ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(48)

But I know I wear my heart on my sleeve, and for all the mean things I've called Ace this week, I've also whispered his name in my sleep.

And I know my friends have heard the utterances, because they have called me out on it.

I've denied it. Over and over again.

Because who am I to think of this man when my sister is close to death?

Ace pulls me down a long hall, to the elevator bank he's led me to before.

When we enter the elevator, he pulls his signature move and calls the operator, telling him to make the car stop.

It reminds me—his quick words that create a response—how powerful he is.

How quickly he can crush me.

How quickly he did, last week.

The elevator is lined with mirrors. I see Ace from a million different angles, and in each one he looks like a different man.

In one he is bruised, in another battered—he is soulful, commanding, a killer, a lover.

He is so many things.

He is a monster.

He is mine.





ACE


We stand in the elevator, a few feet apart. We aren't touching; we're face-to-face, shoulders back. Debating the next move as we stand on this fucking black-and-white tiled floor. We're playing a real life chess game, and I know my next move.

This woman is my fucking Queen.

Emmy breathes so heavily, seemingly not as sure as me. I watch as she looks in the mirrors around us, as if trying to see me for what I really am.

I never want anyone to see the real me, because they might see Adrian Genova. The man I admitted to my best friends I really was.

I still haven't told Emmy the truth, and now isn't the right time. We don't need to reveal all the secrets we hold tight; we just need to come to some sort of understanding.

Because I can't lose her again.

I was a goddamned fool, an arrogant ass, for doing what she told me to do—walking away. She doesn't really want me gone.

She's the same woman I met a few weeks ago—the woman trying to be strong, not allowing herself to have what she really wants, what she really desires. She'd denied herself my pleasure the first time we'd met in the hallway, and she did it again in her apartment.

I should have learned my lesson sooner.

Emmy isn't playing a game of tag. Emmy isn't looking to be chased.

Emmy needs to be told there’s a reason to stay. She needs the promise of more. The promise of fucking forever.

She needs to be put in check.

Checkmate.

“Emmy, I fucking love you.”

“Shush.” She shakes her head. Her eyes have filled with tears at the single sentence I spoke. “Don't say that to me.”

“Why not?” I ask, stepping toward her, the distance between us now gone. “I do. I fucking love you, Emmy Rose.”

“That isn't true,” she whispers. “You don't know me.”

“I know enough.”

A tear falls down her soft cheek, and I press my hand on her cheek, wipe the tear away with my thumb.

“No, Ace, I don't know who you are … and I'm scared that the person I think you might be is the person I should hate the most.”

“Don't hate me when you don't know the whole story.”

“Will the whole story change the fact that my sister is being taken off life support tomorrow?”

My heart stops. They’re taking Janie off life support? I should have gone to the hospital. I should have done something. I was so focused on this deal with Grotto, on the desire to fuck Emmy—that I hadn't thought about her sister.

I am such a fucking arrogant prick.

“Are you sure?” I ask, another stupid question.

She gives me a sharp laugh, but doesn't pull from my hand. Call me crazy, but it's almost as if she is nuzzling against me, leaning into my palm.

I goddamned knew it. This woman wants the protection I can offer.

“I'm sure, Ace. And you say you had no part in it. Okay. I have to believe you—because I told the detective and he didn't care. He didn't call you in for questioning, did he?” she asks. Her tone isn't angry; it’s just tired.

“I didn't get called into questioning,” I tell her, realizing I have information she might not have. “I haven't heard a fucking thing—but Grotto, that ass who killed the PI, the man who called me Bullet at the club—he is getting called in.”

“Really?” Emmy asks. She steps back from me, as if wanting to see my reaction more clearly. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

“The hell if I know. But then again, I'm not the monster you say I am. I knew Janie, met her once. But that was because I was going to hire her.”

“To work here?” Emmy asks, shaking her head. “Was she a waitress?”

“She never ended up working here, Emmy.”

“I don't follow, and why do you make house calls for employees?”

I know this next part will be hard for Emmy to hear, but she deserves the truth.