Scarred Asphalt Read Free Page B

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 Demon. 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