Scarred Asphalt (6 page)

Thorne reacted before her brain could stop her. She didn’t
even consciously realize what she had done until it was over and her hand was
throbbing. She had slapped Dalton as hard as she could across his face. His
head snapped to the side, but that tree trunk body never wavered from the blow.
“You son of a bitch…”

“And?” Dalton turned his head back toward her, his cheek red
and inflamed. “Truth fucking hurts, doesn’t it?”

Thorne spun around on her heels, raced down the hallway to
the living room, and scooped up her phone. Her fingers assaulted the keypad as
she looked up Romeo’s name then hit dial. Her pulse raced and her heart pounded
in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Dalton had pushed the wrong
buttons, and she wanted him gone.

“Romeo? I want this
baboso chingadera
out of my
fucking house!” Thorne couldn’t stop herself from yelling, not caring about the
possible consequences that could come from it. “The
una culero
has
crossed the fucking line.
Quiero que elha ido
!”

She wanted Dalton out of her house and out of her life. Now.
Not later. Now.

Romeo’s laughter echoed through cyber space as he answered
her outburst. “Suck it up, buttercup. He’s there until his sentence is up.
Sorry, but you agreed.”

“I take it back. He’s not welcome here.”

“Yeah, okay, Thorne. Call me when you’ve actually killed
him. Until then, adios.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Romeo had just hung
up on her. Thorne outwardly seethed as she dropped the phone from her ear. That
was one thing she could not stand: being laughed at. She turned to see Dalton’s
smug face. He was trying not to laugh at her, though his eyes were cold and
void of the laughter that was displayed.

“Oh!” Thorne stomped her foot, huffing at him and the
missing Romeo. The SixGun men were infuriating. Thorne walked away from Dalton,
her back rigid while she stalked to her gym and slammed the door behind her.

Chapter Nine

With each repetition of the weights Thorne shredded the
anger that Dalton had fueled with his words. He was right and she knew it, she
just didn’t want to admit it. That would be like admitting that she was an
alcoholic, the first step in the twelve step program.

Thorne was hiding behind her fear of unacceptance. There was
no other way to explain it; then again, she didn’t want to. She had found comfort
in her bitterness, and it protected her from the hurt that she knew would find
her if she allowed anyone in.

After ending her last set, she grabbed her towel and wiped
the sweat from her face, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. She had beautiful
olive toned skin, flawless and youthful. Her eyes were the color of toffee,
framed with thick lashes. A button nose led to full sensual lips and a strong
chin. Her cheekbones were high, showing her Latina heritage along with her
thick dark chestnut hair that held a slight curl.

The scar split the classic beauty into something detestable.
At least in her eyes. It was a permanent necklace, a reminder that she was not
invincible. It destroyed all hopes and dreams, making her feel unattractive and
undesirable in many ways. That was all Thorne seemed to be able to focus on;
she couldn’t see past it, no matter how hard she tried.

Thorne was distracted by an empty feeling in her stomach,
which was currently growling at her. How long had it been since she had eaten a
real meal? A month? Two? She couldn’t remember. The smell wafting under the
door was mouthwatering and distracting as all get-out.

She opened the door with a sigh of exasperation, and headed
toward Dalton’s room to get her trinket box back. She didn’t have to. There it
sat, on the tiny table in the hallway, right before her bedroom door.

Thorne felt like shit for yelling at Dalton like she had,
and she slumped her shoulders as she ventured into her bedroom to grab a
shower. Her mouth wouldn’t quit salivating while she got cleaned up, the
delicious scents calling her to the kitchen.

Her brows shot up in surprise as she stepped into the
kitchen and saw him humming softly, looking at peace at the stove. Head tilted
as she leaned in the archway, arms crossed over her chest allowing her to relax
against the wall, she watched him as he bustled about. It looked like he
belonged in a kitchen by the way he moved with a confidence that came from
years of practice.

“You’ll make someone a good wife someday,” Thorne grumbled
to him as her belly echoed her tone.

Dalton casually glanced over his shoulder, eyes washing over
her, then he turned his attention back to the skillet he was stirring. “Maybe.
Helps that my mom taught us boys to cook. She didn’t want us to starve when she
pushed us out of the nest.”

Using her shoulder to push off the wall, she pulled out a
stool from the bar and perched on it, her chin falling into her cupped hand.
“Good idea.”

“Let me guess, by the lack of real food in the fridge, you
don’t cook much?”

Thorne snorted and shook her head, keeping it rested on her
hand. She didn’t bother pushing back the hair that fell over her eyes. “I only
eat healthy foods, usually just veggies or tuna. That really doesn’t require
cooking. Plus…” Thorn smiled a tiny smile. “Your mom comes by and leaves
premade meals in the fridge and freezer for me.”

Dalton paused, leaving the wooden spoon in whatever it was
he was stirring. “You don’t know how to cook?”

Thorne lifted her head from her hand, her body became rigid,
that all too familiar defensive feeling rising up to choke her. She didn’t want
him to know that she could. That was something private. She could see the
curiosity on his face, though his eyes were now guarded. She couldn’t blame
him. She had tried to rip his head off earlier and she was about to do it
again. Thorne swallowed it down and tried to relax once more.

She shook her head. “My parents were killed when I was
almost sixteen, and Maggie raised me until I was eighteen. She always cooked; I
was too busy to be bothered with it, with all of the extra-curricular
activities I was in.”

Dear God, she sounded shallow, but part of it was true. She
was way too involved in school things to learn some of the fundamentals of
life. “As soon as I graduated, I went to paramedic training at UC Davis, and
with the hours that we worked, I never bothered with learning. I just bought
easy premade foods like tuna, vegetables, and fruits. It was better to eat that
anyway with the way I needed to look for the photoshoots I was doing at the
time.” She left out the fact that she learned to cook in high school.

“Plus, if I got too hungry, after Saber and I became
partners, he always cooked. He was just as much of a health nut as me, so it
made it less complicated if we were on the same foods and regimen.”

Dalton nodded, then turned his attention back to the pot and
pulled it off the heat. “Well, I’ve made poor man’s goulash, if you’re
interested.”

Wha-tha-fuck?

“Uhm, no thanks.” The very sound of goulash was unappealing
on many levels.

Dalton turned toward her, hands on his hips, his face stone
cold. “And exactly when was the last time you actually ate a
real
meal,
Thorne?”

“I—I don’t remember exactly.” Thorne couldn’t help but
stutter from the look he was giving her, making her feel small next to him.

“That’s what I thought.” Turning back to the stove, he
dished out a healthy amount in a bowl for her, then got himself one and placed
the same amount of the concoction in it. He set one down in front of her as his
other hand pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the island. “Bon
appetite.”

Thorne’s brows shot up as she looked down at the bowl. It
was some odd brown mixture of what looked like ground turkey and macaroni. The
smell was completely inviting though. She hesitantly picked up her spoon and
scooped out enough for a small bite. Her eyes grew big as she looked up in
surprise to the smiling Dalton.

“This is really good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, babe. I’m actually a pretty damn
good cook.”

* * * *

Dalton wanted to laugh at Thorne for her nativity in the
kitchen. It was almost cute.
Almost
. It was a shocker that someone as
multi-talented as Thorne couldn’t boil water to save herself. He hated to
racial profile, but 99.9% of Mexican women could cook better than anyone out there,
except for the Sicilians, and he got stuck with the one who could burn water.

He watched in amazement at how meticulously she ate,
indicating that she was trying her hardest not to scarf the food down. How long
had it actually been since she had an honest-to-goodness home-cooked meal?
Apollo understood, better than anyone, healthy eating. The way she ate was for
competitors that wanted a low body fat, but how they worked out, constituted
for heavier meals to repair the torn muscles. Thorne needed more carbs and a
shit-ton more calories if she wanted to survive and not tear her body down with
the weights.

As Thorne glanced up, swallowing a mouthful, her large amber
eyes grew wide, as if she had done something wrong. “What?”

Apollo couldn’t stop the chuckle, “Nothing. Just glad you’re
enjoying the food.” He pushed around some of the macaroni in his bowl before he
scooped up a bite. “It’s not every day that I actually get to cook for
someone.”

“Oh.” Thorne hopped off of her stool, stepped over to the
skillet, and scooped herself out another healthy portion of the food. “Well,
it’s really good.”

“I can tell.” Apollo’s smile widened in approval. “Have as
much as you want. Please.”

His eyes trailed after her as she prowled back to her seat
unaware of the way she walked. It was sensual and yet confident. When she sat
back down, her hand unconsciously moved a section of her hair over the left
side of her face, hiding the scar from his view.

“So, what is it you do for a living?” Thorne gazed at him
from under her delicately arched brows as she pushed her food around in her
bowl. “I mean, I realize you take pictures. You got busted for it. But there’s
got to be more to it than that.”

Apollo laughed and took a drink of his coffee. “I do just
that. Take pictures. I’m contracted by magazines and agents to take pictures of
whatever they want. It could be models, scenery, animals, cars.” He lifted one
shoulder and let it fall. “Simple really.”

Thorne crinkled her nose up and her brows bunched together
as her spoon dangled in her hand, hovering over her bowl. “It takes more than
that, Dalton. Give yourself a little more credit. I’ve seen some of your work.
Saber’s made sure of that. He’s very proud of you. To be as good as you are,
you have to see things others don’t. You find symmetry in things. Give you sand
and you’ll find the sea, give you rain and you’ll see a rainbow.”

Apollo was a bit taken back by how she viewed his work. She
saw something deeper in it, things that others tended to miss. “And you got all
of that just from seeing a few pictures?”

He watched her cheeks blossom into the cutest shade of red
that he had ever seen. Espina Lopez was actually blushing. She hid her eyes and
face from view by dropping her head and allowing her hair to fall just right
over the scar.

Apollo reached out to push her hair away from her face with
delicate ease, tucking it behind her ear. “Are you actually blushing?”

Thorne swatted his hand away from her, the blush deepening.
“Fuck you.”

Laughter echoed in his voice as Apollo raised a single brow.
“No, I fucked you. Remember?”

Apollo wanted to laugh out loud and gloat at the same time
when she buried her face in her hands with what he discerned as an “
ohmuhgawd
”
through her fingers. He knew if he did, it would ruin the light-hearted moment
he was finally able to share with her.

Watching her try to regain her composure was just as
interesting. Apollo could tell she was fighting the instinct to turn her face
away from him, the rose-colored cheeks beginning to mellow as Thorne coughed,
then cleared her throat. It was as if he could see the wheels turning in her
brain as she met his gaze.

“So what were you
really
doing at Pirates Cove?”

Why the hell was it that no one believed him?

Apollo dropped his shoulders and hung his head slightly, his
hand lifted up to scrub across the blond disarray he called hair. “I was
shooting the ocean wildlife. SeaWorld contracted me to take some photos for
their annual kid’s magazine. There was a seagull and otter that were fighting
over a damn clam.”

“Uhuh.” Thorne had that
sure
tone in her voice, her
head lowered with a slight nod. “And you decided Pirates Cove, of all places,
was the best area to get shots of an otter? Are you sure you weren’t trying to
get shots of the local beaver?”

It took a moment for what Thorne was implicating to
register, but when it hit him, he busted out laughing, wagging his finger at
her. “Oh, she’s got jokes now.”

A giggle escaped her, and her widened brown eyes showed
shock as Thorne slapped a hand over her mouth. Apollo knew it had been a long
time since she had just let go to be the old Thorne that everyone knew and
loved, and he was lucky enough to witness it.

The curtained windows filtered in a low light across her
face, blurring the scar from view. Her profile was exquisite and he wanted to
capture her in the timeless beauty of that moment. The glow that surrounded
her, the laughter in her eyes, the way she smiled. She had no clue what she was
doing, and that made it all the more irresistible.

“What?” She looked down at herself then back up at him with
a quizzical look on her face.

Well, he
had
been staring… “I want to photograph
you.”

“Fuck. That.”

There was that venomous tone he was getting used to. Only
this time, it held malice and an underline threat in it.

“Please, Thorne. I think you’ll be surprised at what you
see.”

She thrust her bowl aside, the spoon clinking to the counter
top as she pushed herself off of the stool. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when I
let anyone take pictures of me, Dalton Kilpatrick.”

Thorne’s eyes glittered with unshed tears as she stared at
him with a look he prayed he’d never see again. It was a mixture of shame,
hurt, and fear, and
he
was the one who put that look on her face.

Way to go, fucktard
. “Thorne, wait…”

He rose from his stool and stepped toward her, but in a
flurry, she was gone. Apollo let out a deep breath, his knuckles rapped against
the wood countertop in dismay. Grabbing up the dishes, he glanced over his
shoulder when he heard her bedroom door slam.

“Hell’s about to freeze over, Thorne.”

That woman ran either hot or cold. There was no in-between
with her, as he was starting to realize. How Saber put up with her bullshit,
he’d never know. Though he never remembered her being like this. She always had
a smile on her face, never sour or a bitch like she had become, and holy
monkey-nuts, she was getting worse daily. He thought her getting some dick
would help, but he was wrong.

Maybe she needed more?