Scarred Asphalt

Scarred Asphalt

Book 2 of the Asphalt Outlaw Series

Blue Remy

Copyright 2016 Blue Remy

Kindle Edition

ISBN-10: 1-62827-808-0

ISBN-13: 978-1-62827-808-8

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are products of this author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or
dead is entirely coincidental.

Published by
Ardent Books
,
an imprint of
Assent Publishing

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Dedication

“May the angels of my brothers and sisters

Who have gone before me guard my travels,

For they know the perils of the roads before me.”

– Bikers Prayer

This book is dedicated to those lives lost to us and forever
remembered in our hearts. To my dear friend and brother, Zachary “Zacky-Boy aka
FTW” Lopez (10/17/79 – 04/25-15) — May your spirit soar the skies and know
you’ll always be remembered as a huge teddy bear and missed dearly.

Chapter One

How long had it been since the shit went
down?

Seven long damn months.

Alan “Stone” James’ death went down in the history of the MC
world as one of the biggest sacrifices any man had ever made to the
brotherhood. Every SixGun Outlaw brother wore a patch on the right side of
their cut, displaying proudly their love for Stone, right under the black and
gold diamond that spoke volumes.

And you thought that was bad? The funeral was epic.

Romeo lost count of the bikes that rolled behind him and his
Ultra with the casket in tow. Hundreds of bikes thundered down Betteravia Road
in beautiful Santa Maria, California. Cars pulled over to show respect to the
fallen. The local police department escorted the funeral procession, blocking
off Stowell Road for six blocks in every direction—a large enough area for the
bikes to rest their kickstands and the crowds to make their way to the grave
site.

There were no colors that day. It did not matter what cut
you wore, you were blood in spirit. The only club that did not show was the
black and green. Tremer Gallo. There would have been blood spilled that day if
any member had shown. Other rival clubs put aside their differences to mourn a
man who was the precedent for California MC life.

There was not a dry eye during the service. The California
Originals sat together, their thirteen original cuts worn to bare threads,
stained, bloodied, dirt packed, and displayed with pride. Once the Motorcycle
Ministry was done, Romeo watched as each one of the original thirteen rose and
walked over to the coffin and unhooked a specific pin off of his cut: white
wings. With a fist, each brother hammered the pin into the top of the coffin,
then reached over to the small table beside the gravesite and poured two shot
glasses full of Stone’s favorite tequila: one to drink, the other to pour into
the dug grave. A last drink with the fallen brother.

Coherent thought was impossible through the wake. Everyone
stopped to give Romeo condolences at the loss of such a great man, knowing that
he would follow in his old man’s footsteps and lead the club to greatness.

One could only hope.

It was hard knowing Stone was alive, safely locked away in
some other state while Romeo sat there lying about it all. What killed him the
most was watching his sister barely function because she thought the man she
was in love with—along with her father and best friend—was dead. He knew that
Mace was alive and Stone was on his way to a cushy new life where he could
start over. Not telling Amy while she lived like a zombie was a punishment he
could barely stand.

Maggie’s funeral was what sent him into the pits of despair.

Romeo just wanted to die. He had plenty of chances to step
in and get Demon off Maggie’s back, to stake claim on her, but he was too much
of a pussy to man up and say something. She was one of his sister’s friends, a
little girl who bugged the ever living shit out of him, always watching him
with large brown eyes but never saying a thing.

Maggie was that girl next door that no one paid much
attention to. Why bother? She was thick, tomboyish, and…Romeo had fallen in
love with her.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but it hit him in the balls
at the funeral. He couldn’t function; thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled
mess that sloshed around in his head. At times, he even found it hard to
breathe. Air became non-existent as they lowered her coffin into the ground; it
took everything he had to keep it together. Tears stung his eyes as he
struggled to keep from clawing at his chest, his clothing suddenly
constricting.

He knew Amy didn’t understand his need to move back into the
ranch house, but he had to be alone. He couldn’t watch her suffer the loss of
three people in her life as he battled his own depression over his stupidity
and need to mourn a woman he never gave a second glance.

The day of Sam Dean’s funeral was the worst. There was a
knock on the door and every fiber in his body screamed at him not to open it.
Ignoring the warning bells playing pin ball in his head, he opened the door.

Bad, bad idea.

A registered letter from a ghost: Maggie.

Feeling like he was sucker punched in the balls, Romeo
grabbed a bottle of Fireball and sat down in the living room, staring at the
letter, a war raging inside of him. Should he open it? Burn it? Give it to Amy
and let her deal with it? Yeah, what a fucking ass he’d be if he did that.

He drank directly from the bottle, letting the cinnamon
whiskey calm his nerves, and listened to the angel and demon arguing their
sides of the rights and wrongs of reading whatever that letter held.

The fucking angel won.

Romeo snatched the letter from the table top, ripping the
cardboard envelope open, then tossed it aside and stared at the familiar
scrawling cursive that was all Maggie.

For a moment, his eyes blurred as he read his name on the
heavy paper that came from Amy’s shop.

Romeo,

If you’re reading this letter, then I am and will be just
a memory in everyone’s mind. I wish there had been a different outcome of the
events, but I guess you can’t win them all.

I know you’re probably wondering why you are holding this
letter in your hand, more than likely growing more pissed by the moment, but
there are some things that you need to know.

First and foremost, you were always the one. I know that
might be something you don’t want to hear, or give a shit about, but I have to
say it, and make you understand why I did the things I did.

I love you.

I have loved you for as long as I can remember.

I know you won’t believe me because of Demon, but after
that night you never looked at me again. I know we were young and drunk, and it
was a onetime thing, but it meant everything to me. I am reminded every day of
how you made me feel, and for that single moment, you made me feel like someone
truly wanted me. When my parents sent me away for that year, I felt like my
heart was ripped out of my chest, but I know they just wanted what was best for
me, and they thought my aunt could handle me.

Demon could never compare to you, he could never take the
place in my heart that solely belongs to you. But we both know that he didn’t
want to. I guess I was just reaching out for someone so I wouldn’t be lonely.
Maybe a part of me was trying to make you jealous, to notice me again.

Demon has invited me to his house tonight, and I have a
feeling I know what he wants. He’s been pressuring me to give him information
about the club. I guess he thinks that Amy tells me things. He’s even tried
grilling me about you and Stone.

If I don’t give him whatever it is he wants, I don’t
think I’m going to make it out alive. So, this is my good-bye. I will not give
him any information about you or the family. I could never betray you, or the
family for that matter.

Please take care of the girls. They’re going to need you
more than ever now. Ti amare en la vida y en la Muerte.

Maggie

Romeo was shaking by the time he finished the letter. Unable
to focus, he picked up the liquor bottle and threw it against the wall with
every ounce of strength he had, never flinching as the glass shattered into
tiny fragments, just like his heart, over and over again.

Maggie had unselfishly sacrificed herself to save Stone,
him, and the club. He felt like a total fucking asshole, like a man whose soul
had just been torn out of his body by death itself.

Seven excruciating months later, his heart had not yet
mended. He wasn’t sure if it ever would. Romeo was an ass, a man-whore, and he
openly admitted it. But one thing he couldn’t live with was hurting someone
unintentionally. He had all but ruined Maggie.

At least his life was the one in the pits. Sam Dean was dead
and left Amy everything in his will, and Mace was resurfacing to claim Amy as
his own. The only ones in the club who knew the real story behind it all were
Saber, Wolf, Mace, and Romeo.

Wolf had to be let in on it since he was the vice president
and he was Mace’s “cousin”. In order to keep up the ruse, he had to know
everything. Saber knew about the ordeal because he was on the same helicopter
when they airlifted the ATF agent to the Santa Barbara hospital where his real
identity came out. Romeo almost couldn’t keep the beast at bay when Saber
exploded in the waiting room, but when everything was explained, he saw the
light.

They were now moving on with their lives, Romeo as
president, Wolf as vice president. Talon remained secretary, Saber sergeant at
arms, and Mace road captain. Dalton was voted in as a fully patched member,
alongside Axe and Hawkeye. Now, they had two more prospects and a couple of
hang-arounds, the club growing just like Stone would have wanted.

Hell, even the other chapters, Reno, N’Awlins, and Mississippi,
were growing. Everything was quiet for now.

Almost too quiet.

One couldn’t help but wonder when the last shoe was going to
drop.

Chapter Two

Really?

Jail?

Saber was going to kick his ass.

Who do you call? Definitely not the Ghostbusters in this
case. Especially when you’re in jail for some trumped-up charge of sexual
voyeurism.

Dalton “Apollo” Kilpatrick, baby brother to Johnny “Saber”
Kilpatrick, was pacing his tiny so-called “jail cell” patiently—alright, who
are we kidding?
impatiently
—waiting for his one phone call. There was
only one problem. He wasn’t sure who the fuck to call.

Call Saber? Get your ass kicked.

Call Romeo? Get your ass kicked.

Call Mom? Get the guilt trip, and then get your ass kicked
by your older brother.

That left only one person: Mace. At least he was the club’s
personal bail bondsman. After Mace was shot and went through his recovery, he
got his license for bounty hunting and bondsman. It had come in quite handy as
of late.

Six-foot-five frame paused mid-stride to glance at the clock
on the wall. Two in the fucking morning. No wonder his face felt like
sandpaper. Meaty hands rose up to rub over whiskered cheeks; near-violet eyes
watered as he yawned then stretched.

“Fuck me running,” Apollo growled under his breath.

Fingers curled around the cool steel bars that imprisoned
him, his sigh was slow to release, though it was followed by a bellow. “When
the fuck do I get my one phone call?”

Earlier that day—oh, about ten hours ago—he was taking
pictures out at Pirates Cove, a nude beach in Avila. Not that big of a deal. He
was a damn photographer. He had won several awards for his pictures and was
recruited by top agencies in the nation, but he chose to remain freelance,
liking the fact that he worked for himself.

As of late, he had been doing landscapes, and Pirates Cove
had beautiful scenery—and no, he wasn’t focusing on the nude kind. But someone
obviously thought he was.

He was gazing through the lens of his Canon AE-1, about to
get a great shot of a seagull swooping down upon an otter, but before he
realized what had happened, he was kissing the trunk of a black and white.

And when he looked back to see exactly who grabbed him and
was slapping handcuffs one him? Yeah, knuckles met jaw, snapping his head to
the side. Now add a bogus charge of assaulting an officer to the list, and he
was looking at a felony and serious jail time.

Total. Bullshit.

Oh yeah…and since it happened
behind
the cruiser, it
wasn’t caught on tape. It was his word against the cop’s, and as we learned in
Waco, they always believe the cops.

Grinding his teeth, Apollo felt his blood pressure rise at
the memory of the day. When he got sucker punched, his camera fell to the hard
packed ground, cracking the lens and breaking open the film carriage. It would
cost him thousands to get a used box; they didn’t make the AE-1’s any more.

Feeling the anger seeping back into his system, he rolled
his shoulders back and yelled louder. “If you’re going to fuck me, at least
give me the proper courtesy of a reach around!”

“Shut the fuck up, Kilpatrick,” a voice growled as a
shadowed figure moved into view.

The deputy was someone from his past, a high school memory
that he’d rather forget. Apollo was second string in football, and when Walker
was hurt, Apollo was thrown in the game. The coach never put Walker back in.

“Oh, look, it’s Deputy Barney Fife to the rescue. No wonder
I haven’t got my phone call yet. Don’t they teach you
anything
in the
academy?”

Walker slid out his ASP and swung at the metal bars. “What
was that? Did you just threaten me?”

Apollo’s fist clenched as he rolled his shoulders back. The
prick was about to slap another charge on him. At this rate, he was going to
spend his complete adult life behind bars.

Sardonic smirk crested thin lips allowing Walker to bare his
teeth. “That’s what I thought.”

“Exactly what did you think, Deputy Walker?”

Both men went rigid at the gruff voice that spoke from the
entry way to the holding cells room. An older balding gentleman stepped deeper
into the room, the air of superiority thick around him. Apollo’s left brow
quirked up in silent question.

“Sir.” Walker cleared his throat as he backed away from
Dalton, trying to slide the ASP from view. “I was just telling Mr. Kilpatrick
that I thought he’d want to make his one phone call.”

“And why has it taken eight hours for him to get to make
that call?”

Trying not to smile at the ass reaming Walker was about to
receive, Apollo shifted his weight, then crossed his arms over his chest and
cocked head to the side.
Couldn’t happen to a better fucktard.

“We’ve been busy, sir. Haven’t been able to get to him yet.
Had to break up a few parties, and had a chase.” Walker rocked back on his
heels as he spoke to the man who was obviously in charge.

The older man nodded and motioned toward Apollo. “Get him on
the phone. It’s Friday night; we’ll need these cells for the DUIs and real
criminals.”

Apollo smirked as he watched the man turn and walk away from
them. “Yeah, Walker, you heard the man.
Real
criminals, not one who was
just taking pictures.”

Walker glowered at him, snarling low. “Pictures of nude
women, and without their permission.”

Apollo opened his mouth to smart off to Walker, but thought
better of it, considering it could be used against him, and all that bullshit.
Shaking his blond head instead, he cleared his throat and looked away from the
deputy.

“That’s what I thought, piece of perverted shit. Think those
damn colors can protect you? You thought wrong.” Keys jangled as Walker
unlocked the cell door and banged it open. He stepped aside to allow Apollo to
pass by.

Pinching his lips together, Apollo almost gave pause
mid-stride as he stalked past Walker. He had accepted the patches two months
ago, which meant the prick had been watching him for a while. That bothered
him, and he made a mental note to tell Romeo that the local fuzz had an eye on
them again.

After coming to a stop at the phone on the cement wall, he
lifted the receiver from the hook and dialed Mace’s cell. He knew an ass
chewing was coming, but right now he didn’t give a fuck.

Trying to roll the tension out from his shoulders, his
near-violet eyes quickly glanced around the small room as Mace’s familiar voice
came across the wire.

“Jail, at this hour? If you were drinking on two wheels, not
only will I kick your ass after I bail you out, but so will Saber. Which
brother do I have here?”

“It’s Dalton, man.” A large sigh erupted as his hand rose up
and rubbed across his face, trying to push the unnamed emotions back where they
belonged.

“Are you fucking nuts?” Mace growled through the phone.

“Dude, it’s not like that. No drinking and driving. I need
you here like ten minutes ago.”

“What the fuck did you get picked up for?”

Grimacing, Apollo closed his eyes as he drew in a deep
breath, feeling dirty over the bogus charges. “Sexual voyeurism.”

Dalton heard Mace breathing over the silence that followed
the explanation of his incarceration. He could only imagine what he was
thinking.

Mace’s voice finally breeched the silence. “That’s a pretty
tough charge to get bail on, Apollo. You’ll be lucky to get out of there for a
quarter mil. Plus, it’ll take me a bit to get your bail set. And how will you
be paying for it? You’re looking at a felony, kid.”

Apollo cleared his throat, shifting his bulky weight
uneasily. “Well, that’s not all of it.” He could visualize the look of
confusion on Mace’s face as he remained vague.

“What do you mean?”

Face crinkled up as he rocked back on his heels, he expelled
a large breath that he had been holding in. “I was also booked for resisting
arrest.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mace exploded over the phone,
a feminine voice murmuring in the background. “Sorry, Amy. I’ll be right there.
You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

Apollo heard the silence of the dead line, then placed the
receiver back on the cradle. Turning around, he nearly slammed into Walker. He
should have known the fucker was snooping. “Can I help you?”

Walker sneered at him, hooking his thumbs into his leather
belt. “Yeah, take a long walk off a short pier there, Kilpatrick. It’ll make
the world a safer place.”

Apollo balled up his fists at his side; his jaw was
beginning to hurt from all the clenching and teeth grinding he was doing to
keep his trap shut. “No, what would have made it safer in this world was if
your mom would have swallowed.”

Brain-to-mouth filter definitely malfunctioned, and Apollo
paid for it when Walker whipped out his ASP once more and cracked him across
the back of his knees, forcing him to drop to the ground in a surge of pain.

Hissing, it took everything he had to refrain from knocking
the shit out of the deputy. Apollo forced himself to maintain eye contact with
Walker, knowing his eyes were hard and flinty, hiding the shockwave of pain
that was bouncing like a pinball through his legs. Pushing himself back up,
Apollo rolled his head from side to side, counting silently to ten…make that
twenty.

“Keep it up, Kilpatrick, and I’ll make you scream like a
bitch.”

Apollo smirked, a single brow rising as he chuckled. “That’s
what
she
said.”

Another deputy wandered in just as Walker lifted his ASP for
another round of human piñata. Apollo laughed under his breath as he made his
way back to his cell to wait for Mace’s arrival. Once the heavy metal door
slammed shut, he laid his large frame on the stiff cot to try and make the time
tick tock by faster.

* * * *

“Get the fuck up, Kilpatrick.”

His eyes fluttered open and a slow yawn followed. Apollo
arched his back as he stretched large and in charge. Swinging his too-long legs
off the cot and onto the floor, his fingers scratched at the two-day stubble
littered across his chin and cheeks.

Grunting at the deputy that ordered him awake, he sniffed as
he rose and yawned again, then headed for the cell door. “What’s for
breakfast?”

“How about a piece of humble pie?” Mace stepped out from
behind the deputy, nodding to Apollo. “I’ll take it from here, Deputy
Sutcliffe.”

The officer nodded, unlocking the cell door then giving it a
push to slide open.

Apollo hung his head, rubbing the back of his skull with the
flat of his hand, hip pushed out to the side as he rested his weight on one
leg. “Thanks, Mace.”

“Don’t thank me yet, brother.” Mace snorted, stepping aside
to let Dalton step by him and out of his imprisonment. “You better be groveling
to Amy. She was pissed when I left the house at the butt crack of dawn to
rescue your ass. Do you not know that a pregnant and pissed-off wife is not a
good thing?”

“I didn’t—”

Mace lifted his hand up in a stop motion, then slowly shook
his head as his eyes inconspicuously darted up and to the left, indicating
someone was listening.

“…get any sleep last night. I just want my damn bed, is
all.”

Mace and Amy had married soon after he healed enough and she
announced she was pregnant. Romeo demanded a biker wedding, shot guns and all,
officiating the ceremony himself. Amy rode in behind Hawkeye on his
dresser—sitting sidesaddle for her dress—then was walked down the aisle by
Saber as Mace rode in on his Dyna. The ceremony was simple, filled with
laughter and tears.

But that was then, this was now, and Apollo was more worried
about his ass getting devirginized. He’d hate to be tossed in jail with a life
sentence for killing someone after dropping his soap-on-a-rope. “Just get me
the fuck out of here, please.”

Mace chuckled and fell into step beside him. “You’re lucky
that Romeo had the bail money, bro.”

Apollo groaned and slowly shook his head. “Why did you go to
him? My ass is gonna be serious grass now.”

“Your bail was a bit more than I thought, considering we had
to add resisting arrest and assault and battery of an officer to it. Try a half
mil, dude.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Apollo stopped and stared at
Mace, his mouth slackening. “How the fuck am I going to pay back fifty grand?”

He knew that the actual cash to exchange hands would be ten
percent. He could not afford that no matter how hard he tried. Being a
freelance photographer didn’t bring in a shit ton of cash. He didn’t want for
anything and had a nice nest egg in his savings account, but paying Romeo back
would wipe that clean and then some.

“We used the club money to bail you out, and that shit is
between you and Romeo. I’ve got nothing to do with it, other than bailing your
ass out and making sure you make your court date.”

“Fuck me running.” Apollo’s meaty hands pushed open the door
of the holding cell area, and the pair stepped into the main department. After
stalking over to the counter, Apollo slapped his hands down on the wood. “I
need to sign for my effects.”

The deputy quirked a brow as he stared blankly at Apollo.
“And?”

Splaying his hands out wide on the desk top, Apollo spoke
through his teeth, trying to show restraint, when in all honesty, all he wanted
to do was yank the fucker over the counter and demand his shit. “May I please
sign for my things? The name is Dalton Kilpatrick.”

“You could have said that the first time.”

As the deputy turned away from him, Dalton turned to stare
at Mace in total disbelieve. Were all deputies such dicks?

Scooping up his wallet, watch, and the chain that he wore,
Apollo signed on the dotted line as quickly as he could. He just wanted to get
the fuck out of Dodge.

“May we leave now?”

Mace licked his lips and turned toward the exit. “You don’t
have to ask me twice. You’re riding with me, and I was ordered to go to
Jack-in-the-Box for some Super Tacos for Her Pregnant Highness.”