ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(27)

“Me too!” Tess says, grinning wildly. “What should we wear?”

I'm glad the inquisition is over, but I do not want to go to Stacked. I want to go home, crawl into bed, and wake up the same time my sister does.

“I'm gonna go home. I'm not up for this.” I take a bite of pie, wishing everything in life was as sweet as this key lime.

“No way, baby cakes,” Claire says. “First of all, you’re the reason we were invited tonight and, two, you need a night free of stress, a night where you can let loose, more than any of us … unless you've already had that night off and you just aren't telling us?”

I smirk at Claire, knowing that girl is trouble—she sees my weakness. Knows I don't want to talk about whatever this Ace-thing is … but she isn't letting me off the hook.

“You have to come, Emmy,” Tess begs.

I start to shake my head again, and Claire cuts me off.

“Here's the thing, toots: you come out with us tonight and we won't ask you another thing about those Jimmy Choos and nine-hundred-dollar jeans, or you spill the beans and we won't force you to join us at the most exclusive club we've ever been invited to.”

“You are ruthless,” I say. “Ruthless.”

“So you're in?” Tess asks. When I don't immediately shut her down she squeals. “Ohmigod, what are we gonna wear?!”

I don't tell them about the bags in my run-down Honda civic of the clothes Ace had delivered this morning … they will see that for themselves soon enough. But Claire promised no questions—and I know she won't break her word.

“I have a feeling I'm gonna need a second serving of everything to get through this night.”

I grab my tray, and begin to reload.

I'm gonna need some serious chicken piccata to get through this night.





10





ACE


The club is bumping, full of girls who are trying too hard and guys who are hoping to find someone—anyone—to take home.

And yeah, sometimes I feel too old for this scene, sometimes I feel too old for this whole town—but that’s mostly because by the time I was eighteen I'd already seen and done way too much shit for my own good.

Right now I don't need to think about that bullshit. Right now I need to drink some top shelf whiskey, loosen the fucking tie around my neck, and wait for Emmy to slink in here, her fucking tits on parade, and have her give me the lap dance she denied me in earlier.

Sure, she walked away in the elevator—but that’s because she was fucking terrified of what it might mean if she really gave into something this good, this hot. If she gave into us.

She might lose her fucking mind.

But I know she'll come back.

She's no dick tease. She and I both know she wants my cock.

She just got scared.

And fuck, don't I know it? I'm gonna fucking lose my cool with this woman. She has my stomach in knots, my fucking eyes are darting around this club looking for one thing and one thing only.

Emmy Rose.

“Ace, chill out for a moment, okay?” Landon says, as we both take a seat at my table. Bottles of liquor cover the table—glasses, ice, Dom Pérignon on ice. We're fucking set up to dominate this night. “Your cock hasn't stopped prowling since we arrived.”

We’ve been ushered right to our table by a gorgeous hostess. We've only been here ten minutes and already a half-dozen women are sitting near us, inching closer toward the booze—and our laps—with each word we say.

“I'm not prowling.” I know my tone is defensive, and that Landon is just looking out for me. And I may need my friends tonight. Sure, I put on a tough guy act, all bravado and motherfucking confidence, but I swear to God this broad has shaken me.

I need the guys here to make sure I don't fucking punch another wall. It's nearly midnight; McQueen just texted that he is on his way. Jack is up in his DJ booth spinning some sick beats.

“You ladies want to join us?” Landon asks a pair of long-legged beauties.

I look them up and down, and quickly determine they aren't my type. They’re rocking fake tans, with big hair and big tits—nothing natural. Nothing I want to sink my teeth into.

Nothing I want to fondle and fuck.

The women sit next to Landon, but I just sip my whiskey.

There are thousands of people in this three-story club. The pit in the center is filled with people dancing. Glow sticks and topless women and hands waving in the air set the tone: straight-up party.

McQueen finds his way to us, grinning like the motherfucker he is.

“Jack is killing it up there,” I say, pointing to Jack as McQueen takes a seat.

“Yeah, he is.” McQueen eyes the women around us. “And so are you,” he says to a blonde woman who has just walked up to us.