Scarred Asphalt

By: Blue Remy

Book 2 of the Asphalt Outlaw Series




Dedication



“May the angels of my brothers and sisters

Who have gone before me guard my travels,

For they know the perils of the roads before me.”

– Bikers Prayer



This book is dedicated to those lives lost to us and forever remembered in our hearts. To my dear friend and brother, Zachary “Zacky-Boy aka FTW” Lopez (10/17/79 – 04/25-15) — May your spirit soar the skies and know you’ll always be remembered as a huge teddy bear and missed dearly.





Chapter One



How long had it been since the shit went down?

Seven long damn months.

Alan “Stone” James’ death went down in the history of the MC world as one of the biggest sacrifices any man had ever made to the brotherhood. Every SixGun Outlaw brother wore a patch on the right side of their cut, displaying proudly their love for Stone, right under the black and gold diamond that spoke volumes.

And you thought that was bad? The funeral was epic.

Romeo lost count of the bikes that rolled behind him and his Ultra with the casket in tow. Hundreds of bikes thundered down Betteravia Road in beautiful Santa Maria, California. Cars pulled over to show respect to the fallen. The local police department escorted the funeral procession, blocking off Stowell Road for six blocks in every direction—a large enough area for the bikes to rest their kickstands and the crowds to make their way to the grave site.

There were no colors that day. It did not matter what cut you wore, you were blood in spirit. The only club that did not show was the black and green. Tremer Gallo. There would have been blood spilled that day if any member had shown. Other rival clubs put aside their differences to mourn a man who was the precedent for California MC life.

There was not a dry eye during the service. The California Originals sat together, their thirteen original cuts worn to bare threads, stained, bloodied, dirt packed, and displayed with pride. Once the Motorcycle Ministry was done, Romeo watched as each one of the original thirteen rose and walked over to the coffin and unhooked a specific pin off of his cut: white wings. With a fist, each brother hammered the pin into the top of the coffin, then reached over to the small table beside the gravesite and poured two shot glasses full of Stone’s favorite tequila: one to drink, the other to pour into the dug grave. A last drink with the fallen brother.

Coherent thought was impossible through the wake. Everyone stopped to give Romeo condolences at the loss of such a great man, knowing that he would follow in his old man’s footsteps and lead the club to greatness.

One could only hope.

It was hard knowing Stone was alive, safely locked away in some other state while Romeo sat there lying about it all. What killed him the most was watching his sister barely function because she thought the man she was in love with—along with her father and best friend—was dead. He knew that Mace was alive and Stone was on his way to a cushy new life where he could start over. Not telling Amy while she lived like a zombie was a punishment he could barely stand.

Maggie’s funeral was what sent him into the pits of despair.

Romeo just wanted to die. He had plenty of chances to step in and get Demon off Maggie’s back, to stake claim on her, but he was too much of a pussy to man up and say something. She was one of his sister’s friends, a little girl who bugged the ever living shit out of him, always watching him with large brown eyes but never saying a thing.

Maggie was that girl next door that no one paid much attention to. Why bother? She was thick, tomboyish, and…Romeo had fallen in love with her.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but it hit him in the balls at the funeral. He couldn’t function; thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess that sloshed around in his head. At times, he even found it hard to breathe. Air became non-existent as they lowered her coffin into the ground; it took everything he had to keep it together. Tears stung his eyes as he struggled to keep from clawing at his chest, his clothing suddenly constricting.

He knew Amy didn’t understand his need to move back into the ranch house, but he had to be alone. He couldn’t watch her suffer the loss of three people in her life as he battled his own depression over his stupidity and need to mourn a woman he never gave a second glance.