Scarred Asphalt by Blue Remy Page A

finger of his hands was decorated with silver
rings, giving him more ability to damage someone in a fight. He was muscular,
but not massive, just your normal everyday Joe. Or so he liked people to think.
    “I haven’t walked the Hall of Fame to the chapel room yet.”
Romeo didn’t care that his voice was thick and slightly slurred, giving away
emotions he was trying to keep in check for his brothers. Strength was needed
right now, a clear head, not shoot now and ask questions later. No matter how
fucking bad he wanted to.
    “Get to it.” Wolf motioned for everyone to head toward the
hallway, taking up the rear per usual.
    The silence was deafening as Romeo led his club into the
memorial for past patch holders. Pictures were smashed, faces scratched out and
drawn on. Spray paint decorated the walls and the few frames that were still
intact, adding to the wreckage of the building.
    None of what they witnessed outside the chapel room prepared
them for what they walked in on. The sight before them hit them like a sucker
punch to the balls. There was a collective mixture of gasps and retching that
echoed through the sacred room.
    Romeo wasn’t sure if it was tears of fury or sadness that
blurred his vision as he glanced around the maelstrom left behind in the wake
of the TGMC. He was choking, he couldn’t breathe. Romeo felt his chest tighten,
unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His brain denied everything he was
witnessing, even while he listened to grown ass men vomiting behind him.
    The death grip on his shoulder brought him out of the shock
that was consuming him, forcing vile air into his lungs, forcing him to gasp as
it burned his throat. Romeo glanced to his right and met Wolf’s gaze, not at
all surprised to see dead eyes staring back at him. He often wondered if Wolf
had emotions at all. The miniscule shake of his head kept the apoplexy in
check.
    As Romeo turned back to take stock of the damages, he had to
tune out the comments from the peanut gallery to focus on his own inner
turmoil. The main table had puddles of piss on it mixed with splotches of what
he could only assume, by the putrid scent that lingered, was burnt dog shit…or
so he hoped . Spray paint seemed to be the Mexican club’s forte,
Spanglish slang tagged on top of the varnish, letting the SOMC know exactly who
they were dealing with. Each of the officers chairs were shredded and pissed
on, except the president’s chair. That had taken the worst of it.
    The message they were sending was loud and clear with the
casualty of his chair. The chair was not ripped to shreds, no piss or shit on
it, and it had been moved aside and out into the open where it would not be
missed.
    Romeo stepped toward the captain’s chair for closer
inspection. “I’m going to fucking kill them.”
    It was a simple fact, really. Said and it would be done. No
ifs, ands, or buts. Romeo was going to kill each one of the TGMC single
handedly. Or so he thought in that moment as he stared at his chair. His seat
was covered in a milky white thick substance that required no help to figure
out what it was.
    None of the brothers made a move to console Romeo or give
their condolences. This was a personal attack against Romeo and it would be
dealt with as he saw fit.
    He closed his jade-colored eyes closed as he tried to find
inner peace before he said another word. Then he took a deep broken breath and
slowly expelled it as he reopened his eyes.
    Nope, still seeing red.
    “Bone out. Meet at the safe house.” Romeo’s voice was
strained as he glanced over his shoulders at his brothers.
     
    * * * *
     
    Romeo and Wolf rode together, detouring the long way around
to the safe house. The house was in an undisclosed location that only patched
brothers knew of. In cases of war or acts of violence toward any brother or
their family, the cabin out in Paradise Canyon was to be used as a safe house.
    Iron horse meditation was a drug that no doctor could
prescribe, but it helped