ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(44)

Ignoring Ace, I send Claire a quick text telling her I'm alive and not to worry, to which she promptly responds with a string of questions demanding details.

I set down my phone without answering.

“Look, I have a lot on my mind—”

“Because of your sister? Claire told me she was in the hospital.”

I snort. “She did, did she?”

“I'm not who you think I am,” Ace says.

I turn to face him. “Then who are you? Did you know my sister? Did you know Janie?”

Ace averts his eyes, as if hesitating to respond. Eventually he looks straight at me and says, “I did, but—”

“Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. Just go, Ace. Just fucking go.” I walk back in the room, pick up his clothes, throw them at him. “Go and don't come back. I know you have money and I know you just fucked me in ways I still don't believe are real—but you did not just tell me you knew my sister.”

“It's not like that.”

I turn and leave because I can't speak. I gave Ace a few hours to fuck me silly, but that was more than enough. I have real shit to deal with; I can't sit around and play pretend anymore with him.

“I'm taking a shower, and when I come back, I don't want to see your face. Ever again. If you want me to quit my job, fine. I'll go. I just can't see you. And you sure as hell better not show up at the hospital to see my sister. I am calling my detective tomorrow to tell him the shit I have on you.”

“This isn't what you want.”

“I never said it was, Bullet. But it’s what I need.”

And then I slam the bathroom door shut, crawl in the tub, and sob like a child.

A child I’ve never really been.





ACE


A few days later, I still haven't seen Emmy. I checked her work schedule, because I’m a fucking pussy. She's called in sick. Three times.

I want to call her. Beg her. Explain.

But how can I? And what would I say?

I'm not ready to be the one on my knees.

I know that sounds stereotypical and fucking macho bullshit—but it's the truth. I've never been kicked out of a woman's place before.

This woman has made me forget everything.

Forget myself.

I’m Ace Fucking Royalle.

I spent the morning at McQueen's gym, and once again I used a punching bag, a fucking sack of leather, to get all my aggression out. When what I really wanted was to smash Grotto's face in.

The other thing I really want is to see Emmy. But I’m sticking to my guns. She can come find me. I showed up for her last time, at her fucking doorstep, begging to come in.

And then she kicked me out.

She licked my come off her breasts and then told me to leave.

I've never been used like that.

Also, I can't remember how many years it's been since I've gone three days without fucking.

I pull off my gloves, and wipe the sweat from my forehead with the hem of my shirt.

“Doing okay, Boss?” McQueen asks, coming up from behind me and clapping me on my back.

“Yeah, just ready for the meeting with the real estate agent.”

“Ace, it's all good. We've all got your back.”

Which is a good thing considering my lawyer is pissed with me. Apparently not taking Mark’s counsel of holding off on a property deal rubbed him the wrong way.

But he doesn’t understand that things between Grotto and I have gotten personal.

“Denzel’s really not coming to see it, too?” McQueen asks. “That man has had your back for five years.”

“Maybe I should swing by his office before our meeting.”

“Cool, bro.” McQueen gives me a fist-bump. “See you then.”



I drive over to Denzel & Swopes, in the heart of the city center. Taking the elevator up to the fortieth floor, I can't help but remember when Emmy and I were in that elevator together. How quickly she got me ready to go.

Fuck that shit. I adjust myself and pop my neck as the elevator doors slide open. That girl has made me crazy.

Pausing, I check in with Denzel's receptionist, Sherry. She shakes her head.

“Ace, can you come back—”

I don't wait for her to finish. I go back to his office, not giving a shit if he’s busy.

He is. With the last person I want to see right now.

What the motherfucking shit is going on in here?

“What the hell are you doing here, Grotto?” I ask the man I want to push out a window overlooking the Vegas strip.

My heart sinks. Mark Denzel is one of the only people I would have trusted with my life.

“It's not what it looks like, Ace,” Mark says, standing and coming over to me where I stand in the doorway, ready to pounce.

“Then what is it?” I ask, clenching my jaw.

“Hey, hey, no reason to start getting loud,” Grotto says smugly.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Mark, you know what this fool did to your man, Trenton.” Denzel should fucking care that he’s dealing with a murderer. He should be doing everything in his power to arrest the man.