“Thorne!” Half barking, half yelling out her name as he raced down the hallway in the direction the sound had come from. His heart was in his throat, the pounding sound deafening as he careened around the corner to the living room.
It didn’t take long to assess the situation.
The picture window, a double-paned storm window, had been shattered by a brick that now lay in the midst of the now-broken glass from the coffee table. Debris covered the couch and floor, with Thorne curled up in a ball between the table and couch, blanketed in shards of glass.
Sheer panic tore through him, completely stealing his breath at the very thought that she might be hurt, or worse. The blood that coursed through his veins turned to ice as he stepped toward her at an unsure, slow pace.
Dalton Kilpatrick had never felt anything like this in his entire lifetime. He hadn’t cared enough about anyone, other than his family. Now, seeing Thorne curled up into a fetal position, not knowing if she was alive or dead, all but stole the life right out from under him.
He reached down and grabbed the metal railings of the coffee table and slung it aside as if it were a rag doll, his only thought was to get to Thorne and make sure she was alright.
When Thorne lifted her head and turned the tear-filled amber eyes toward him, his heart shattered, though he breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive. That was all that mattered.
He sank to his knees with no regard for his own safety and gathered her up into his arms. “Shhhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Thorne nestled into him, with a wrap of her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest. “I can’t go through that again,” was muffled by his shirt as she spoke to him.
No one should ever go through what she did, ever. But to relive it because some fool threw a brick through a window? Was total and complete bullshit. Hearing the glass shatter had triggered a form of PTSD in her, and she trembled in his arms.
Rubbing his whiskered cheek against the top of her head, he sighed as he glanced around the glass-covered floor. “You don’t need to go through it again, Thorne. And you won’t. I promise you that.”
Thorne pushed away from him, half scoffing, half laughing as she wiped at her eyes. “You won’t be around me all the time to play hero, Dalton. I’m a big girl and shit happens.”
She slammed that wall up as soon as she realized it was down. He thought he had been making progress.
Two steps forward, ten back.
Go fucking figure.
Women: can’t live with them, sure as fuck can’t shoot them.
Apollo released his hold on her and gently brushed the shards of glass off of her shoulder. “I’ll get the vacuum and clean this up. Go shower and try to calm down and relax.”
“Who the fuck would do this?”
He felt her gaze follow him as he rose from the floor to get the vacuum out of the closet. “I don’t know, but this is what did it.”
Apollo bent over and scooped up the brick and turned it over in his hand.
…what the fuck?
His stomach sank. He knew exactly who threw the rock. Gabby.
Thorne plucked the brick from his hand, leaving him fumbling to try and grab it before she could read the word brazenly written across it in what looked like blood.
Punta.
Thorne grew still as Apollo watched her, trying not to show the fact he was in full-fledged panic about what she might do when it registered. He didn’t want to have to stop her from killing Gabby, but he knew that it would come down to that.
Thorne’s face became unreadable as she dropped the brick, clearing her throat. Tongue darted out across her lips, then inhaled—opening her mouth as if she was going to say something, and then thought better of it. Thorne shook her head then waved her hand in the air, like she was dismissing what ever thought it was she was having. She left the room without so much as a kiss my ass or fuck you, or even an I’ll kill her.
The silent, pissed-off Thorne scared him more than the hot-headed in-your-face one. This one felt more lethal and way more calculating.
The quiet click of her bedroom door shutting was an explosion in the silence of the living room, putting Apollo into motion.
He picked up his cell and dialed Romeo’s number.
EVERYTHING WAS FUBARED.
How the fuck was he supposed to keep shit together when the TG were attacking like they were and half the club was screaming for war, the other half screaming for retaliation?
Romeo needed thinking space. Sure, he had the whole fucking ranch to himself, but he needed someone to talk to that wouldn’t talk back. Someone to just listen and let him vent until his little cold heart was content.
Just where would that be?
Stone’s grave.
Caged today, he didn’t feel like going around and announcing to the world just who he was and what he was doing.
Currently, he was sitting with his back against the gravestone that was gloss black and engraved in white with the back patch of the club. His name, Alan “Stone” James was centered above his picture, to the left was his birth date, to the right, his “death” date.
Aviators covered the pale-green eyes from public view, ripped jeans and a ribbed tank covered by a flannel was his dress code. No need to scream biker right now.
“Well, old man. I hope you’re having a blast wherever the fuck you are.” Romeo sighed, rubbing his calloused hand over his bald head, a frown marring his features. “I have no fucking idea what to do any more or where the fuck this club is headed. The TG are trying to lay claim on the territory that we’ve held for over twenty fucking years. First, Diablo and his shit, then losing Mags, lying to Thorne. All of this shit adds up and quick.
“I’m feeling caged in, like I can’t even fucking catch a breath any more. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. We have a prospect that is MIA, a brother that is looking at twenty-five to life for a fucking trumped up charge, Amy is pregnant, Dad. You should have been here for that. If anything, that is what matters. You should have been here to see your grandbaby.
“I don’t even know if I’m even doing this shit right. I’m trying to lead like you, but fuck. I’m not you. I do shit differently. My initial instinct is war. I want to kill those assholes for everything they’ve done. You know that shit isn’t over with. Hitting the clubhouse is just the beginning. We’re sitting here with our fucking dicks in our hands waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Romeo pulled up his knees, laid his forearms on his legs, and allowed his head to drop down in defeat. He was so self-absorbed that he never heard the footsteps approaching from behind.
“Are we done with the one-man pity party? Cause if not, I’ll go wait by the truck until your tears dry up and your fucking balls drop.”
Romeo lifted his head to stare out at his best friend and brother from behind the sunglasses. “Do you ever make a fucking sound when you walk up on someone?”
“Do I ever?” A single brow rose up, the cold hazel eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
“Point.”
Wolf rocked back on his heels and nodded before he squatted down in front of Romeo. “You need to pull yourself together, brother.”
“You think I don’t fucking know that, Colin?” Romeo growled at Wolf with a push to lift himself up from the ground. “I’ve held myself together this long, but I’m allowed to vent, too.”
“Yeah, you are. But vent to someone who can tell you to keep your shit straight. Not to a ghost who doesn’t give a fuck.” Wolf jutted out his hand, index finger pointed to the gravestone. “Wherever that man is, he’s trying to live a semi-normal life. He’s probably wondering every fucking day how his family is, what he’s missing out on, what he left behind. Put yourself in his shoes and think about what the fuck he must be going through. He’s alone. You’re not.”
Romeo stared down Wolf, who never flinched or looked away. Bastard. Romeo knew that Wolf was right, Stone had to be going through some serious shit h
aving to start his life completely over, never seeing his family again or having any form of contact what so ever. WitSec was a bitch, but Stone wanted to protect his family.
That had been the only way out.
“Stare at me all the fuck you want. I’m not scared, Xander. Never have been, never will be. You know I’m right.” Wolf lifted his hand once more and dragged it through his long wavy strands before it dropped and hooked his thumb through a belt loop on his jeans. “You might not like what I’m about to say, but you’re going to fucking listen, and listen good.
“You lost out on a woman who worshipped the ground you walked on. Maggie was perfect for you and she waited as long as she could while you stuck your dick in everything that had a slit. And that was before the night you two hooked up. That shit just sealed the deal. We all lose people we love. But seriously? Dude, you got to let go. It’s not like you two were in a relationship. You threw her away, and Diablo scooped her up. Count your fucking losses, lick your fucking wounds, grab your fucking balls, and man the fuck up.
“You sitting here whining about how you lost your daddy—boo-fucking-hoo. At least you fucking grew up with a dad. You have memories; you got to spend your birthdays and Christmases with him. I got a mom who fucking wasted her life on prescriptions and any fucking piece of ass she could fuck and hope to trap in a marriage. You weren’t a fucking punching bag to the man who was dumb enough to think your mom’s pussy was gold.
“Dad may have left everything to me, but that shit never went into effect until I was eighteen. You’ve walked away looking pretty fucking good. You got the ranch, you have family that loves you and you got the fucking club. You’re a good president, you listen and you think before you rock it out with the gut instinct. Plus, you listen to advice and you give a fuck. Me?” Wolf patted on his cut, then down to his thighs. “Oh wait—” Wolf reached into his jeans pockets and as he pulled his hands out, he pulled out the pocket material, too. “Whoops, I don’t have any to give.”
Romeo chuckled and shook his head. He knew everything that Wolf was saying was true. Perhaps he had felt sorry for himself for too long. Maybe that was why he felt inadequate being the president of the club. He had lost himself somewhere along the way.
Not anymore.
He had to man up and get back to the old Romeo, minus the drugs. The women? No, he loved women too much. The single life was for him. The incident after Tasha had sealed that deal.
“Whatever, Wolf. You give a fuck or else you wouldn’t have just given me a king’s speech.”
“Plausible deniability.”
“No worries, I won’t let the boys know you have feel goods.”
“Suck my dick, bro.”
“Nah.” Romeo slapped Wolf on the back, giving him a quick pat for good measure. “I’ll leave that to the women that fall at your feet.”
“You must be thinking I’m a Hollywood man like Saber. They’d have to be blind to want this ugly mug, or deal with my ass.”
“Bitch, please.” Romeo snorted as he started the trek back to the truck, Wolf falling into step beside him. It would take one hell of a woman to handle Wolf, that was for sure. Most left him within a week or two of being with him, unable to handle his mysterious trips and the secrecy he lived by.
“We may have a situation,” Romeo continued. “Muerte’s daughter is working at Throttle, and she’s Apollo’s ex.”
“Okay and? Just another piece of ass he’s railed.” Wolf lifted one shoulder and let it fall.
“She threw a brick though Thorne’s window, almost hit Thorne. They’ve had a run in already, and he’s worried she’ll do something stupid.”
“She? As in the ex or Thorne? And did they see his ex throw the brick?”
“No, but the name on the brick was in Spanish and—”
Wolf shook his head and interrupted Romeo. “No ands. No assumptions. We do this, we do it right. Period.”
Romeo leaned against the door of the truck, glanced toward the bike that Wolf rode in then back to Wolf. “I can see that. But Thorne is ready to kill the bitch, and I doubt Apollo will be able to stop her when it goes down.”
“One less TG in the world then. No skin off our back. If no one saw the shooter on the knoll, it wasn’t the CIA.”
“Bad analogy, bro.”
“And?”
“And…” Romeo grinned at Wolf with a shake of his head. “And nothing, I guess. You ready for the party?”
“I guess. I’m ready to see the girl’s.” Wolf bounced his brows in a suggestive manner.
“And you call me the whore.”
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.
Fractured (Devil's SixGuns MC Book 2) Page 12
