Fractured (Devil's SixGuns MC Book 2)

by Scarlett Holloway

  Once she climbed in, Romeo texted Wolf, telling him to bring Hawkeye to the house. This was going to remain under wraps until he knew what the fuck was going on. He hated to do the same thing that his parents and Maggie did to him, to Thorne and Amy, but he felt it was a necessary evil.

  The last lines of her letter made sense now. Take care of the girls. Thorne and Shiloh. Honestly? He thought she meant Thorne, Amy, and Antonia. God, how stupid he was. She had disappeared for a year right after they slept with one another and he never even tried to contact her to find out why. Amy was the only one who kept in contact, over the phone, then in emails as the computer age took over. Maggie had hidden it from everyone, and she had only been one town over, in Nipomo.

  As connected as the towns were, it was shocking that the news didn’t travel back to him that Shiloh was his. She had even been born in the same hospital as he had been.

  The ride was silent to the house, though when he pulled up to the house, Shiloh was already out of the cab and running for the barn. Everything she was doing, the way she talked, her features, all screamed loud and proud that she was a James.

  He figured she might need some time to herself, to get herself situated and maybe cry—or whatever it was teenage girls did to cope with life. Romeo trekked to the house, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  How in hell was he going to raise a teenage girl?

  He wasn’t fucking father material.

  What the fuck was Maggie thinking?

  “Give her Amy’s old room.” Hawkeye spoke up behind him.

  Not even giving it a second thought, a roar erupted from Romeo as he swung around to face his club brother, his arm swinging wide and high. There was nothing more satisfying in that moment than feeling his fist making brutal contact with Hawkeye’s jaw. Romeo had put everything he had into the haymaker that forced Hawkeye off his feet, sending him crashing into the entertainment center.

  “Feel better?” Wolf sighed as he leaned lazily against the jam of the front door.

  “Fuckin’aye right I do.” Romeo snarled at Wolf, his shoulders hunched forward, fists clenched at his sides, waiting for Hawkeye to get up and make a move toward him.

  Hawkeye was dazed as he pushed himself up off of the floor, one hand out to try and stop a severe ass beating, the other hand gingerly touched his split lip. “Alright, that was deserved.” He staggered over to the couch and fell onto it.

  “You are lucky I don’t rip that bottom fucking rocker off your cut and destroy the brand.”

  Hawkeye looked over to Romeo, his salt-and-pepper colored head shook back and forth. “This isn’t club business. And you better not make it club business, boy. This was between you and Maggie.”

  Yes, Hawkeye was in his late forties, but he acted like he was in his thirties. Shaggy hair was black with strands of distinguished grey, chocolate colored eyes and a goatee. High cheekbones and the olive colored skin screamed the Mexican lineage that was all Lopez. Alejandro Lopez had been an original SixGuns when his father had formed it. He was the youngest member to date, patched in at eighteen.

  Romeo breathed through his nose, trying to regulate his ragged breathing and lower his blood pressure. He knew Hawkeye was right, but in the heat of the moment, Romeo might have done the rash action. “You better start explaining why the fuck everyone knew about Shiloh but me.”

  Wolf ventured into the kitchen and returned with an ice-filled baggie wrapped in a paper towel. After handing it to Hawkeye, he flopped down into the recliner. “Why did Maggie keep it a secret? That’s not exactly fair to Romeo here.”

  Hawkeye nodded in thanks to Wolf, the makeshift icepack was pressed to his bottom lip, his words muffled by the object. “Neither of you were ready to have kids. You were nineteen, she was fifteen. Do you really think you could have handled it? You were wild and didn’t know who you were. You still don’t. You stick your dick into anything with a slit, you are high half the time or drunk. You can’t do that and take care of a child.

  “I wanted them to tell you. Shit, I all but begged Stone to tell you, that maybe it would make you grow up. But he didn’t think you were ready. So my wife and I were parents again. I left my wife because it was fucking wrong that you shouldn’t know and I didn’t want anything to do with it. But I always visited. She’s my great-niece; I’m not going to watch her grow up through social media or pictures.

  “Stone and Gail made sure that Rebel knew about you, and that you would someday see her. They never lied to her. She knows you weren’t ready, but she holds you up on a pedestal that I think you need to be knocked down from. Maggie went and spent time with her every chance she got. All of the money she had left after bills went into the trust fund for her.

  “Now you have to man up and take care of that little girl out there. If you don’t, I will take this cut off and show you how it’s done, son. Maggie had faith in you, don’t prove her wrong.”

  Right at the moment, he couldn’t give a fuck what Maggie thought or didn’t think. She had lied to him for God only knows how long. Speaking of which, “How old is she?”

  “She turns fourteen October thirty-first.”

  A Halloween baby and that was only a couple of months away. “What the fuck do I know about raising a kid? Let alone a fucking thirteen year old girl.”

  Wolf chortled and glanced to Romeo. “That’s what the club is for and you have Amy and Thorne and several of the ol’ ladies that I’m sure will help.”

  “The one piece of advice that I can give you?” Hawkeye removed the icepack from his lip and looked pointedly at Romeo. “Club business stays just that. Leave the shit at the door when you come home. Sure, she will be a PDOSG, and be included on some club things, but your dad managed to keep it from the home. I have faith that you can, too.”

  Proud Daughter of a SixGuns.

  Damn it. He never thought he’d see the day. Ever. Now here he was: Insta-Dad. Just add water and watch him grow. If only it was that easy.

  “ARE YOU DRESSED?” APOLLO yelled down the hallway at Thorne who had just finished showering after their workout. They had smashed it hard in the gym and he was hurting, but damn was it a good burn.

  “Yeah, come in.”

  He walked down the hall and pushed open the door to her room, crossed his arms over his chest when he leaned against the door jam. His eyes roamed lazily over her, drinking in every damn inch. She was in a pair of halfway tight jeans with a pair of cowboy boots and a razor back tank top in gold to bring out the amber in her eyes. Thorne had left her hair loose, allowing it to cascade down her back.

  His body tightened instantly. Fuck. Apollo reached down inconspicuously, he had to adjust himself. No need in walking around advertising that he had a fucking raging hard-on. All he could think about was bending her over—yeah, anyway.

  He had fun with her at the block party, seeing her come out of her shell, interacting with others. No one drew attention to her scars, everyone pleasant and welcoming. Some gave their condolences about Maggie, and she kept a stiff upper lip. She played a few of the games, indulged in the yummy goodness of churros and candy apples—black with gold ribbons for the club. For being black candied covered apples, they held the taste of a true caramel apple.

  Wolf and Romeo had disappeared early, no one knew why. Someone said Romeo went home sick, and he wasn’t answering his phone either. Apollo finally got in touch with Wolf, and all he was told was that Romeo was taking a day or so to himself.

  ‘Nuff said.

  “You’ve been on the back of a bike before, right?”

  Thorne looked over her shoulder, startled. “Yes, why?”

  “We’re going to meet some of the guys at mom’s diner. Mom misses cooking for us, and we usually all meet there once a week.”

  “We can drive. And yeah, I remember Saber mentioning it a time or two.”

  Apollo’s brows shot up as he shoved himself away from the jam. “We’re taking the bike. I haven’t ridden in ages, and seriously, I’m dying her
e.”

  Thorne moved past him as he threw his temper tantrum, but paused to knock her knuckles against his head. “Hello, McFly. You can’t ride without your cut, and you’re not allowed to wear colors while that pretty piece of jewelry is attached to your ankle.”

  “Pffft, minor detail.” Apollo waved his hand around, though he was pouting. He wanted to ride his fucking bike. This shit was getting old and quick.

  “I don’t get it.” Thorne slipped past him and headed down the hallway.

  “What’s not to get?” He followed her out, curious as to what she couldn’t understand. “And you’re okay with going to Mom’s?”

  “Oh, you mean you’re asking me this time?” Thorne grinned at him as she opened the fridge and took out two waters, tossing him one.

  “Damn it, woman, quit giving me grief. No, I’m not asking. There. We’re going to Mom’s. Now, what don’t you get?”

  “Why you ride. Why anyone rides. It’s dangerous. You’re not safe. At any moment you could wreck. The smallest mistake and BOOM!” She snapped her fingers. “You’re dead. And I’m left scraping your carcass off the asphalt.”

  “I never really questioned why I ride. It’s as basic as breathing. The feel of the wind against your face, the freedom of flight without wings. It’s the speed, the adrenaline rush that drives you. Being on that precious edge, the fine line between life and death. It’s knowing just how far you can push the limits to the extreme and still live to tell the tale.”

  Thorne leaned back against the counter, watching him as he spoke. “But you put other’s lives in danger when you carry a passenger, too.”

  The light clicked.

  There was the answer to the Sixty-four Million Dollar Question.

  Maggie.

  “Thorne. Please. Don’t take Diablo’s stupidity with Maggie and judge other’s actions when riding as the same. I may get crazy and reckless on my scooter at times, but I would never put anyone else’s life in harm’s way.” Apollo meant every word. He did get reckless at times, but that was on him. He was always safe when there was someone else on the bike with him.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, her eyes dropped to her boots as if there was something interesting about them.

  “Thorne. Don’t. Please? Trust me on this. I’ll show you if you give me the chance.” He knew her fear was real, but he wasn’t that fucking prick. “I’m not him. Just let me take you on one ride when I get this damn thing off.”

  “Maybe.”

  Well, that was better than “No”. He could live with that and he’d work with her on it. “Come on then, we’ll be late if we don’t leave.”

  * * * *

  The ride was quiet, and he wasn’t one to intrude on her thoughts. Granted it was only a five minute drive to the diner, but he let her stew on everything he had said. He didn’t want to be compared to Diablo. He wasn’t an abusive son of a bitch, or a coked-out lying sack of shit. But, in a small way, he couldn’t blame her. Though, she had been around Hawkeye, he didn’t see why she was still skittish with it.

  He got out of the Blazer and opened her door, then kept his hand on the small of her back as they stepped inside.

  The diner was old, nothing particularly special about it, but if you ever mentioned it to anyone, all they could do was rave about it. The Chipped Cup was a simple hole in the wall, small and cozy. When you walked in, you were taken back to the old days with red leather booth seats and fake wood tables with silver edging. The bar-like counter was black and the bolted down stools were covered with the same red material as the booths. There was a wooden swinging door toward the back that held another smaller room, set up with one long table down the center, and several smaller tables around it. The walls in the room were wood paneled, and the light shades that hung from the ceiling were stained glass in reds and greens.

  Stella came out from the back, having heard the tiny bell on the door jingle. “Dalton! Thorne!” she exclaimed, rushing to greet both of them with bear hugs. “The boys are in the back.”

  “I noticed they left Knucklehead and Zack outside with one of the hang-arounds.” Apollo returned her hug, one hand reached out to ruffle his nephew’s hair, who just wandered into the main room as well. “Waddup, Dally?”

  Dallas was Saber’s fourteen-year-old son, soon to be fifteen and just as strikingly handsome as his father. He kept his hair mussy short for baseball season, which was in full swing. When he started high school, he was already promised a spot on the varsity team. They all had the same shocking blue eyes, though like his father, Dallas’ eyes were almost lavender in color. Even as a young kid, Dallas never lacked female company.

  “Nothing much, helping out Grammie before I start the homework. Hey, Thorne.”

  Thorne was let go by Stella, who grinned and held out her fist to Dallas. They did some dap thing kids do, then Dallas hugged her before he excused himself to go do his school work.

  Taking hold of her hand, Apollo led Thorne to the back where Hawkeye, Ghost, and Axe were waiting. Each one stood up as they walked in, nodding in greeting.

  “Damn, Hawkeye. Did you forget to pay her when you were through?” Apollo teased him when he spotted Hawkeye’s split lip and bruised jaw. It earned him the middle finger in reply.

  Ghost stepped out from the table and held out a chair for Thorne. “Take a seat girl. Apollo will get your drink.”

  Thorne smirked at him when she sat down next to Ghost, though he felt her eyes on his every movement.

  He made his way through the small maze of tables when he got done pouring them both a cup of coffee. “Quit trying to mack on Thorne, Ghost. She’s not your type.”

  “And just what would my type be?”

  Apollo set the coffee down and pulled out a chair on the other side of Thorne. “Free and easy.”

  The men laughed in good fun, easily bantering back and forth. It was something that Apollo actually looked forward to on a weekly basis. Their meals were always light-hearted and full of laughter, never any club business spoken of. That was left for the clubhouse, and with no family around. The less they knew, the better they were.

  Stella had made them fish and chips from local catfish caught on the Lopez Lake catfish farm. She used some type of cornmeal beer batter mix and it worked, and served it up alongside hushpuppies and fries. Fattening and oh so damn good.

  Leaning back and stretching out his legs, Apollo patted his belly and yawned. “Fuck me. Now I have happy belly syndrome.” Full belly equaled sleepy.

  Thorne giggled and nodded in kind. “This was not the best meal, you know.”

  Axe snorted and waved his ring covered hand. “That was the best meal, sweet cheeks. Momma Stella makes the best catfish around.”

  “I meant—”

  Axe cut her off with a grunt. “I know exactly what you meant, doll. But not all of us spend every waking hour in a gym and look as fine as you.” He patted his near non-existent belly. “Fat boy gotta eat.”

  “Seriously? Did you just call yourself…”

  A loud sound of crashing metal and scraping interrupted Thorne, all of the men jumped up and ran toward the door.

  Apollo left Thorne behind with a “Stay here,” but he knew, like a typical woman, she wouldn’t stay put. He rushed out behind the other three, almost slamming into them as they came to a screeching halt.

  Zacky-boy was in a fist fight with a blacked-out figure between two tow trucks, that had their bikes hooked up, and was being dragged behind them. Parts were strewn about the parking lot and street where Zack had a hold on one of the culprits.

  It set the four patch holders into motion, running at full speed toward the trucks. Each male was yelling some obscenity at the vehicles as they raced toward Zack. The dark figure whipped out a long cylindrical weapon and swung it at Zack’s head. He barely blocked it with his right arm.

  The yell of pain from their prospect added fuel to the fire, reaching the truck as they both sped off, their bikes bounced behind them, sparks flying
as the metal raked against the concrete.

  “Thorne!” Apollo yelled for her as he dropped down by Zack, who was cradling his arm. “Zack, shit man, talk to me.”

  “That piece of shit, mother fucking ass wipe broke my fucking arm.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t your head.”

  Thorne ran up to them, already assessing the situation. “Give me your shirt and call an ambulance.”

  “One of the guys will take him to the hospital. Just do what you got to do to get him fixed up enough to get there.” Apollo pulled off his shirt and handed it to her. Good thing he wore a tank under his shirt tonight.

  “The ambulance can get him there faster and at least set his arm better than I can with the T-shirt, Dalton.”

  Apollo gritted his teeth, trying not to lose his patience with Thorne; he knew she was in medic mode. “I cannot be seen at the scene of a crime, Thorne. Fix him, and we will leave. The boys will then call the cops and I’ll make sure they call a wagon for him.”

  He could see the realization dawn on her features as it sank in that he would get thrown back in jail over being here when something like this went down. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.” He helped her to her feet when he stood up, then followed suit with Zack, helping his brothers-in-arms make their way back to where Axe was currently facing off with the other prospect.

  “Why didn’t you do anything?”

  The prospect looked at Axe, then to the other men, then back to Axe. “I tried to stop them.”

  Axe’s head jerked back as if he had been hit, then laughed. Apollo felt sorry for the prospect…for a small moment. “You tried to stop them?”

  “Yeah, I did, but there wasn’t anything I could do once the trucks drove off.”

  Axe looked around to the other men, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  Apollo pulled Thorne close to him. He knew what was about to happen, not knowing any other way to shield her from the punishment that was about to ensue.

  “Prospect SixGuns Zacky-boy sure as fuck tried to stop those fucking trucks. He’s got a broken arm to prove it. What the fuck do you have?” Axe stepped closer to the male, his fist clenched. “Huh? What the fuck does Prospect SixGuns Knucklehead got to show for it?”