Fractured (Devil's SixGuns MC Book 2) Page 2

  “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 Colt breathing over the silence that followed the explanation of his incarceration. He could only imagine what he was thinking.

  Colt’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 Colt’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?” Colt 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 Colt’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?” Colt 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, Colt.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, brother.” Colt 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—”

  Colt 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.”

  Colt 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 Colt 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.”

  Colt 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 Colt, 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 Colt 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?”

  Colt 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.”

  Apollo chortled, scratching at his whiskers once more. It had been a while since he had grown out a goatee-slash-beard. Maybe he’d keep it for a week or so, just for the hell of it. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” Colt yanked open the door to his truck, looking pointedly at Apollo. “That’s your peace offering.”

  * * * *

  Thorne’s life was topsy-turvy. There was no other way to explain it. She was bitter and distant to everyone around her, not really caring who she hurt in the process. If she was hurting, so should others, right?

  Thorne wanted to die the moment Antonia and Amy told her about Maggie’s death—too much to bear on top of Stone and Colt. She and Mags had been inseparable since their parents were killed, but as of late, with Maggie being so far up Diablo’s ass, Thorne had stayed away from everyone, throwing herself into her work and her aspirations of modeling.

  She knew about the club world from Saber being her partner; he talked a little bit about the parties and whatnot, but he never delved
into the rules or club business. She was thankful for that, not wanting anything to do with illegal activities. The less she knew, the better off she was. Thorne could never understand Maggie’s draw to the life, but tried not to judge her for it.

  Shit, who was she to judge when she was nothing more than a hermit herself? She was even debating quitting work at this rate. Her hair had to be pulled up when she was working, policy and all. That displayed the pink, puckered, jagged scar that traveled down the left side of her face, cutting her brow and cheek. Oh, and let’s not forget the long scar running across her jugular.

  Bride of fucking Frankenstein that is exactly what she was. Thorne wanted to wallow in her own sorrow and self-pity, not have others stare at her like she came from a freak show. That, in itself, was making her even more bitter.

  The first few weeks after her release from the hospital, she stayed locked up in her house, shades drawn, not answering her door when visitors came to call. Those days were filled with tears, panic attacks, and temper tantrums; she was unable to see past the ruin of all of her hopes and dreams. Thorne wanted desperately to blame Saber, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t in her to blame anyone other than Diablo. He ruined her life. He had stolen her sister from her, Maggie’s tragic wreck had finalized that loss. If she had taken that night off to be with the girls, she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  She was a workaholic. There was no other way to put it. When she wasn’t working the ambulance, she was working a modeling shoot.

  Not anymore.

  Those days were over.

  Buh-bye, adios, mutha fucka.

  When she had tired of staring at her broken face, when her brain couldn’t fathom any more emotions and her heart was at its heaviest, she broke her fist trying to destroy a mirror in her room. After that, all the mirrors went into the garage, covered up, away from her view.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  The drapes remained closed, the windows latched shut, a gun always stashed under her pillow. She couldn’t help it. The night terrors were so bad that she woke herself up screaming, drenched in sweat and her own tears. She wanted someone to lean on, she truly did, but she was nothing more than a burden in her eyes, and that was not acceptable. Locking herself away fixed that issue.

  Sure Ms. Kilpatrick, Saber and Dalton’s mom came in and forced herself on Thorne. Okay, not really forced…but it was close enough. Stella would let herself in when Thorne was at work and fling open the drapes, open the windows, and clean her house. When Thorne got home, she’d find her fridge and freezer full of ready-made meals for two weeks. She loved Stella and how she tried to help her, but at times it really got on her nerves. She wasn’t ungrateful by any means, but sometimes it just felt like they all thought she couldn’t take care of herself.

  Well, maybe she couldn’t. She hadn’t really even mourned the loss of her family. Sure, the funeral for Maggie was beautiful, and more people than she knew were there, but watching Romeo pissed her the fuck off. She wasn’t dumb. She knew the look.

  The funeral wasn’t about him, it was about Maggie. No one else caught it but her, she was sure of it. Yes, she understood that he loved Maggie and was mourning her—just as much, if not more, in his own way, than Thorne—but Maggie was her blood, and blood was thicker than water.

  Day-to-day life was a routine: get up, work out, go to work. Twenty-four on, seventy-two off was the usual shift, but of late, it was the normal Panama schedule. Her routine was get up, work out, go to work, be a bitch, go home, work out, go to bed. Repeat.

  She had no complaints.

  Until now.

  She had just finished with leg day, and was rubbing ointment on her calves to keep them from cramping when her phone rang. She ignored the cell earlier, after seeing it was Romeo. He called seven damn times during her work out. She had made a mental note to get a stereo system installed in her home gym and not to use her phone any more. It was seriously distracting when a call came through.

  Now, her house phone was ringing off the hook.

  After yanking it up off of its base, she hit the talk button. “What?”

  “Don’t hang up, Thor—”

  Too late. The moment she hurt Romeo’s voice, she hit the little red button and disconnected his voice from her world. Too bad he couldn’t take a hint. The phone rang again.

  To ignore or not to ignore. That was the question.

  Sigh.

  She hit talk again and put the phone to her ear, but didn’t say a word.

  “Thorne? Just hear me out. Please.”

  Silence ensued.

  Romeo sighed. “Thank you. Look, I’m going to need your help.” His words were rushed as he tried to get it all out before she hung up on him again. “It’s for Saber, okay? Not me. I don’t know what you’ve got against me, but we…the club needs you.”

  Still silent.

  Romeo took that to mean “keep going”, so that’s exactly what he did. “Please meet us at the courthouse on Monday at eight thirty in the morning. We need you there.”

  Thorne’s lips pursed as she listened with trepidation. Why did the club need her help? She wasn’t anyone to the black and gold. That was Maggie. Was Romeo trying to replace Maggie with her? She wasn’t one to just jump when someone demanded it.

  “Why?” Her voice was lilted with a light Hispanic accent, a cultural intonation, husky and all feminine.

  “I can’t get into it over the phone, Thorne. I know you can understand that. It’s nothing illegal, I promise you that.”

  He must have known that would be her next question. She was not one to compromise her values for anyone. She didn’t think Maggie ever did anything illegal, but her guard was up, and it was going to take more than niceties to lower that bitch down.

  “Fine.”

  End button engaged.

  Placing the phone back on the base, Thorne sighed and turned around to look at her barren home. It was beautiful: a Spanish style beachfront home in Guadalupe. It couldn’t get better than that, but all of her furniture was covered in sheets since she never used any of it. Hell, the only three rooms in her house that were used were the gym, her bathroom, and her bedroom. Those at least looked lived in. Otherwise, it looked like someone had died in the house and the belongings were being packed up.

  It was a thought, a momentary brush like butterfly wings across her mind, to just say screw it and clean up the house, to open it up and let the sun shine through.

  It was gone as fast as it came.

  COFFEE. MUST. HAVE. COFFEE.

  Life was not complete, or for that matter even started, without that glorious warm, wet, delicious cup of mouth orgasm called coffee in the morning…especially when it was oh-fucking-six-thirty.

  Apollo’s apartment was a simple one bedroom with a single chair, a small TV, and a coffee pot with two mugs in case one got dirty and he was too lazy to clean it. He used to cook, but since he had broken up with the bitch, he had given up the ghost and started going to his mother’s hole-in-the-wall diner in Guadalupe, The Chipped Cup. At least he could get a good meal there, and it’s where all the guys hung out anyway. His mother had pretty much become club mom when Saber was patched in, and she couldn’t have been happier or more proud when he got his patches as well. Now, all that left was Saber’s son, Dallas. Thank God the kid was only fourteen.

  Apollo had managed to stuff his large bulky frame into his suit, trying to keep it as professional as possible, since his lawyer seemed to think they were going to throw the book at him. May as well look good if he was getting ass raped, right?

  He had trimmed his beard close for the scruffy bad boy image, then mussed his blond hair to bring out his stark dark blue eyes even more. He knew he and his brother were dubbed pretty boys, and he never lacked for female companionship, but this wasn’t one of those times when he wanted to gain female attention. He needed the respect of the judge.

  He needed to look the part, professionalism was the key. The lawyer had told him that his portf
olio hinged on everything with this rap. Apollo had provided all of his contracts with magazines and newspapers, along with his album of photos that would show he was not some deviant.

  Apollo would never forget the meeting that took place after his brief incarceration. Romeo was beyond livid that he was thrown in jail over some stupid shit like that. Like it was his fault or some shit that Walker had a hard-on for him. He had never seen him explode, but holy fuck me running, the man had lost his shit.

  “Why the fuck would you be out at fucking Pirates Cove taking scenery pictures?” Romeo had yelled at him like he was a mere child.

  “Have you not seen the way the light hits the waves that time of day? It doesn’t get any better than that, especially with how it is shaded just right by the cove.”

  “Did you get caught with your dick in your hands like this report says?” Romeo waved around the report, tossing it haphazardly on his desk, rubbing his palm over his bald head.

  “I wasn’t even paying the bitches any mind, Rome. I was watching a friggin otter and a seagull fight it out, and taking pictures of that. But when Walker grabbed me, my camera broke and exposed the film.”

  “Ever fucking hear of modern day technology? If you’d have used it, you wouldn’t be in this shit storm.” Romeo glared at Saber while he pointed at Apollo. “Where the fuck did he get his lack of brains from? A Cracker Jack box?”

  “Uhm, I’m sitting right here. You don’t get the same quality photos when you use digital as you do with film. I like the grainy look of film over the pixilated spots of a digital picture. It’s just not the same.”

  Romeo turned and looked at Apollo like he had lost his mind or just announced he had given everyone the Bubonic plague. “Yeah, well bro. Hate to fucking break it to you, but if you had used a digital camera, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s called an SD card, or a cloud that automatically uploads your pictures. It would have proven that you aren’t the pervert they’re making you out to be.”

  “That’s a given. But I don’t like it.”