at fucking Pirates Cove
taking scenery pictures?” Romeo had yelled at him like he was a mere child.

“Have you not seen the way the light hits the waves that
time of day? It doesn’t get any better than that, especially with how it is
shaded just right by the cove.”

“Did you get caught with your dick in your hands like this report
says?” Romeo waved around the report, tossing it haphazardly on his desk,
rubbing his palm over his bald head.

“I wasn’t even paying the bitches any mind, Rome. I was
watching a friggin otter and a seagull fight it out, and taking pictures of
that. But when Walker grabbed me, my camera broke and exposed the film.”

“Ever fucking hear of modern day technology? If you’d have
used it, you wouldn’t be in this shit storm.” Romeo glared at Saber while he
pointed at Apollo. “Where the fuck did he get his lack of brains from? A
Cracker Jack box?”

“Uhm, I’m sitting right here. You don’t get the same quality
photos when you use digital as you do with film. I like the grainy look of film
over the pixilated spots of a digital picture. It’s just not the same.”

Romeo turned and looked at Apollo like he had lost his mind
or just announced he had given everyone the Bubonic plague. “Yeah, well bro.
Hate to fucking break it to you, but
if
you had used a digital camera,
this wouldn’t have happened. It’s called an SD card, or a cloud that
automatically uploads your pictures. It would have proven that you aren’t the
pervert they’re making you out to be.”

“That’s a given. But I don’t like it.”

Romeo threw his hands up in the air while turning around to
find his chair. “Then use two different cameras from now on. One film, one
digital. Use it as a backup, in case this shit happens again. You hold patches
now, fucking act like it and stay out of the fucking lime light!”

Yeah, it hadn’t gone over well, but at least Romeo had stuck
up for him in the end. He had no doubts, but figured his eye would get dotted
or he’d be kicked out. Apollo was glad he was proven wrong. He preferred an ass
chewing over an ass beating.

Romeo had a lawyer on retainer for the club, which helped as
well. Problem was, everything was looking pretty grim at this rate. Sexual
voyeurism, resisting arrest, assault on an officer, all felonies and he could
be looking at twenty years, if not more.

That was why he was downing the coffee like it was an
elixir. It might be the last good cup he’d ever have.

He met Romeo and Mace at the courthouse. Saber had a meeting
with Dallas’ baseball coach and couldn’t make it, though Apollo was A-OK with
that. He didn’t want to see the disappointment on his brother’s face if he was
sentenced to life in prison or had to register as some bogus sexual predator.

The lawyer arrived at five minutes before eight. By then,
Apollo was ready to crawl out of his skin with tension. He had paced the hall
so many times that Romeo finally asked him if he was going to replace the wax
that he had worn off.

Yanking at his tie for the fiftieth time, Apollo grunted as
he saw the lawyer running in. “About fucking time,” he muttered under his
breath, pushing up from the bench.

“Sorry, sorry. There was a traffic jam.” The young lawyer,
James Snider, brushed past the three men and headed straight for the courtroom.
“Judge Moore won’t take kindly to me being late if we’re not in there one
minute before session starts.”

Apollo and Romeo fell in behind Snider, and made their way
to the front. Apollo waited patiently as Snider laid his briefcase on the
defense table while glancing back at Romeo. Apollo was worried, there was no
way of playing that off, and he knew Romeo saw it the moment he gave a quick
wink and nod. Taking in a deep breath, he returned the nod, then focused on
moving over beside Snider at his table.

“All rise,” the bailiff called out, standing in front of the
judge’s stand. “The incomparable Judge Moore will be taking the stand.”

Everyone that wasn’t presently standing rose at the verbal
command. The judge emerged from his chambers and took his place behind the
large wooden structure. “You may be seated.”

Snider motioned for Apollo to sit next to him as he clicked
open his briefcase.

Apollo’s knee bounced restlessly as he sighed. He had a
feeling that this was going to be a long, long day. Feeling a snag on his thumb
nail when he ran his hands down his pants, Apollo glanced to the nail before
his teeth attacked it. Nervous tic much?

“We’ll open up today with docket fifty-seven dash twenty,
San Luis Obispo County versus Dalton Kilpatrick. Are all parties present?”

“Yes, sir.” Snider rose and swung his hand toward Apollo.
“All present.”

Walker rose along with the district attorney, who spoke
before the deputy could. “All accounted for, sir.”

Apollo tuned out the legal jargon between the two lawyers,
his stomach roiling at the very idea of spending any more time in jail. He was
far from a pussy; he’d go to jail to protect his brothers in colors, but as a
sexual predator?

Fuck. That. Noise.

“How do you plead, Mr. Kilpatrick?”

Snapping out of his reverie, Apollo blinked once while he
processed the question. Then he quickly stood and blurted out, “Not guilty,
Your Honor.”

“The Prosecution would like to go to trial to prove that Mr.
Kilpatrick is guilty of the aforementioned charges.”

The judge raised his brow a hair as he glanced down at the
papers before him. Looking up over the rim of his glasses, he rested his weight
on his forearms. “I don’t think taking this case to that level is necessary. Do
you, Mr. Barnyerd?”

Barnyerd’s cough almost hid the sound of the courtroom door
opening, but the noise captured Apollo’s attention. He wanted to see who was
running in late and did a double-take as his jaw slackened. He was not
expecting the sight before him, which suspended his breath for a moment,
forcing a hiccup from his massive chest.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to regain his composure at
the very sight of her.

No one had seen Espina ‘Thorne” Lopez since her sister’s
funeral except her partner, Saber. She kept herself locked away in her beach
mansion, only allowing Saber’s mother to care for her. Apollo had heard the
tales of the destruction of her home and how her snide and sarcastic side had
come out since the wreck. Apollo had seen it first hand at the hospital, but he
thought she would have snapped out of it by now. Apparently not, if the sour
look on her face was any indication.

But none of that could hide the beauty that lay beneath the
hardened visage of self-pity. Her eyes were the color of burning embers and
filled with curiosity, her dark brown hair with golden highlights framed her
face with soft curls. The scar that ran down the left side of her face was
stark against the caramel tinted skin tone, soft pink and still raised in a few
tender areas.

Thorne was tall—taller than most women—and she carried
herself with pride, without one iota of shame about her height. Apollo was
quick to look away when their eyes met; he couldn’t think of any plausible
explanation for her being there.

“My client is a photographer, Your Honor. He takes a
plethora of different types of photos, including scenery, erotic photography,
portraits, and stills. He is currently employed by a nature magazine to capture
stills of ocean scenery.”

Snider was quickly interrupted by Barnyerd’s scoff. “If you
call hanging off the cliff at a nudist beach, taking pictures of unsuspecting
women—”

“I object!” Snider barked, silencing the glowering attorney.

“Sustained.” The judge stared pointedly at Barnyerd. “That
is just hearsay; there is no proof, since the evidence was destroyed.”

Seeing Apollo’s body language, Snider quietly motioned for
him to sit. Apollo was starting to grow nervous, and stirred uneasily in his
chair. This shit was going downhill and fast. He caught himself glancing
uneasily over his shoulder at Romeo and Mace; neither showed more than poker
faces. Gee, that was a real help.

As he sunk further down into his chair, his heart climbed
into his throat when Barnyerd spoke next.

“He is also a flight risk and into illegal dealings as a
gang member, Your Honor.”

A single brow rose as the judge looking pointedly at Snider.
“Gang?”

Snider shook his head and stood back up, setting his pen
down on the yellow tablet he had been scribbling on. “My client is in a
motorcycle club, Your Honor. They are not into any illegal activities. In fact,
they just helped the ATF capture, and testified against, gun runners.”

A surprised look crossed the judge’s face. “You’re with the
SixGun Outlaws, son?”

All of his nervousness seized him as he rose up and nodded.
“Yes—” Apollo halted at the shaking tone of his voice, and cleared it before he
spoke again. “Yes sir, I am.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but didn’t your club raise over
ten thousand dollars for the local motorcycle safety department and pit bull
rescue?”

“We did, sir.”

The judge nodded, interlacing his fingers before him. His
voice grew stern and he kept his eyes directly on Apollo and Snider as he
spoke. “I hereby sentence you to three months of house arrest, where you must
check in weekly to a probation officer. After this time, it will be decided if
you must register as a sexual offender, as you will also be required to attend
meetings with a psychiatrist, who will present the court with a diagnosis prior
to any further sentencing.”

Intense astonishment touched his paling face as Apollo
stared at the judge. House fucking arrest? How the fuck was he to go to work?
See his family? Get around? Have a normal fucking life?

As the unspoken questions pounded his brain like a
jackhammer, Romeo leaned forward and whispered into Snider’s ear.

Catching the movement, Apollo—unable to form words—turned
and stared at the two, his voice box frozen in shock at the fact that he might
be going to jail after all. The reassuring smile and nod from his lawyer wasn’t
helping the anxiety any.

“Your Honor, if I may?” Snider rose up, smoothing down his
tie.

* * * *

Thorne wasn’t too sure why she was in a courthouse, other
than to satisfy the curiosity that had been piqued by Romeo’s vague plea. She
had run late trying to hide the battle wounds as much as she could. After
little success, she jumped into her Tahoe and raced to the courthouse.

Walking in, she stopped short after seeing Dalton standing
there so pale and nervous. She had not seen him in months. His hair was now
cropped short and he sported a scruffy goatee, his ink was covered by the long
sleeves of the suit that hugged his broad shoulders.

It was the withdrawn, haunted gaze of his cobalt eyes that
gave her pause. He was always happy-go-lucky, never showing any worry. Dalton
was one of the few glass-is-always-half-full kinda guys that sometimes got on
your nerves, but in a good way.

When he looked away, she scooted onto the back bench,
listening intently to what was going on. Dalton? A voyeur? Highly unlikely. The
guy had as much kitty as he wanted, why would he take pictures for personal
porn? It just didn’t make sense.

Hearing the temporary sentencing until his next court date,
her brows shot up. Being on house arrest would not allow him to make a living.
How was he to take pictures from his living room window? Or get to the bar that
he managed for the club? Granted it was a strip club, but that shit brought in
money for the club and made them legit.

Nothing went unnoticed by Thorne. She scrutinized Romeo as
he leaned in to whisper to Dalton’s lawyer. Something was rotten in the state
of Denmark. She could feel it all the way into her bones. That gnawing gut
feeling that you know you have to listen to. There was a reason she was here,
and Thorne knew she was about to find out what it was.