Twisted Asphalt (Asphalt Outlaw Series Book 1) (2 page)

"With a right hook like that, I guess so."

Stone laughed harder and motioned for Mace to sit down. Once
he did, Romeo sat opposite him, pouring Stone another shot from a flask inside
his vest.

"Who the hell is she?"

Stone downed his shot and lit up a cigarette. Blowing out
the smoke, the cold, blue eyes of the club president knifed a hole right
through him. "My daughter."

CHAPTER 2

Amy was still livid. There was no other way to explain it.
When she spotted Mason wearing the prospect vest, her heart sunk. There was one
rule that she followed at all costs: Never,
ever
get involved with club.
He topped it off with his smart-ass remark, making fun of her job. At least he
fell when she punched him, even if it was because he tripped over a chair. It
made her feel better.

Mason had tried to apologize to her, but she wouldn’t hear
it. Any door that might have been open for her to be interested in dating him
had slammed shut when she saw the bottom rocker on his vest. She hated being
that way, but she was not going to put herself on an emotional rollercoaster
like her mother had been on. Gail and Alan had a beautiful relationship, he
doted on her hand and foot, but everyone saw how the emotional turmoil her
mother wrestled with every day wore her down. Sometimes, Amy blamed her father
for her mother’s death, not caring that it was an illness. It justified her
hurt.

Sleeping hadn’t made Amy feel any less disappointed or angry
that Mason was a prospect. She actually looked forward to her first date in
months, and now she may as well join one of those dating sites and pray some
psycho didn’t try to send a flirt her way. She went through the motions of
getting ready for work, and found herself in the shop going through the daily
motions of stocking up product and dusting off shelves, mentally arguing the
pros and cons of trying to get involved with Mason.

Just as she was about to slam the imaginary gavel,
sentencing herself to a life of no dating, she heard the angry jingle of the
shop’s doorbell and Maggie’s voice shouting her name.

“Good Lord, Mags. You’d think the Pope was in town.”

Amy couldn’t help but grin when her best friend came tearing
around the corner of a bookcase, topaz eyes lit with mischief. That was all
Maggie. They had been friends for as long as she could remember, growing up
side by side, though it seemed Amy grew up and Maggie grew out. She was a few
inches shorter than Amy, but had a good twenty to thirty pounds more on her
than most females her size should. Caramel-kissed skin, jet-black hair, and
old-world curves that most women would kill for—that was Maggie in a nutshell.

“I heard what you did to the prospect last night.”

Amy rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “He deserved
it.” She wrinkled her nose and looked away, taking a few steps toward the
barista station for a cup of coffee.

Maggie’s perfectly shaped brows shot up when she followed
Amy, not giving up on the start of an interrogation. “You’re so not telling me
something. Spill it.”

“Uhh, no. There’s nothing to spill. I don’t know what you’re
talking about.” Amy heard Maggie huff, and was about to grab a cup of coffee
when she felt hands on her ribs and a tickle session beginning. Squeaking in
surprise, she tried to wiggle away from Maggie, but got pinned between the
counter and a rack of flavored syrups.

“Stop! So. Not. Fair!”

Maggie burst out laughing as she tickled further, reaching
for a couch pillow, then smacking Amy right in the kisser. “Tell me now!”

“Okay!” Amy yelped with laughter as she grabbed for the
pillow, whacking Maggie upside the head before tossing it on one of the
couches. “I met him in the store and he asked me out. I agreed. But…”

“But?” Maggie asked incredulously.

“I don’t date club.”

She half scoffed-half snorted and threw up her hands.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t do them.”

“Maggie!” Amy burst out laughing at her friend’s bold
statement, though she was used to it.

“What?” She gave Amy an innocent look, acted like she was
adjusting an invisible halo over her head. “He’s hot. I can think of several
things I could do to that body.”

Amy groaned and started that pot of coffee she meant to start
a while ago. Seeing the time, she glanced over her shoulder. “Lunch?”

“Old Town?”

“Like we’d go anywhere else.”

“Lead the way.”

* * * *

“I’m telling you, there is nothing better than having a bowl
of menudo to get rid of a hangover.”

Amy shuddered in repressed horror at the very thought of
eating pig intestines when she was hung over. “Yeah, maybe to make you puke
again.” She picked a pepper off of her plate, wrinkling her nose when she
thought about Mason once more.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"It's just disappointing that—" Amy's sentence was
cut off by Maggie's face lighting up. Her brow rose in confusion when she
glanced over her shoulder. Then she sighed and looked back at her plate,
popping the jalapeno into her mouth and vigorously chewing. The spice didn’t
affect her like most. She was raised on Mexican food, a little jalapeno was
nothing.

"What's disappointing, Ames?” A deep voice came from
behind her.

"The fact I can't seem to go a day without running into
you.” Muttering mostly to herself, she moved closer toward Maggie while Demon
grabbed a chair from a nearby table, spinning it around so he could straddle
it, then fold his arms across the back.

Amy had a serious dislike for Angel Hernandez, otherwise
known as Demon. Most never understood why. He was good looking, stood a good
six inches taller than her, and was thin and muscular. His features were strong
and sharp; tanned skin and near-black eyes helped woo many women into his bed.
One of those women happened to be Maggie, who was head over heels for him.

Demon laughed and plucked a tortilla from Amy's plate, then
reached for her fork to build a fajita, never asking her permission.
"Feisty today? Lord knows you knocked that prospect flat on his ass last
night. Got to love that in a woman."

Grinning, he bit into the concoction he created as Maggie
stared dreamily at him. "I heard about that."

Amy rolled her eyes, pushing her plate away, disgusted by
Demon helping himself to her meal. Taking that as an invitation, Demon pulled
her plate over, opting to finish her lunch. "So when do I get a massage,
Ames? I want to see what this school did for you."

Maggie beamed with pride at Demon as she gushed about Amy.
"I've had one of her famous massages. She has such great hands, totally
relaxed me. I wanted to pass out right there on the table."

Demon continued to ignore Maggie while she tried to
interject on the seemingly one-sided conversation, making Amy simmer with
anger. She shot a glare at Demon when he finished off her plate and grabbed her
iced tea.

"Sure, help yourself. I didn't want to eat
anyway."

Amy wanted to slap the tar out of Demon for his rudeness and
obvious lack of manners. She knew if she did, he'd hit back and not think twice
about it. He was a firm believer on ruling his relationships with a strong
right hook. She just wished Maggie could see it, but love was blind.

The waitress came over to their table, dropping off a Xango
for the girls to split, though Amy had lost interest in food all together. She
would have to talk to her father, beg him to have a talk with Demon, and get
him to leave her alone.

Maggie picked up her fork, cutting of a piece of the fried
cheesecake, happily stabbing it to lift it to her lips.

Amy watched a look of disgust wash over Demon’s face when he
stared at Maggie. “Do you really need that? You already have to wear a sign
that says,
wide load
. Are you trying to make your ass bigger than it
already is?”

Amy’s jaw dropped. Maggie’s shocked and ashamed look only
fueled her temper. She pushed away from the table, almost knocking her chair to
the floor in anger. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out a twenty and tossed
it to the table, jaw clenched to keep her mouth shut, lest she find herself on
her back from a retaliation strike from Demon. A hand grabbed her wrist when
she turned to leave; the pain of bones grinding together caused her to stop. It
took everything Amy had not to yelp, but she wouldn’t give Demon the
satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” His head cocked
to the side as he tugged her toward him. “I’m not done talking to you.”

Amy knew it was going to hurt, but she’d reached her boiling
point. Gritting her teeth, she yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Who the hell
do you think you are, grabbing me like that?” She scooped up a glass of water
on the table, then tossed its contents right at his face.

She spun around and bolted for the door, leaving behind a
surprised and sputtering Demon. She knew Maggie was behind her, but didn’t
care. How could someone love that piece of shit? Who in their right mind would
take that kind of abuse?

Demon was right behind them, brushing past both of them. He
paused long enough to glare at Maggie, snarling at her. “I’ll deal with you
later.”

Did he just really?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Amy watched Demon walk off toward his bike. She was going to
blow a gasket. She had to get out of there. Turning around, she nearly slammed
into Maggie.

Brain to mouth filter? Malfunctioned.

“Why do you let that arrogant asshole treat you like that?”
Amy couldn’t help but yell at her best friend.

Maggie balked at being yelled at, stuttering, “I—I left with
you, didn’t I?”

Amy threw her hands in the air and turned around in a slow
circle, counting to ten. She loved Maggie, but sometimes, she swore the girl
was dense. Dragging in a deep breath, she pulled Maggie into a hug. “Let’s get
out of here before half of Orcutt thinks we’re having a torrid affair.”

* * * *

Washing bar glasses sucked.

Being a prospect sucked.

He’d get over it, maybe after he was done with the damn
glasses these assholes used all night. This was one of those shit jobs that he
didn’t like, but it was all part of it.

He’d be razzed all day about Stone’s daughter putting him on
his ass, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, unless he wanted
to eat leather. If he opened his mouth, he would get punished in some fashion
he really wouldn’t like. The last prospect had to wear a string bikini and wash
every damn hog in the parking lot of the clubhouse. That shit was so not happening
to him. The other punishment was getting your ass beat. Some things he would
take, but taking an ass beating and not fighting back?

Fuck that.

He’d end up killing someone.

Seeing Stone’s coffee cup empty, Mace dried off his now
raisin-looking hands and grabbed the pot of coffee to give him a refill. As he
was pouring, the front door of the clubhouse slammed open, then banged closed
as Demon stormed in.

Romeo’s bald head snapped up at the loud intrusion, single
brow lifted in question. Years of cigarettes made his voice deep and scratchy.
“Your ass on fire?”

The cold, dark eyes of the sergeant at arms leveled on
Romeo. “We need a meeting, now.” Demon stalked past Stone, Romeo, and several
of the club brothers toward the Chapel Room where they held their regular
church meetings. A place Mace was not privileged to enter until he was patched
in.

He wanted those three patches.

Currently, he had two: a Six-Gun Outlaw top rocker, prospect
bottom rocker. When he was patched in, the bottom rocker would be replaced with
his state tag, California, and he’d be wearing a center patch that said it all:
two six-guns crossed with a skull in the center wearing a bullet-hole-ridden
cowboy hat. It was a sick-looking patch with an evil glint that let everyone
know these brothers rode in death’s glory.

Stone cleared his throat, thumb rubbing against the whiskers
on his chin. “Take your dishpan hands, prospect, and head out to my place. Go
to the barn and grab a box of spare parts I have in the last stall.”

“Heard.” Mace nodded, jotting down the address of the
president’s home.

“Take your cage. It won’t fit in the saddle bags.” Stone
pushed away from the bar, scooped up the coffee cup, and headed to the room.

CHAPTER 3

“Good freaking God,” Mace muttered when he pulled his pickup
onto the long driveway of the one hundred and thirty acre spread Stone called
home. The ranch was just off Rice Ranch Road behind wine country. The driveway
was asphalted, making it easier for bikes to travel on when they rolled
through. Fruit trees lined the winding drive on both sides, with wooden fencing
as a decorative piece. Sprawled out before him was an adobe Spanish-style ranch
home; quaint, not too big for a small family.

Spotting the barn about a hundred yards from the main house,
he turned the truck around and backed into what he assumed was a parking area
for horse trailers. He reluctantly turned off Five Finger Death Punch and got
out, slamming the door behind him. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a
cloth-covered rubber band and slipped his first three fingers inside it. He
pushed back his strawberry-blond hair until he could grasp it just behind the
crown of his head, then wrapped the tiny band around the strands. He hated
having his hair in his eyes; keeping it a little longer than chin length was
difficult at times.

He scanned the area from behind the aviators, taking note of
the livestock the James family had: cattle, sheep, and horses. No wonder Stone
wasn’t worried about money half the time. He was in the cattle business. Shaking
his head, he lowered the tailgate, then headed for the barn.

Mace gave pause at the door when he heard a voice coming
from deep inside. Head cocked to the side, listening to the crooning sounds
revealed all female vocals. Moving further into the barn, he followed the voice
until he saw her.

Amethyst James was in a league of her own. Just watching the
way she handled the horse showed another side of her, how she cared for others,
whether human or animal. Slow, methodical strokes of the brush over the stallion’s
mane were just the tip of the iceberg. She cooed in gentle tones to the point
it relaxed him.

His eyes dragged over her, taking in everything possible.
Silken strands of chocolate were caught up in a mussed ponytail; a tight tank
top hugged her full figure like a glove. Ripped jeans cupped her ass just right
and fit like a second skin.

Damn, he could get lost in her.

Her movement brought Mace out of his near wet dream. She
moved to the tack room, rising on her toes to put a detangle comb away. Her wince
alerted him to look at her raised arm, trying to ignore the glimpse of stomach
that peeked out from under her top.

“What the hell?” He was beside her before she realized he
was there. He snatched her arm, though he remained gentle.

He ignored Amy’s yelp of surprise, more interested in
tenderly probing the swollen and bruised area of her wrist. Mace lowered his
voice, trying to hide the fact he was upset at her injury. “What happened,
Amy?”

Her green-flecked, brown eyes were wide with surprise when
she stared at him, her lips parting with her quick intake of breath. Regaining
her composure, she yanked her arm away, her eyes dropping to the floor before
sweeping over to the horse. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He frowned. “I call bullshit. You need to get that looked
at.” He followed her, closing the tack room door behind him.

“It’s not your problem.”

“The fuck, you say.” Mace snapped back at her. “I’ll get my
ass handed to me if you’re not taken care of.”

Amy walked past the stallion to another stall. She scooped
up a sweatshirt, turning to face him. “Just get what you need and leave.”

No way. Not happening. Someone had hurt her and that pissed
him the slap off. He wasn’t sure where this protective streak came from, but he
wasn’t going to worry about it right now. He needed to focus on getting her
inside and taken care of.

“I don’t think so. Get your ass in that house now and let me
look at your wrist, or I will pick you up and carry you in. Either way, it will
be taken care of now.” Mace faked a smile, pulling out his phone and wiggling
it in front of her line of sight. “Or do I need to call Stone?”

He didn’t want to threaten her, but by the look of the
swelling wrist, there was a good chance it was fractured. He wasn’t taking any
chances.

If looks could kill, he was murdered and buried the instant
she turned and glared at him. He couldn’t care less that she was furious,
except her eyes lit up like smoldering coals and that was a complete turn-on.

Her jaw flexed, she was obviously weighing her options.
“You’re not going to leave until I do, are you?”

“Nope.” Folding his arms over his chest, he met her glare
with a flat pan stare, letting her know just how much her so-called threatening
glare scared him.

“Gah!” Amy threw her hands in the air and spun on booted
heels. “Fine.”

Mace chuckled at the fact that she was flustered. At least
he wasn’t the only one. He closed the door to the stallion’s stall and followed
her into the house. Now he understood the old saying,
hate to see you go,
but damn I love watching you leave.

Once inside, he looked around the entryway, then to Amy.
“Have a first-aid kit with an elastic wrap?”

“Yup.” Amy nodded and pointed him through the living room.
“I’ll be right there. The kitchen is through the living room.”

Mace watched her head down the hall for the bathroom, then
made his way toward the kitchen. He moved slowly, wanting to know a little bit
more about Amy and her family. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he
wasn’t going to give up on getting Amy to give him a chance.

He paused at the hearth of the stone fireplace; one picture
stood out more than the others. Brows furrowed when he picked it up. Amy and a
woman that looked like she could be her older sister were smiling bright at the
camera, holding each other with their heads tilted toward one another.

Feeling her beside him, he glanced at her, then back to the
picture. “Where is she?” Mace knew it was her mother, but had never seen her
around, and Stone sure as hell never talked about her.

She lifted her hand, tips of fingers caressed the side of
the photo, a flicker of pain crossed her features. Sniffling, she gently took
the frame and set it back on the hearth, avoiding his eyes at all costs. “She
died a little over a year ago.”

Mace heard the hurt lacing her voice when she spoke, which
tugged at his non-existent heartstrings. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he
followed her into the kitchen. He pointed to a chair, opening up the kit.
Finding the wrap, he sat opposite her. His legs were too long to face her, so
he straddled her form, placing her legs between his.

“I left California and went to Nevada to go to school
because I couldn’t handle how my dad and brother were acting. All crazy
possessive and crap.”

He never said a word while he doctored her hand and wrist.
Careful not to wrap it too tight, he glanced at her to make sure she was all
right.  She gave a slight nod before he turned his attention back to wrapping
it.

“She died of breast cancer,” Amy said. Drawing in a deep
breath, she spoke on the exhale, almost as if she was trying to get rid of the
negative energy clouding her. “She owned a little holistic-style tea shop. She
sold knickknacks, herbs, teas, coffees, and books on natural healing. I
couldn’t let the store go to hell, or leave Maggie alone running it, so I came
back.”

“I’m glad you did.” Mace lifted his eyes to meet hers. He
saw the unshed tears; every fiber of his being wanted to wrap her up in his
arms and rock her. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay, but
he knew it wouldn’t be. This wasn’t something someone got over overnight. He
pinned the end of the wrap down, turning her wrist and hand over, making sure
it wouldn’t cut off her circulation. “Well, there you go.”

Amy sniffled, good hand wiping under her eyes, lashes
fluttering while she tried to gain control of her emotions. “So, yeah. Now you
can go to the guys and brag about how the prez’s daughter got all emotional on
you. The guys will get a kick out of that.”

Mace felt like he was gut checked. She didn’t trust him.
Then again, she didn’t know him enough to trust him, and since she was the
president’s daughter, she probably caught a lot of flak for saying something
wrong or someone taking something she did wrong. “How would they know? I’m not
the kiss-and-tell type.” One shoulder lifted and fell, an arm draped over the
back of his chair as he leaned back. “Are you going to tell me how you really
hurt your wrist?”

“I fell.” Amy scooted her chair back and jumped up to move
to the stove.

Uh huh. How many times had he heard that one? Mace watched
her fill a teapot with water, slamming it on the burner while she lit it. “That
would explain the sprain, but not the bruises that look identical to a hand
print.”

Amy visibly stiffened at the stove, not turning to look at
him. He knew she was fishing for a lie by how long she was taking to formulate
her answer. “Maggie and I were playing at the shop. She grabbed my wrist. I
bruise easily.”

He hated games. He had to play one with the club, but he
wasn’t going to with her. He damn sure didn’t want her playing games with him.
Rising out of the chair, he moved over to her. “If you say so.”

She turned, but he was already in her space. Her eyes
widened as she backed up, her butt slamming into the corner of the counter. “I
say so. Um, what are you doing?”

“This,” he murmured and rested a hand on either side of her
hips on the countertop, leaning slightly toward her. Her hands were warm
against his chest. He felt them through the cotton T-shirt he wore. They were
so tiny resting against him, a sign of how fragile she really was, even though
she liked to put up a tough front.

Amy’s head tilted back when his finger hooked under her
chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. He saw curiosity behind the veil of
doubt and that spurred him onward. Knuckles were a gentle caress down her
jawline as his eyes dropped to her cupid-bow lips, plump and inviting. She was
a temptress and she had no clue. He dragged his thumb over her succulent lower
lip, feeling her sharply intake a breath of excitement.

Mace’s hand dropped, fingers curling into her belt loop,
tugging her closer to him. He nearly growled in pleasure when her nails raked
his chest through his shirt, crumpling the material in her hands. Her heat
melted against his own as he lowered his head, not quite allowing his lips to
touch hers. They hovered there, tempting her to take what she wanted.

When she lifted up to capture his lips, he jerked back a
hair, a teasing grin offered when she whimpered in protest. Body pressed
against hers, his hand came up to gently take her wounded one in his, lowering
his mouth inch by agonizing inch until—

“What is going on in here?”