by Blue Remy
Twisted Asphalt
Book 1 of the Asphalt Outlaw Series
by
Blue Remy
Copyright 2015 Blue Remy
Kindle Edition
ISBN-10: 1-62827-983-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-62827-983-2
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
This book is dedicated to Diane H and Kristen A. Without you two, Mace would never have been created, nor would Amy have found true love. Thank you both, from the deepest parts of my heart, for pushing me to do this book (and series).
The Asphalt Outlaw Series is also dedicated to all the Iron Cowboys out there and the Ol’Ladies who support their men. Wear your property tags proud ladies. You, above all, deserve it.
PROLOGUE
The lone figure sat in the interrogation room, glazed eyes staring bleakly at the Styrofoam cup in front of him. What the hell am I doing? The thought kept running through his mind, a sigh bursting past a frown. Calloused hands rose to rub reddened eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
The door opened and two men stepped in dressed in suits. One set a folder on the table then pulled out a chair and sat. The man never looked at him, just opened the folder, arranging pictures and papers while the other one took up residence against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look menacing.
“Well?” His voice cracked slightly, causing him to clear his throat and pick up the cold coffee for a sip.
The man sitting in front of him quirked an eyebrow. “Well what?”
“Are we doing this or not? I’ve sat here for two damn hours and have no results. I’ve given you everything. What are you going to do for me?”
The man leaning against the wall, pushed away from it, and stuck his hand out. “I’m Agent Dean and I’ll be handling your case. Excuse my partner’s—” He glanced to the other agent, then back to him. “Lack of enthusiasm. Agent Turner is finding it hard to believe we’ve been given a golden opportunity like this.”
He took the agent’s hand and gave it a shake. Eyes darted between the two men when he gave a slow nod. “If they find out I’ve been here, I’m a dead man. I’m risking everything and I want assurance that the innocent people involved will be kept safe.”
Agent Turner spoke up with laughter in his voice. “I highly doubt anyone is innocent in your little gang.”
Agent Dean ground his teeth together and glared at his partner. This was a break in a case against the notorious motorcycle gang, the Six-Gun Outlaws, which they had been waiting on for three years. His partner was about to toss it all out the window because he was holding a grudge against him.
“Step outside, Agent Turner.” Agent Dean yanked open the door and waited for his partner to walk past him.
The informant shook his head as he took in a deep breath. The two cops acted like they didn’t know their heads from a hole in the ground. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
* * * *
Closing the door so their conversation remained private, he moved right into Turner’s personal space, eyes narrowing dangerously. He stood a good head taller than Turner, his size imposing while he towered over him, staring down at the prick.
“Do not even ruin this case because you have a personal vendetta against me. If you keep this up, I will personally hand you your ass. I have worked too long for your whiney bitch ass to screw everything I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into.”
Agent Dean stepped closer, forcing Turner to step back, his shoulders hitting the wall, making him freeze in uncertainty. The agent’s face paled, causing Dean to grin, the predator viciously rising to the surface.
He adjusted Turner's tie and lowered his voice, knowing he was getting his point across. “If you get innocent people hurt, you won’t have me to worry about…” Letting his sentence fade off, he looked into the two-way mirror, moving just enough to show the male sitting there.
He felt Turner shudder. He grinned and backed away, smoothing out Turner's lapels for him. “That’s what I thought. How about you go get us some hot coffee?”
Patting his chest, Dean left his partner standing there and headed back into the room.
“Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”
* * * *
Six hours and three pots of coffee later, Dean was rubbing his face, tired of absorbing the information being given to him. It was more than he expected, but he wasn’t going to complain. The ATF had enough to get him on the inside and get the physical evidence they needed to shut the group down, especially after a patch holder willing to testify against his brothers came forward.
Three years of watching from the sidelines was over. An opportunity had landed in his lap and he wasn’t going to let it go. It was going to be long, hard work, but he was going to pull it off. It meant losing his identity, becoming someone else. Someone he wouldn’t recognize. Altering his appearance would only be part of it. Growing his hair out, becoming scruffy, and maybe changing his eye color, new name, new past. Easy stuff.
The hard part was going to be not losing a piece of himself. When you went in deep like this, you could lose yourself in the masquerade. Forget who you really are. He promised himself he wouldn’t do that. He prayed that he’d be able to keep that promise.
Months of researching the James family, gathering information about them, the club, motorcycles, terminology, the dos and don’ts of a motorcycle club. It was going to pay off. He’d find a way in. One way or another.
Dean spent hours, days, weeks with the informant, becoming a fountain of knowledge for everything he needed to know. There was no messing up. He just had to prove himself to the right people and get noticed. That was going to be the most difficult part. Good things come to those who have patience.
Patience paid off in the end.
CHAPTER 1
If Amy heard “Oh my God, you’re back!” one more time, she was going to rip out her hair. She hated small town life. Everyone knew everyone else’s business and they all knew she was back in town.
Amethyst James was not your average, everyday, run of the mill girl. She was the daughter of the infamous Alan “Stone” James, president of the Six-Gun Outlaw Motorcycle Club. Bad enough her brother was the vice president, her dad just made her a leper. Her social life was nonexistent; anyone she ever dated was scared off by both men. Her mother always tried to fend them off. It just never worked.
Her mother, Gail, passed away about a year ago, leaving a devastated family behind, though Amy took it the worst. Unable to cope with her dad and brother, she fled the great state of California and went to massage therapy school. Her best friend, Maggie, kept her informed through e-mails of everything that went on, from the newest member of the MC and just how much of a hunk the new prospect was, to the pregnancy scare her brother was involved in.
She had been back for a month, taking over her mother’s business, Ariel’s Treasure Cove, and getting reacquainted with her father since her brother was on a run. She spent time gossiping with Maggie while working her horses. She’d gotten back into the swing of things, creating a routine for herself, trying not to think about her mother or…
“Crap! I’m so sorry!”
> Amy snapped out of memory lane when she nearly slammed her grocery cart into a man standing in the hair and shampoo aisle.
The guy turned toward her and her jaw all but dropped. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. A bit taller than her five-foot-ten height, his long golden hair framed a square jaw line. Prominent cheek bones led to lips she could kiss for hours, but those eyes. Dear God, those eyes were haunting. They were so pale. Silver, rimmed with thick lashes any female would kill to have. Tanned skin told of hours in the sun; a white tank top showed off a toned body that screamed he was someone who cared about how he looked.
Lopsided grin caught her attention, bringing her gaze back to his lips.
“That’s all right.” He glanced at her basket, then back at her once more. “Looks like someone is planning a party, or cooking for an army.”
His voice rolled over her like fresh honey on a hot biscuit. Amy shivered at the very dulcet tone of his voice, deeper than she imagined it being. She had never seen this stranger before, and she would have remembered him if she had.
“Huh? Oh!” She laughed at her own blunder, waving her hand in the air. “A little of both, I guess. No one cooks in my family but me, so they’ve come to expect it.”
He chuckled softly and nodded. “I miss good home cooking. The microwave has become my best friend.”
“I highly doubt that.” A quick indication to his body had a blush heating her cheeks when she quickly averted her eyes, scolding herself the whole time for being such a shameless flirt.
A bark of laughter filled her ears, forcing her to look back up in mild confusion, not too sure why her flirtatious banter would cause such a reaction. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. I do cook, but I doubt it’s as good as yours. Anything processed doesn’t make it past these lips.”
Once again, she looked at his lips. They looked strong, yet soft. Shifting her weight so she leaned against her cart, she inclined her head toward his rib cage, motioning at the ripple of muscle evident through the tight shirt. Snorting, she replied, “Probably no candy, fat or carbs either by how hard you are.”
He broke out into a huge grin.
Her eyes grew wide, realizing the innuendo she just made. She buried her face in her hands with a groan. “I am so sorry.” Peeking out between fingers, revealed he just laughed more, then his hands gently tugged hers away from her face.
“It’s okay. No worries, darlin’. I got the gist.” He stuck out his hand in a peace offering. “I’m Mason.”
Taking a hold of his hand, she couldn’t help but notice his were rough and strong, as if he was used to manual labor. “I’m Amy. It’s nice to meet you, Mason.”
He kept her hand in his for a moment, and then released it. “So, with that out of the way, do you know anything about hair dye for men?”
Surprised by the question, she reached for his hair without giving it much thought. Combing her fingers through the thick silken strands, she murmured softly in amazement. “You’ve got hair to die for.” Working on hair was a hobby for Amy. She loved to play with hair, color it, cut it, and style it. Just name it, Amy would give it a whirl. “Why do you want to dye it? Your hair is a beautiful color.”
Mason looked almost as if he was ashamed for wanting to dye his hair. A one-shouldered shrug was his answer.
“Oh no, mister. You need to come clean. What’s with dying it?”
He let out an embarrassed sigh, turning his head slightly to look at her. “I’ve got gray hair. I’m not even thirty yet.”
“And? What’s that got to do with the price of rice in China? It gives a man a very distinguished look.” Amy released his hair and sighed. “Besides, you just need a trim. The gray isn’t even gray; it’s like a dirty blond color. Are you sure you want to ruin your hair with product?”
“If it’ll get you over to my house for dinner, sure.” A lopsided grin formed when Mason teased Amy. He gently nudged her with his foot. “Come on, you know you wanna.”
Amy could only laugh at his antics, rolling her hazel eyes at him. “I guess I can do that.”
“Right on. Here, let me write down my number. You can call me and I’ll give you directions. Let’s say, tomorrow at six?”
Biting her bottom lip, her eyes dropped to his hands when he dug a piece of paper out of his back pocket and asked a passing clerk for a pen. Amy could only nod, surprised at herself for her lack of restraint on making the date for tomorrow.
She took the paper from him, tucked it into her purse, and actually blushed. “I guess I’ll call you around four?”
“Sounds great. Until then…” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, his rough whiskers tickling her fingers. Releasing her hand, he turned and headed down the aisle.
Shaking her head, she could only laugh softly to herself, watching his Wrangler-clad bottom disappear. Maggie was going to have a field day with this, and Amy knew she’d never hear the end of it. A throat being cleared snapped Amy out of her reverie. Mrs. Wilson stared at her in disgust. Well, she had been staring at his butt. “What? Jealous you didn’t see it first?”
Mrs. Wilson gasped softly as Amy just laughed and walked away.
* * * *
The music gave him a migraine. Why was he here again? Oh yeah, it was a welcome-home party for him and Romeo. They had been gone for a month to Bakersfield on a territory dispute gone bad with a rival club, Temer Gallo MC. Prospects usually got the shit jobs, but because of his weaponry expertise, he got to ride with the big dogs. Now he was required to party with his brothers, home alive.
Romeo had shown up with two club groupies on his arm, trying to round up two or three more for him, but Mace wasn’t in the mood. His thoughts kept going back to the girl he had met at the grocery store—Amy. From what he had seen, she was an oxymoron, tomboyish and girly at the same time. Long, rich, dark-chocolate hair; soft brown eyes with specks of green radiating emotion like the sun. She was spunky, and at the same time, reserved. He never met anyone like her, and she caused something inside him to wake up and want more.
“Yo, prospect! Wake the hell up. I’m talking to you.” Romeo waved a hand in front of his face trying to get his attention.
“What’s that?” One thing he had learned in the past four months, never say “huh” or “sorry.” You get your ass kicked, mocked and labeled a bitch.
“The old man will be here in a few. Make sure there’s cold beer ready for him.”
Getting up from the table, he sauntered past Romeo and his toys for the night. One thing that Romeo and his old man noticed was how Mace commanded attention when he moved. He prowled like a hunter. There wasn’t anything about him that didn’t beckon to be noticed. He was a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knew it. He was an ex-second-force recon soldier and hand-to-hand combat was second nature, as were firearms.
Tonight was no different. Every female in the clubhouse stared him down as he made his way to the bar. The top layer of his hair pulled back out of his face, prospect cut over a sleeveless Harley tee, and Wranglers with steel-toed boots. He drove women crazy and he had no idea why. Maybe it was the litter of ink on his arms, back, and navel that women loved. The idea of the ultimate unattainable bad boy always turned women on.
“Looking good there, Mace.”
He looked up from the fridge under the bar, and came face to … breasts. Straightening himself upright, he nodded to one of Romeo’s regulars, Tasha.
“Thanks.” Always short and to the point, Mace rarely spoke. It was a conquest for the females to see how many words they could get him to say at once. Three words was the longest sentence, to the women anyway, so far.
“How about a dance tonight?” Tasha pushed herself off the bar, sticking her large chest out even further, straining the fabric of her already-too-small shirt.
“Nah.” He shook his head when he brushed past her, uninterested in her wares or desires.
A hand caught his forearm, bringing him to a forced stop. His jaw tightened as his eyes dropped to
look at the hand on his arm, and then slowly rose to meet the challenging gaze of the determined blonde bombshell.
“Quit acting like an ass, Mace. You know every damn woman in here wants you, yet you won’t give any of us the time of day. We’re starting to wonder if maybe you don’t like women.” Lipstick-red lips offered a vicious smile. He knew from rumors that she could suck-start a Harley, but he really wasn’t into getting with any locals … or their STDs.
Chuckling, he slid closer to Tasha and picked up a curl of hair, toying coyly with it while he looked down at her. He saw the quick rise and fall of her chest when she grew excited at his nearness to her.
“I don’t do sloppy seconds, darlin’. When you quit passing yourself around and get some self-respect, come find me.” Letting go of her hair, he walked away from the shocked female. She may have won that round and got more words out of him, but he didn’t care. Club life was hard, and women that were not property weren’t held in the highest regard.
Mace started back to the table, stopping when Stone walked in, his face laced with fury. A nomad was at his side, looking like he was pissed off about something. The nomad’s facial expression and movements showed he spoke harshly toward Stone, and the sour look that crept up the president’s face let people know to duck and cover.
Stone never gave a pause, turning toward the nomad. His fist slammed into the man’s jaw, sending him to the floor.
That was one way of reminding people how to mind their manners and respect their president.
Making it back to the table where Stone just sat down with his son, the vice president, he handed off the cold beers. Stone gave Mace a nod in greeting and thanks, a sudden smile forming, causing Mace to glance over his shoulder.
His breath left him.
There she was, sashaying toward him, hips swinging with such promise, it made him want to strip her down and take her right there, not giving two shits who watched. The tiny handkerchief top wasn't helping his imagination any. She had the perfect body, all the right curves in all the right places. Mace couldn't believe she was here. His brain did ninety miles an hour trying to figure out who she was with, who she belonged to, or if she belonged to anyone.
