Scarred Asphalt (12 page)

Chapter Sixteen

It was hot and Apollo had an uncanny feeling all day long that
something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like a nagging
at the back of his head making his skin almost crawl.

Thorne wasn’t speaking to him, which he could understand.
His ex had crossed a very fine line and Thorne was doing her best not to react.
He had to give her that. Apollo called Romeo and told him the deets of what
happened, and as expected, he told Apollo to stand down.

Not an issue.

Now, at the club, he was leaning back against the back of
the bar, arms crossed over his chest as he rolled his bottom lip between his
teeth. He was outright ignoring the teasing from Star and Cinnamon about
needing to cut a slit on his T-shirt sleeves, since they were about to rip from
his muscles. He knew they were trying to get him to smile, but he just didn’t
have it in him right now.

“Do either of you beauties have any aspirin?” His headache
was now splitting his skull in two, along with the hair standing up on the back
of his neck.

“There’s some in the back room.” Star turned her head slightly
to glance at him from over her shoulder. “I’ll go get it.”

After she slid her patron a beer, she sashayed behind the
curtain to go fetch the pills, leaving him alone with Cinnamon.

“You know she still won’t shut up, right?”

Apollo lifted a single brow, gazing at the girl from under
his brow line. “Excuse me? If you’re about to spill some drama, I’m not
interested.”

“Her,” the chestnut head moved to indicate Gabby on the
stage. “Some of the girls are about to play
Smear the Queer
with her
Spic ass. We’re tired of hearing your sexual exploits with her. I mean, we all
drool over you and imagine what it would be like and all, but you’re our
family. That comes before all of our fantasy talk and daydreams. We feel like
she thinks her shit don’t stink and that she wants us all to be jealous of her
having fucked you.

“Don’t get me wrong, Apollo. I love you to death, but
seriously? It’s just pissing us off hearing her brag on a constant basis. And
now she’s added something about her kicking your girl’s ass. We were there for
that, and she almost got her ass beat for calling Star a liar over it.”

Fuck the headache—this shit was going to make it a damn
migraine. Gabby was always a bragger, always wanting attention or to be the
center of attention. If she wasn’t, she would make damn sure she did something
that would make her the center of attention, whether it was positive or
negative.

Rubbing his temples, Apollo squeezed his eyes shut, mentally
begging for the headache to go away. He knew he was doing it to himself for
thinking too hard about what was eating at him. But damn, you just couldn’t
ignore a gut feeling like this.

“Here you go, doll.” Star handed him four five-hundred
milligram pills with a solicitous wink.

“Thanks, babe.” Apollo tossed the pills in his mouth,
grabbed his water bottle, and washed them down, though he grimaced when one got
stuck in his throat.

“Shit!” Gasping, he hit his chest, then bent forward while
pushing off the back bar top. His fist thumped at his chest to try and dislodge
the stuck pill. He looked to the door as it swung open, and the pill was
immediately forgotten.

“Star, call Romeo and tell him we need back up.”

The girl remained rooted in place as if she hadn’t heard a
word that Apollo said to her. Her eyes had grown as wide as saucers, her hands
visibly shaking.

“Good Lord, Star.” Cinnamon growled at her sister, yanking
the phone up and darting to the back.

Apollo shook his head, his body already on the move as he
made his way toward the thirteen TGs that just walked in like they owned the
place. Stellar blues flicked over to the doorman, Willy, who shrugged at
Apollo. The newest hang-around could have warned him that there was trouble
looming. He’d get a talking to later.

“We’re closed.” Apollo placed his fists on jean-clad hips,
widening his stance as he faced off with the rival club.

“Doesn’t look closed,
ese
.” The leader of this group
of soldiers, Taser, faced off with Apollo, a sneer on his lips. “Or is it
closed because it’s a private party that we aren’t invited to?”

“Something like that. Now get the fuck out.”

“That’s not very businesslike,
muchacho
. We’re here
to enjoy the show, you know. Watch our pres’s baby girl on stage; maybe have a
taste of some of this prime
penocha
you got here.”

The others, standing behind Taser, all spoke up in agreeance
that they were there for the show. Each one was stocky in stature, but their
heights varied. There was no way Apollo could take them all on by himself.

“We have the right to refuse service to anyone. Now, I’m
asking nicely. Leave.” Apollo broke out into a sweat. No way to stop that at
the moment. This was an asshole puckering moment. Thirteen against one or two.
Not the greatest odds.

Taser invaded Apollo’s personal space, stepped right up to
him, nose to nose. “And if we don’t?”

Serious brain-to-mouth filter malfunction.

“Dude, wow. Seriously?” Apollo backed up as he waved his
hand in front of his face. “When was the last time you brushed, man? You smell
like a day old tuna plant, or you got some fucking raunchy strange.”

Mistake.

Or maybe not.

Taser moved quicker than Apollo expected, his balled up fist
cracked against the side of his jaw, and he swore he saw stars.

Apollo’s head snapped to the side, his body rocked back, but
he managed to maintain his position. He slowly turned his head back to face the
fucker who just hit him, Apollo moved his jaw back and forth to see if it was
broken. “That all you got? You hit like a fucking bitch.”

Apollo was poking the bear and doing it on purpose. He had
to stall long enough for backup to arrive. It was either that or him and Styx
were going to take on the whole mother fucking burrito.

Just fucking great.

Taser started to circle him, his posse moving to surround
him like a pack of hyenas about to attack their prey.

Apollo’s eyes never left Taser as he moved around him,
trying to keep tabs on the others as well. This was going to hurt, but he’d
take it like a man. He may get his ass handed to him, but Taser was going to
know what hit him by the time Apollo was done with his ass.

“I thought I smelled fucking grease in here.”

Apollo let out a sigh of relief when he heard Romeo’s voice
split through the tension. He glanced over to his president as Romeo lifted his
head to sniff at the air.

“I thought I fucking told you to keep the garbage out on the
street, boy.” Romeo glared at Taser as he spoke to Apollo.

Apollo grinned like a madman as Taser and his crew froze at
hearing Romeo, They turned to face the ten SixGuns that just walked into the
club. “I was about to grab Styx and round the bags up and toss them to the
street.”

Talk about relief. Seeing his brothers standing there
battle-ready was a sight to behold. Romeo was in the front with Saber and Wolf
just behind him. Staggered out behind them were Wraith, Hawkeye, Axe,
Zacky-boy, Joker, Ethanol, and Reaper. Not one of the men was under six-foot
tall or two-hundred pounds. Add Apollo and Styx to the mix and it was an even
fight against the TG.

“You talk big, having that many men at your back, Romeo.”
Taser sneered at him.

“Is this all this mother fucker’s been doing? Talking you to
death?” Romeo ignored Taser, speaking directly to Apollo.

“Pretty much. He got one good lick in.” Apollo lifted his
shoulder and let it drop.

“Then I think you need to return the favor and get this
fucking party started.”

Apollo needed no more encouragement. Taser was positioned
just right, and happened to turn to face Apollo just as he shifted his weight
and rolled his shoulder back. When he stepped into Taser, Apollo let every
ounce of pent-up aggression loose in that one swing.

The feeling of his knuckles as they cracked against the
center of Taser’s jaw line was almost orgasmic. The force that followed the hit
was enough to snap his head to the side. Apollo watched the near-black eyes go
blank as Taser pivoted on the balls of his feet, then sank to the floor like a
bag of potatoes.

Seeing their sergeant at arms fall before them sent the rest
of the TGMC into motion. There was a wave of movement in one surge, bodies
crashing against one another. Between the women screaming and the men shouting,
fists swinging and bodies flying, it was sheer chaos in Throttle Boss.

Apollo only caught glimpses of his brothers in action,
holding his own against one of the larger Gallos, but seeing Wolf in action was
something he didn’t want to miss. He was poetry in motion, every movement fluid
and graceful, like a dance and the dumbass in his way never held a candle to
him.

The rest of the men were battling their own foes, some
coming out on top, others finding themselves on the bottom, personal punching
bags to the TG. Not one of the SixGuns backed down though. Tenacious as the pit
bulls they helped rescue, the SixGuns were not backing down from beating that
ass.

Taser had finally woken up and was heading toward the door,
whistling for his brothers to follow. Every one of the men listened, picked
their asses up off the floor, detached from whoever they were fighting, and
bolted for the doors.

Even though he was bleeding from nearly every orifice he
had, Apollo’s chest rose and fell with each labored, adrenaline-filled breath.
Wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t help but
laugh as pain knifed through his side.

“Now that was fun.” Romeo’s voice was laced with sarcasm as
he glanced around the club sighing.

Tables were broken, chairs smashed, the stage splattered
with blood. There wasn’t a brother that wasn’t bleeding…well, maybe except for
Wolf. Apollo wasn’t sure if that fucker had blood in his veins or pure ice. But
he was pretty sure that wasn’t his blood he was sporting.

“This is probably a dumb question…” Axe cleared his throat
with a nod to Star for the wet towel she handed him. “Why the hell did the TG
come here of all places? I can see hitting the clubhouse again while we’re
getting ready for the party and all, but here?”

Several of the girls had come out from the back and were
tending to the wounded males, the other customers having fled the scene as it
began. Styx had called in a favor to the PD to keep them from coming out to see
what the commotion was, leaving the club to fend for themselves.

“Oh my God, Dalton!” Gabby cried out frantically as she ran
and jumped onto Apollo, forcing him to grab her for balance before he fell
over. “Thank God, you’re safe!”

Apollo flinched as her hands flew over his face, pseudo
worry blanketing her own. “Get the fuck off me.” He thrust Gabby aside; disgust
flowed through him as he stared in disbelief at the bitch who had started it
all.

Romeo’s face filled with anger as he stepped forward, his
index finger thrust toward Gabby, his voice thick was emotion. “This is why the
TG were here. They came to get their president’s daughter and bring her fucking
ass home.”

Gabby’s eyes grew wide as she was tossed aside, followed by
the onslaught by Romeo. “My dad doesn’t rule me. I do what I want.”

Apollo scoffed, throwing his head back laughing. “What a
fucking crock of shit, Gabby. That man owns you. He says jump and you ask how
high.”

“Fuck. You.” Gabby spit out.

“Been there done that, babe. Wouldn’t touch that shit
again—even with Romeo’s dick.”

Romeo snorted and motioned for Zack to take ahold of Gabby.
“Get her out of here.”

Zack nodded and reached out to take her elbow, but she
slapped his hand away, snarling at him. “Don’t you fucking touch me, you piece
of shit.”

Romeo shook his head, a soft sigh of frustration given. “I
have never hit a woman, Gabrielle. But you are coming very close to being my
first. You tell Muerte that Hell is empty because all the devils are here, and
we’re coming for him.”

Gabby recoiled with a frantic glance at Apollo, like he was
going to save her.

“Don’t look at me.” He pointed to the exit. “Don’t let the
door hit your ass on the way out.”

Styx wiped his face with a towel, looking over the
terrycloth at her. “Oh, yeah. By the way, you’re fired.”

“You…you can’t fire me,” Gabby stuttered as she slowly
backed away from the men and the women who were advancing on her.

“He just did, honey.” Star grabbed Gabby by one arm,
Cinnamon swept up from the rear to take hold of Gabby by her hair. “Let us show
you the way out.”

“Dalton?” Gabby nearly tripped and fell as the twin’s
dragged her to the door, her voice questioning. Then it turned into sheer
anger. “You can’t do this!”

Cinnamon giggled as they tossed her out on her bare ass. “We
just did, sweetie. Get over it.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me!”

The rest of whatever she was screaming was cut off when the
soundproofed door slammed shut, leaving the club to try and pick up what was
left of the inside of Throttle Boss.

Chapter Seventeen

Thorne tried to get into the bathroom to see how the
pictures turned out, but the bastard had locked the door. Technically, it was
her house, she could kick the door down, but she might ruin equipment or
something, and she didn’t want to be held responsible for that.

So she spent the day cleaning instead. That’s right,
cleaning. The house looked livable! She had Stella bring back her plants and
place them strategically around the home, giving it a spa-like feel with the
new eggshell-colored furniture that she bought after the spoiled bitch from
hell decided to play dodge ball with a brick and her picture window.

She had finished the job that Dalton had started with
opening more shades and allowing light in, dusting and vacuuming. The only
thing she couldn’t build the courage to do was to bring the mirrors back in.

Baby steps.

She had just changed into her night clothes, a simple pair
of boy shorts and a tank top, when she heard Dalton’s Blazer pull up and the
door slam. She pulled her hair up into a high pony tail, then padded barefoot
to the foyer to greet him, but stopped short when he stepped into the light.

“
Hijo de la chingada
!” Thorne’s eyes grew wide as she
rushed over as Dalton closed the door.

He was covered in blood. Everywhere. She had no idea if it
was his, but by the bruising on his face and the cut on his forehead that was
bleeding like a sieve, she could only assume that at least some of it was.

“I sure the fuck hope that the other guy looks worse.”

Dalton grimaced when he laughed at her slight jest. “Yeah, I
slapped him so hard that Google won’t even be able to find him.”

She reached up and gingerly touched his face, feeling for
any broken cheek bones or fractured skull, or whatever. “I hope so, because he
did a number on your ass. You’re going to need stitches for that cut on your
brow.”

“Really?” Dalton whined and stomped his foot like a child.
“Do we have to?”

Thorne giggled, yes, she actually giggled, and the sound
almost frightened her. “Quit being a baby. I’ve got the materials to do it
here. And you do realize that you have violated the condition of your stay
here, right?”

“Fuck it, I don’t care,” he grumbled while walking to the
kitchen table to sit down.

“I want to know what happened, Dalton.” Thorne called out as
she walked back to her room to grab her medic kit and the lidocaine that she
had “acquired” through certain means. “There better be a damn good story behind
it for you to throw away your freedom so easily.”

Luckily enough, she found a couple old towels and a
washcloth, which she quickly grabbed then walked back to the kitchen and set
the kit on the floor and the towels and lidocaine on the table. She glanced up
at the wide-eyed Dalton as she squatted down in front of him, following his
gaze to the syringe then back to his paling visage.

She couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “You can’t be
serious? All your fucking ink and you’re scared of a tiny needle?”

“And if you tell anyone, I’ll kick your ass,” Dalton
threatened lightly, scooting slightly away from the needle.

“I have to numb the area I’m going to stitch up, so suck it
up, buttercup.” She stood up and set a sterile package on the table.

“The fuck you say.”

“I didn’t stutter, Dalton Kilpatrick. Wipe the sand out of
your vagina and man up. It’s a couple of sticks to numb it and we’re done.”

With a shake of his head, Dalton pushed up out of the chair
to move to the freezer. Opening it up, he yanked out an ice pack and wrapped it
up in one of the towels that she had brought out. Placing it onto his swollen
right hand, he cleared his throat. “You have tequila, right?”

Thorne leaned her hip against the table, crossed her arms
over her chest, and stared at him. “You’re breaking out in a sweat. Can’t
handle the heat there, big guy?”

“Fuck you, Lopez.”

Thorne burst out in deep hearty laughter. “Ohmuhgawd,” her
words ran together, unable to breathe from the laughter. “This is unbelievable.
Who would have thought you, of all people, were scared of needles.”

She moved over to her liquor cabinet, grabbed a bottle of
Cuervo, and set it on the table. She pointed to the seat that he had recently
unoccupied. “Sit down and take it like a man.”

“No numbing. Just stitch the shit up.” Dalton moved with
exceptional slowness to the seat, snatched up the bottle, and opened it rather
quickly.

“That’s going to be more painful than the shot, Dalton.”

“Don’t give a fuck. That’s what the ‘takillya’ is for. Be
like Nike:
Just Do It
.”

Thorne shook her head as he guzzled about half the bottle
down, his eyes watering as he pounded his chest, trying to breathe from the burning
liquor. “Dumb ass,” she muttered to herself as she pulled on sterile gloves
then ripped open the package to lay out the forceps and curved needle. She
opened another smaller package, and decided on four gage thread. After
threading the needle, she pulled her chair closer to him, and straddled his
legs.

“You got some s’plaining to do, Lucy.” With a quirk of her
brow, she glanced to him, then picked up a cotton swab with iodine on it. She
knew that this was about to hurt, and prayed she was quick enough to move if he
decided to swing.

Thorne tried to dab the swab around the cut to clean the
area, biting down on her lower lip as she blotted gently across the open wound.

“What the fuck!” Dalton yelped, his head jerked back away
from her. “Are you trying to hurt me on purpose?”

“I have to clean the wound before I can stitch it, numb
nuts.” She finished cleaning the area, following his movement with ease. “Quit
moving around so damn much, or I’ll hog tie you like I have some patients of
mine. Now, tell me what the hell happened.”

Dalton sighed; his hand lifted the bottle once more to take
a swig from it. “The TG showed up at the club.”

Thorne gave pause as she stared at him in disbelief; her
eyes searched his slightly out of focus ice-blue eyes. “Do they have a death
wish?”

“They did tonight. They found out Gabby works there and
decided to pay a visit.” One shoulder lifted and fell as he continued. “The
girls are ready to kill her, but Styx fired her, and the twins physically
removed her and threw her out.”

“Uhuh,” Thorne grunted as she gently felt around the cut,
her tongue darting out and sweeping over her lips before she stuck the needle
through the skin.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph on a pogo stick!”

“Don’t you fucking dare move, especially if you want a tiny
scar. You don’t need to be looking like me.” She glanced at him from under
thick lashes then refocused her attention back to the small stiches, using the
forceps to grab the end of the needle and pull it through the skin. Then she
tied off a miniscule knot. “That doesn’t explain how you ended up looking like
you went rounds with George Foreman.”

“They rolled in thirteen deep, so we called Romeo and got
some back up. I knocked out their sergeant at arms and they didn’t like it too
much. It started a brawl. The fucker I tangled with cracked a glass against my
head.” He winced and took another drink. “They look a shit-ton worse. Trust
me.”

“Mmm, I bet they do.” She tied off another knot and made
another round through the skin. “At least the bitch doesn’t work there anymore.
Now maybe you’ll be drama free.”

Snorting, he nodded then yelped as she stuck him again.

“Quit moving, I’m not going to tell you again.”

It took three more stitches and he was patched up. She
reached past him, wet the wash cloth and gently wiped it over the now-closed
wound. After she threw away the remnants of the impromptu surgery, she sat back
down and placed her bare foot on the edge of his seat, between his legs.

Thorne plucked the bottle from him, nodded, took a drink,
then gave it back to him. “Hey, we match now.” She pointed to her facial scar
then to his.

“Not funny, babe. At all.” He frowned and leaned back in his
chair, draping his arm on the table as he accepted the bottle back. “How are
you dealing with this?”

“Dealing with what?”

He motioned to her then to his own face, making a circling
gesture. “All of it, the scars, the healing process.”

Thorne wasn’t so sure she wanted that can of worms opened.
It was a sore subject, obviously. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth
and gave a shrug in response. “Okay, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer, Espina.”

Thorne glared at him for using her real name and pushing on
a subject she didn’t think she could talk about. It was going to open up an
emotional flood gate she wasn’t sure she could handle. “I’m not sure.” She held
up a hand as Dalton looked like he was about to scold her again. “Let me
finish.”

She grabbed the bottle from him once more, took a long
swallow, and then gasped as it burned all the way down to her stomach. Thorne
wiped her eyes free of the tequila tears and sniffled. “I don’t know how to
deal with it. I’ve lost the only thing in my life that I ever dreamed about.
That’s a hard pill to swallow. On top of the physical scars, I have mental
ones, too. I lost Maggie while still in the hospital, I wasn’t allowed to go to
her funeral because of the chance of infection; I had to watch it through a
fucking video. The only ties I have to Maggie now are in Amy and Antonia and
the shop she worked in.

“Sure, Hawkeye is my uncle, but he’s not Maggie. He can only
do so much. Then, seeing the physical scars every day is a reminder that my
modeling career is gone. I feel ugly; I get stared at on a constant basis. I
even had a kid scream in his mom’s arms, in fear of the ‘lady with the bad
face’ when trying to take care of him.” Thorne lifted her hands and made
quotation marks in air at the child’s comment, still holding the bottle.

Liquid courage.

After another drink, she passed the bottle back to him. “I
know I’m used to being stared at, I got it even when not being the poster child
of a science project gone wrong, but it’s different now. People look at me with
pity or fear in their eyes. I don’t need that. It fucking hurts.”

“Stay put.” Dalton got up and pointed his finger at her,
swaying where he stood. “Ugh, got up too fast.” He pointed at her again. “I
mean it. Stay.”

“Woof woof?” Both her brows lifted in question. “Got up to
fast, my ass. You’re buzzed. I bet you didn’t eat today.”

“I decided to be like Thorne today and live on protein
shakes.”

“Asshole.” She chuckled and shook her head while she coyly
watched him walk away from her.

“You know it.”

He disappeared from view. Yawning, she stretched out her
legs and wiggled her toes with a glance to the clock. Holy Fartknockers! It was
almost three in the morning. No wonder she was sleepy.

Dalton cleared his throat as he walked back into the
kitchen, setting down the shots from earlier. “Take a look.”

Thorne blinked rapidly in surprise. She picked up the
pictures, setting them down one by one as she viewed the shots. They were
beyond amazing. The angles he chose and the lighting and filters—she couldn’t
believe her eyes. They had to have been photo-shopped, airbrushed…something.

She released a shattered breath that she had not realized she
was holding. Her eyes lifted, trying to see through the blurred vision. “This
is me?”

“Is a frog’s ass watertight?” Dalton replied back to her in
a sarcastic tone. “Yes, Thorne. That is all you. I just aimed and let the
camera do its thing.”

Not one picture showed her scar fully. You could see the one
around her throat, but it almost looked like she was wearing a choker. “Uhm,
wow,” was all she could say. She sincerely did not expect the pictures to come
out like they did. She looked like how she once did, unmarred. Perfect.

“Scars give character, Thorne. It adds to your beauty, when
you’re not being a raging bitch and feeling sorry for yourself. I really hope
this proves it. And I won’t say it again.” Knuckles rapped against the table
when he yawned. “It’s my bedtime. Thank you for fixing me up, Thorne.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he cupped her head in his hand
and kissed the top of it. She watched him walk down the hallway and disappear
into his room. Looking back at the pictures, she smiled a hopeful smile,
running her thumb over one of the photo’s she held.

“I hate it when he’s right.”