Twisted Asphalt (Asphalt Outlaw Series Book 1) (6 page)

Heading upstairs, he followed his instinct toward where he
thought he heard the door slam. Figuring the only closed door was Amy’s room,
he lightly knocked. “Amy, please unlock the door. He’s gone. It’s just me.” A
muffled 'go away' was all he got for his efforts. “I’m not going anywhere, Amy.
I’ll stay out here all night if I have too. I’m not leaving you alone. Not
after…” He couldn’t finish. He didn’t know what Demon did to her and it made
him sick that he wasn’t here to protect her. He would never allow Demon near
her again. “Please, Ames?”

“I said go away.”

That was the response he expected. She had to be scared now
and wouldn’t trust anyone, and that was her right. Shaking his head, he
squatted until he was low enough to sit his ass on the floor. Sighing, he laid
back, and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

A sound woke Mace a couple of hours later, his face hidden
by his arm being draped across his head. A whisper of feet moved around him as
a blanket was placed over his still form. What surprised him the most, was a
body pressing itself against him under the blanket, a face burying itself in the
base of his neck. She burrowed herself in his safety net and it made his heart
soar she would trust him like that. With a smile on his face, he drifted off
into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 8

Her body ached.

Amy felt like she had just gone ten rounds with Tyson. At
least her ear didn’t hurt. Stretching carefully, as not to further the pain she
felt, Amy pushed up and swung her legs to the … floor? How did she get back
into her bed? The last thing she remembered, she was laying on the floor in
Mace’s protective embrace.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she looked around her room, eyes
stopping on her pillow and the daisy resting there. Unable to stop smiling, she
plucked the daisy off of the pillow and buried her nose in it, inhaling the
fragile scent of the flower. Laughing to herself, she got off the bed and
opened her door. Amy didn’t know what to expect to find, but Mace wasn’t there.

Slipping on jeans and a tank top, she stopped in the
bathroom to stare at the split lip and slight bruising to her cheek. How the
hell was she going to explain this? “Damn it,” she breathed out. Hiding
something like this from Stone was impossible. Opening up a drawer, she grabbed
her concealer and proceeded to try covering the bruising. Too bad she couldn’t
hide the busted lip.

Huffing, she slammed the drawer shut and made her way
downstairs to the immaculate kitchen. Mace had cleaned it to the point you
couldn’t tell there was a tussle. There was even a pot of coffee with a note
saying he hoped she had a good day. Shaking her head with a soft chuckle, she
grabbed a cup and poured herself some when her dad walked in. Glancing over her
shoulder, she smiled. “Want a cup?”

“Does the princess kiss the frog prince?” Stone grumbled and
pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, lowering his large frame into it.
“Mace told me that Little Joe nailed you in the face yesterday when a coyote
spooked him. You okay?”

Stone almost got his coffee spilled onto his lap when Amy
skipped a step, but was quick to recover before setting it to the table in
front of him. “Yeah, I’m fine. I got a fat lip out of it, a bruise on my cheek.
He’s got a hard head.”

Stone nodded as he picked up his cup and took a drink. “Wear
the .380 when you go out alone for now. I don’t need him throwing you if
another coyote shows up. Plus, if they try and get in with the cattle, you can
kill it.”

If Amy argued, he would know something was up. She nodded
and took a drink, nearly burning her tongue. That was a wakeup call. Gasping
and fanning her mouth, she coughed. “No problem.”

Her dad laughed, “Want to go to lunch with me today?”

Amy froze, staring at her dad. “Really?” He hadn’t done
anything like that since Gail had died. “Um, duh … that’s a hell yeah.”

Stone burst out laughing, almost choking on his coffee.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he smiled at Amy. “I’ll pick you up
at the shop then, around twelve-ish. Make sure your helmet is in the Jeep.”

“I never leave home without it.”

And she didn’t. She also didn’t leave the house until she
dusted off her cut. She wasn’t property, so her vest was tagged with
Daughter
of
. It had been two years since she had worn it. It felt surreal putting it
on. She stood in front of her full length mirror, pivoting right, then left,
making sure it still fit. Hand lifted to run her fingertips over her road name
patch,
Kitten
. The smile was slow to come, but it was there, right
alongside the memories the vest would never let her forget.

When noon rolled around, Amethyst was ready to rock and
roll. She waited outside; sporting her cut, helmet in hand. Her dad swept in on
his Electra Glide, coming to a stop right next to her.

“Shall we?” Stone raised his voice over the rumble of the
Harley’s engine.

Amy saw the pride in his eyes at her wearing the cut.
Strapping the helmet on, she slipped her clear lensed glasses on. She hated
having the wind in her eyes. She held on tight as he rolled out of the shop’s
parking lot. She knew how her father rolled, and it wasn’t slow.

Racing onto the 101 Freeway, it took her a moment to figure
out where her dad was taking her. Amy couldn’t help but swallow down a squeal
of delight. He was taking her to Oceano, to the Rock ‘n Roll Diner, a train car
converted into a fifties style diner. It was her mother’s favorite place to go
and just be girls.

Once they got there, she dismounted the bike and all but
tackled her father with a large hug. “Thank you.”

He returned the hug while balancing the bike. “You’re
welcome. It’s been a while, I thought we were due.”

The diner hadn’t changed. The car was run down on the
outside, fitting the old style it represented. The wooden stairs creaked with
their weight as they made their way to the door. Once inside, the smell of
grease, French fries and burgers assaulted Amy. It made her mouth water at the
very thought of having either a malt or a root beer float.

Scooting into the booth, she already knew what she wanted.
There was no need to look at the ancient menus with greasy fingerprints all
over them. The float won out, her dad got a malt, she was quick to order the
Route 66 burger. What was better than beef, bacon, cheese and guacamole? Stone
thought the James Dean Fan Club was, with his triple decker of turkey, ham, and
BLT.

Pfft. Not.

This was epic. There was no way her day could get any better
than spending time like this with Stone. Maybe if Romeo was with them, but she
would cherish this father-daughter time.

Glancing up from her float, brow quirked at the way her
father looked at her. “What’s wrong? Is my fly open?”

Stone laughed, forced to wipe his mouth before he spit out
his malt. “Nothing is wrong.” Taking in a deep breath, he patted his cut until
he found what he was looking for. Pulling out the pack of cigarettes, he tapped
one out and lit it with the ease of someone that had smoked for over a decade.
Blowing the smoke away from Amy, he finally spoke. “You know I’m proud of you,
right?”

Lashes fluttered at her father’s admission, taking her by
surprise. He wasn’t one for emotion, so hearing him say that blew her away. “I
do now.”

“I’m serious, Amethyst. You’ve held this family together
when I couldn’t. You’ve been the rock that Zen and I have had to lean on when
shit got rough. That had to take its toll on you.” Stone looked down at his
hands for a moment, as if he was unsure where he was going with his thoughts.
“I know you ran to Nevada because of me and your brother. You haven’t had much
of a life because of us. I guess—I guess I just want you to know that your
mother would have been proud of you too.”

Amy was trying to blink back her tears, but they managed to
escape anyway. She never looked at it that way, she felt they were suffocating
her and trying to rule her life. A shattered breath was taken, hand lifting to
wipe her eyes. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Don’t thank me, Amy. Please. I put you into a life that is
dangerous and you have been an amazing young lady and have managed to try and
make something of yourself despite that.” He reached out with his free hand,
laying it over her own. “Just promise me you will never change. That you will
always see the best in people, no matter what.”

Amy gave her dad’s hand a squeeze, unable to stop her tears.
Her heart felt like it was breaking, there was no other way to even describe
it. It hurt that he knew what she had been doing. That she hated them for what
they were doing to her, and yet, he was turning it into something positive,
making her shine.

“I won’t, I promise.” A whisper was all Amy could manage
because her voice would have made it worse. Her voice would have pushed her
over the edge and into a self-loathing abyss she didn’t want to venture into.

Stone smiled, putting out his cigarette as their food
arrived. The meal was silent, if not from her own emotions, but the good food
as well.

“I have died and gone to heaven.” Amy crooned when she
popped a sauce covered fry into her mouth.

“I second that notion.” Stone agreed as he stole some of her
sauce for his fries.

The meal was great, the food was even better. The time with
her dad was priceless. Happy, content and full, she was almost scared to get
back on the bike. Amy had happy belly syndrome and it was easy for her to fall
asleep on the bike when she got this way.

“I have something for you.” He paused at his saddle bags,
unlocking the right side and opening it up.

“Oh?” Baffled, she stood by him, watching for whatever it
was, but he kept it hidden, guarding it from her with his body.

Closing the bag, he righted himself and faced her. “She
would want you to have this.” Holding out his hand to her, a red velvet box
appeared.

Her heart leapt to her throat and her eyes misted once more.
Amy knew that box like the back of her hand. Reaching for it, her hand shaking,
she looked at her father with uncertainty. “You didn’t bury her in it?”

It was her mother’s cameo, which had been her mother’s and
her mother’s before her. Passed down three generations, the salmon colored
coral was set in a silver filigree, an ivory Victorian looking silhouette lying
on top of the coral giving it old world appeal.

“She would have wanted you to have it, as would your
grandmother. And when you have your own daughter, you can pass it to her.”

How many more times was she going to cry today? Pulling the
delicate necklace out of the box, she managed to put it on, vowing to never
take it off.

The drive back to Orcutt was quiet and quicker than Amy
would have liked. Stone dropped her off at the shop. Before he left, she nearly
knocked him off of the bike with a bear hug. He, of all people, deserved it the
most.

Once inside the store, she glanced at the mirrors, spotting
Maggie stocking the tea shelves. With a bit of a bounce in her step, she made
her way to the aisle that Maggie was in. “What’s up, chica?”

Black curls fell over the doe brown eyes as Maggie looked at
Amy. Her eyes grew wide, hand flying over her mouth when she gasped. “Hijole!”

Amy burst out in a fit of giggles at her best friend’s
expression of shock, yelping as Maggie grabbed her hand and yanked her toward
the back. “Easy there, Mags!”

Once in the back, Maggie spun around, her hands flying about
when she spoke with excitement. “You’re wearing Gail’s cameo! And your cut!”

“Yeah, I know.” Amy knew she was being mean, but she loved
to tease Maggie, who had placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, okay. Yes, I’m
wearing the cameo. Dad gave it to me today. I wore the cut because he was
taking me to lunch.”

Maggie’s brows lifted slightly. “So, you wanted to show him
you still accept the life. Could it be because of a certain prospect?”

“No.” Amy swatted her arm, turning to make her way back into
the empty store. “I wanted to show him I still support him, no matter what.”

“I’m sure he loved it.” Maggie bumped her hip against Amy’s.

“He did.” Amy glanced at Maggie, noting the way her friend
tried not to smile. Curious at what else her friend hid, she cleared her
throat. “Spill it.”

Maggie squealed, unable to keep whatever it was to herself
any longer. “I am so excited! Demon actually asked me to be his date to the
party!”

Maggie had rushed her words out so quickly, Amy wondered if
she had breathed during it. Hearing Demon’s name, Amy couldn’t catch the groan
before it escaped her mouth. “Are you sure you want to go with him, Maggie?
Can’t you find someone better than that?”

Maggie stared at Amy like she was going to throttle her.
“That’s easy for you to say.”

Amy blinked and jerked back at the venomous look Maggie gave
her. “Why? Because he’s an ass?”

“He’s not an ass all the time, Amy. I don’t get why you hate
him so much.” Her eyes narrowed at Amy. “Just because you’re not happy with
your life, doesn’t mean I can’t be.”

“How do you think I got this black eye? It sure as hell
wasn’t from Little Joe, Maggie.” Amy snarled at Maggie, sick of the way she
always defended him. “He got a little too happy using me as his personal
punching bag last night.”

“It was probably just an accident, Amy. I’m sure he meant
nothing by it.”

“God! Will you listen to yourself? I’m trying to tell you
what this ass did and you want to stand there and defend him.” Amy shook her
head in disbelief.

“No, you’re trying to ruin the only good thing that has
happened for me.”

“Margarita!” Amy’s mouth dropped open when Maggie ran out of
the store and didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 9

The rattle and hum of the Chevy truck was quiet compared to
the noise in his head. All Mace could think about was Amy.

He hated leaving her this morning, but he tucked her into
her bed, trying to ignore her tiny whimpers of sleepy protest, which melted the
ice off his heart. He finished cleaning the kitchen, knowing Stone and Romeo
would be up early, programmed the coffee pot and scooted out into the barn to
get ready for the meeting.

He knew he was taking a chance on leaving the daisy, but she
was unlike any woman he had ever met. Amy had faced off and fought Demon
without second-guessing herself. Mace knew Demon planned on raping her; he felt
it to his very core, and he figured Amy did as well. She wasn’t a statistic,
nor would she ever be one; so she fought like a beast and was rewarded with a
busted lip and a bruised cheek.

It could have been much worse.

After giving Stone the bogus story about what had happened
to her, he took the list of goods needed and headed out to his meeting. He knew
he wasn’t being followed, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He made his way down South Broadway to Betteravia, then
veered onto Mahoney Road. Looping around to Black Road, he stopped at a
warehouse on Cabrillo Highway. Grabbing his baseball cap, he yanked back his
hair and twisted it up, tucking it under the cap. Pulling it low over his eyes,
he pushed open the door, the creak sounding like a damn explosion in the
silence.

Dressed in jeans, boots and a plain white tee, he looked
like a normal farmer or ranch hand checking his property. Which was exactly
what he was after, considering he didn’t want to be there. Blowing out a
breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets, all the while thinking
Dead
Man Walking!

Reaching the metal door, he didn’t bother knocking. He
jerked it open and let it slam closed behind him. Peeling off the sunglasses,
he tucked the arm into the neck of the tee, allowing them to dangle freely
while he maneuvered through the maze of boxes to the center of the warehouse.

“Turner, Captain.” He nodded to his superior, still not
happy with Turner almost blowing the case wide open the other day when he
called Mace while he was with Amy.

“Agent Dean.” The Captain greeted him in kind, smoothing
down his tie.

“You’re late, Dean. We don’t have time to be waiting around
for whenever you decide to find the time to show up.” Agent Turner snarled at
Mace. “This isn’t exactly the Hilton, you know.”

Mace, also known as, Agent Sam Dean, laughed at the man he
slowly grew to despise. Fuck that noise. He already hated the smug piece of
shit. “Shut your fucking dick eater, Turner.” He thrust a finger toward Turner,
his blood pressure already through the roof. “Try being in my boots right now.
It’s not exactly a joy ride. Can you not grasp how hard it is to get away when
you’re a prospect?”

Turner was completely oblivious to how the club world
worked. Being low man on the totem pole wasn’t an easy task. You were the
club’s bitch boy until they deemed you worthy to rock the full set of patches.
When they said jump, you better be jumping and asking how fucking high.

“They have me on protection detail, guarding Stone’s
daughter. I don’t need my cover blown because someone pissed in your Cheerios
this morning.” Mace glared at Turner, then turned his attention to his
superior.

Captain Jones held up a hand toward Turner, shaking his head
in warning, while speaking to Mace. “What have you dug up?”

“Amy was attacked by their rival club. They’re afraid
they’re going to try something when we go on a run in a couple of weeks. We’re
going to be moving it in a semi, Stone hasn’t told me what’s in it yet, but
he’s said it’s enough for everyone to retire on.”

“Where’s the drop?”

Mace shrugged with a head shake. “In Lompoc. As soon as I
know, I’ll send you the coordinates on the burner. Don’t fucking call me on my
club phone again, Turner. You almost blew my fucking cover the other day.”

“Go bitch at someone else, Dean. You weren’t answering your
other phone.” Turner retorted.

“Because I couldn’t, you fucking asshole!” Mace pointed at
Turner as he snapped at his captain. “He’s going to fucking get my ass killed
by the stunts he’s pulling. It’s bullshit! What if I had got questioned or they
hit redial on your fucking number? I can’t afford to throw away all the work
I’ve put into this because you can’t handle waiting.”

“Maybe I’m getting tired of standing around with my dick in
my hand while you’re out playing patty-cake.” Turner’s tone was condescending
as his expression shot daggers at Mace.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mace closed
the distance between himself and Turner, standing nose to nose with the prick.
He dropped his voice to the point it was barely above a whisper. “If you’ve got
something to say, just say it. Or do you even have the balls?”

“Are you sure you’re
pumping
the right people for
information?”

Mace never flinched. Never blinked. Never gave a tell that
would let Turner see what he was thinking. Right corner of his lips lifted,
half scoff heard. “Why don’t you call your Mom and find out?”

Turner roared to life, the captain grabbing Turner’s arm
when he raised it to strike Mace, who never moved from the spot he had taken in
front of the now pissed off Turner.

“Go to the car, Turner.” Captain Jones ordered.

 Turner failed to move, visibly shaking with anger.

“I said go to the damn car, now!”

Turner spun, walking stiffly to the door, never looking
back.

The captain looked at Mace with a rather displeased look.
“Did you have to?”

“Fuck yes, I did. I prefer to come out alive after this is
over and done with. He could have blown over two years of hard work out the
window, not including the time I’ve spent prospecting, with one call.”

Captain Jones nodded, rubbing the top of his bald head. “I
understand, Sam, but you’re not Robocop. You need to keep me a bit more
informed than you have been. Don’t be doing this shit on your own, if you
really want to come out alive.”

“I will.” He clapped him on the arm. “But don’t forget I’m
the club’s personal bitch right now and constantly under a magnifying glass. If
I don’t answer, tell that douchebag out there not to get his panties in a
bunch.”

Jones nodded with a low chuckle. “I doubt that will ever
happen, but you do what you got to do. I’ll take care of him.”

* * * *

Mace prayed Amy knew what she was doing. He didn’t let just
anyone
cut his hair. He’d been growing it out for two years and finally had it past
that in-between stage everyone hated. He asked her to trim it, to which she
delightfully agreed. She had him shirtless with a towel draped over his
shoulders, hair wet and in his face. Mace tried not to shift nervously while
she combed through his hair. He usually loved it when people played with his
hair, but he was going to be losing some of it, and that took precedence. His
heart dropped to his stomach when she grabbed the scissors.

He really had to learn to trust.

Mace tilted his head slightly as she moved around him. He
watched her like a hawk. Her movement was self-assured, full of confidence. Her
head tilted high enough to assert authority, but not be too pushy. Eyes lowered
to her shoulders, but paused at her throat. A single brow quirked at the sight
of a new necklace.

“That is a beautiful necklace, Amy.” It didn’t look new, but
it was in pristine condition.

Her hand flew to her throat, protectively caressing the
cameo. “It was my mothers.” Amy paused, then ran a comb through his bangs. “Dad
gave it to me earlier today. When I was younger, I used to play dress up with
Maggie and I used to beg my Mom to let me wear it. She never agreed to it.”

He couldn’t look at her, afraid she might cut out his
eyeball if he moved, but he heard the pain in her voice. “But?” There had to be
a brighter side to the story.

“But,” she sighed with a snip of hair. “When I dressed up
for my prom, she surprised me and let me wear it. She told me since I was
really dressing up I couldn’t deserve it more than in that moment. It made me
feel like I was a princess.”

“You kind of are a real life princess, Amy. You do deserve
it.” He felt the comb’s sting when she smacked his head with it. “What was that
for?”

“Because. I’m far from a princess.”

Comb. Snip.

“What about your family?” Amy asked quietly.

He could tell by her tone she was concentrating on his hair.
“What about them?”

“Exactly. Tell me something. I don’t know anything about
you.”

Mace wasn’t sure he wanted her to, either. He took in a deep
breath and silently warred about what he wanted to tell her. “Well, there’s not
much to tell. My father was a rancher and used me as a punching bag whenever
shit didn’t go his way. My mom escaped through self-medicating, and I raised my
brother the best I could. When the old man went after my mother, I stepped in.
I was used to getting my ass beat, what was one more beating?” He felt her
freeze as her breath slowed. “I finally fought back. When my old man got his
ass kicked, I got kicked out.”

Amy’s knee knocked his legs apart, positioning herself
between them. She used the comb to split his bangs apart, the tips of her
fingers running tenderly over his brow line, as if she were trying to rub out
the creases. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, his hand coyly toying with the
edge of her tank top, never lifting his gaze to meet hers. Everything he told
her was true. There was no lie there, except for the one he told himself. That
she could actually care. “Don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t be who I am if I hadn’t
lived that life and was taught shit at an early age.”

He felt a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at her.
Her voice was husky when she questioned him. “What do you want out of life?”

That wasn’t exactly a question he saw coming. Without a
thought, he answered her when his other hand cupped her hip and drew her
closer. “Real love.”

She frowned slightly, her green-flecked, brown eyes
searching his. “Are you screwing with me?”

The one thing he wasn’t doing, was messing with her. He was
about to open an emotional flood gate that hadn’t been tampered with in years.
“No, that’s what I want. Something so fucking real—that you'd fight to the
death for it. I want a love so driven into my bones I wouldn't know where she
ends and I begin. A love I can't leave because there's nowhere for me to go
because every breath I take is for her.”

His words must have struck a chord inside her. Amy’s whiskey
colored eyes welled up with unshed tears, her lower lip giving the slightest
hint of a quiver. Last thing he wanted to do was make her cry. She had asked
something, and he wanted to give her the most honest answer he could; she
deserved it.

Her hands cupped his face, the tenderness of her actions
making him near breathless. Amy was slow to bend at the waist, her other hand
wrapping his hair with exquisite torture, a gentle tug to bring his head
tilting back, his eyes locked with hers.

Her lips hovered above his own, a tear delicately balanced
on her plump lower lip, her eyes darted to his own, hidden questions beckoning
for answers he couldn’t give her. Her mouth touching his was tentative at
first, a gentle brush, sweet and shy; but when her lips finally met his, a fire
ignited and had no want, need or desire to be put out. It was the fire of
danger mixed with not knowing what was to come. Stone would wear his balls as a
necklace if he knew Mace touched his daughter like this, and for once in his
life, Mace didn’t give two fucks about anything or anyone else. It was Amy, or
nothing.

Once her succulent lips came to rest on his, they hesitantly
parted for him. Mace needed no encouragement. His fingers dug into her hips,
his nails sounding as if they were tearing her jeans while his tongue danced
across her plump bottom lip. When she responded with an impish touch of her
tongue against his, Mace nearly lost control.

He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her form against him,
their tongues pressing against each other in a war of sheer passion. She tasted
like a mixture of peppermint and tears, her short breaths urging him to take
everything he wanted from her.

He had to stop while he could, but God, he didn’t want to.

Giving her bottom lip an affectionate nibble, he reluctantly
pulled away. One thought hit him. She was gorgeous. She glowed. Her hair was
mussed, heavy lidded whiskey eyes, lips swollen from his abuse and her breath
was quick with excitement.

“I hope you don’t use that line on all the girls.” A wicked
uplift of her lips came with her gentle teasing.

He chuckled with a shake of his head. “I’ve never told
anyone that before. I’ll say it again if you’ll kiss me again.”

She smacked his chest with a blush tinting her face. “Nice
try. Now sit still.” Amy moved around him to finish the cut she had started
over an hour ago.