Acer (No Prisoners MC Book 3)

by Lilly Atlas

  Impenetrable steel doors slammed down around Adam’s heart, locking his emotions so tight, he was surprised his grandmother couldn’t hear them as they landed. Never again would anyone have the power to betray him as his father just had. Never again would another human being possess his full trust. Adam Wellington was dead. From this day forward, he wouldn’t answer to that name again.

  He’d be Acer from now on. And Acer had no father.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Fia stepped into the ballroom and smoothed an unsteady palm down the front of her deep purple dress. She pasted what was probably an overly syrupy smile on her face and nodded at the pompous son of a California State Senator who raised a hand in greeting as she approached. It wouldn’t serve her well to wear her anger on the outside, so she put years of practice and grooming to good use and played the rich, friendly, tolerant-of-jerks socialite.

  The senator’s son abandoned his conversation with a politician whose name she couldn’t recall and strode toward her, a smug, women-love-me-for-my-money-and-looks smile on his face. Fia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Gordon had been pursuing her for a while now, and she had less than zero interest in the man who thought he was God’s special gift to females everywhere.

  He gripped her hand in a limp hold and drew it to his lips, kissing her knuckles in an old-world gesture. “Good evening, Serafina. I must say, you look lovely tonight.”

  She winced. Strike one. She hated her full name. It was too pretentious, too formal, too…celestial. “Hello, Gordon. You’re looking very handsome yourself, and please, I much prefer to be called Fia.”

  He wrinkled his perfect nose. “I don’t know why you insist on people calling you by that foolish nickname. Serafina is a lovely name, and you should be proud to have it.” Still holding her hand, he drew her out on the dance floor.

  It took every ounce of restraint she possessed to avoid ripping her hand from his feeble hold. Arrogant jerk didn’t even have the decency to ask if she’d like to dance with him. No, he just assumed any woman would be honored to have the privilege of being lead around the floor by his greatness.

  Sure, his five-hundred-dollar haircut had each platinum strand coiffed in a perfect arrangement, and his manicured nails were impeccable, but the soft hands they adorned did nothing for her as a woman. A man needed a few calluses. Nothing felt better against her skin than the subtle scrape of a man’s rough hands. Gordon’s metaphorically turned up nose and literal lack of work ethic didn’t exactly get her motor revving either. Some things a thousand-watt smile and striking deep green eyes just couldn’t overcome.

  She hated these events. If rich people actually donated as much money to the charities as they spent on the balls and banquets, the unfortunate would be much more fortunate. But, tonight’s charade was for a cause she supported whole-heartedly, so she was here. And with no desire to embarrass herself or her family, she’d behave. Even if that meant enduring a dance with a man who viewed himself as an angel sent to earth for the sake of the fairer sex. Fia preferred her angels with a bit of a crooked halo. Her own was just a bit off kilter.

  Today had been a long day full of frustrations and failures. What she really wanted was peace, quiet, and a warm bath overflowing with bubbles. Oh, and wine, lots of wine. But she wanted to show her support for the cause, so her wishes would all have to wait a few more hours.

  Once a year, at a different one of his prestigious hotels, Reginald Wellington held a large gala to raise money for state penitentiaries in whichever state the event was held. Money raised was used to provide counseling services to inmates in that state’s prison system.

  When Fia was in college, she had a friend who ran into some trouble with the law and spent a year in jail. After her release, she remained on a straight path and was now a successful defense attorney, but her time in prison had taken a large psychological toll, and Fia had watched her friend struggle with a consuming depression for years.

  This event meant something to her, and with her own career in jeopardy, it gave her something to focus on besides her drama. She had some significant life-decisions to make, and no clue which direction she should take.

  With a sigh, she left her head and allowed Gordon to draw her into his embrace if only to avoid an uncomfortable scene. Conscious of keeping a bit of distance between their bodies, she swayed with him to the music.

  Too bad he couldn’t take a hint.

  He leaned down and brushed his nose along the curve of her neck. “You smell lovely, Serafina.”

  She recoiled from his unwanted touch. Did the man know any complimentary words besides lovely? “Fia,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  As though she were a child who said something cute, he chuckled against her ear, and she pulled her head farther back, narrowing her eyes at him. He really was handsome, in a straight-off-of-a-magazine-cologne-advertisement way. He was tall and wore a designer suit well. Unfortunately, she’d seen him at the country club, and what lie under the suit could only be described as soft. He was a man who spent his time indoors, behind a desk.

  Not her type.

  “Okay, fine, Fia.”

  “Thank you.”

  While they danced a familiar waltz all society girls learned by age ten, Gordon rambled on about his ambitions to assume his father’s seat in the senate, and she tuned him out, instead letting her gaze drift around the room. After scanning past several acquaintances, her focus landed on a man standing in the corner with a scowl on his face as he listened to an older gentleman speak.

  She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was about the man that captured her attention. At first glance, he looked similar to many of the other males in the room, expensive tuxedo, expertly styled dark blonde hair, flawless facial features. Then he shifted his gaze and his eyes locked with hers. The energy flowing from him was almost palpable, like that of a caged tiger seconds away from attempting escape. She shivered. If all that power was unleashed, the effects could be devastating.

  Gordon twirled them and Fia lost sight of the intriguing eye candy.

  As they turned, Gordon let out a surprising and unrefined curse. “Shit, there he is.” He shook his head. “And I wagered this would be the year he finally quit turning up here and upsetting his family.”

  Fia drew back and looked up at him. “Who are you talking about?”

  He spun her a second time so they both faced the very man she’d been studying, only he wasn’t in the same spot he’d been in seconds before. The back of his head drew farther away as he trailed after the man he’d been speaking with.

  “See the blonde guy, the one walking out of the room?”

  “Yes, I see him, who is he?”

  “That’s Adam Wellington.”

  Her jaw dropped and Gordon chuckled. She knew the name well, at least the rumors surrounding it. Her father and Adam’s had been friends for the past ten years. Reginald Wellington owned this and many luxury hotels around the world.

  Adam was a bit of an urban society legend. She never laid eyes on the man, but she’d always been curious as to whether the tales were accurate. Story was, he’d dropped out of society to join a gang after a friend of his went to prison for assault.

  While it was enthralling, Fia wasn’t stupid enough to believe the story was that simple. It took guts to leave the fold. The idea of throwing all this aside, all these fluffy parties and endless senseless conversations, for a life without rules was appealing. Not that she’d ever be daring enough to achieve such a thing herself, but her curiosity about the man who did was definitely piqued.

  “He comes to this one charity event every year. No one knows why.” Gordon went on, his tone almost mocking. “Some say he’s planning something. Biding his time until he can get back at everyone he blames for his low status in life now.”

  Fia rolled her eyes. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  The man in question turned, meeting her gaze as though he heard her
from fifty feet away. Like a deer caught in blinding headlights, she froze under his attention. Why was it this particular event he attended each year? What was his connection to this charity? Had he been in prison? His eyes smoldered with a mixture of anger, frustration and…could that be desire?

  As though his attention had been physical instead of visual, her nipples tightened in the confines of her bra. Damn, he gave off some powerful sexual energy.

  A ripple of nervous energy ran its way up her spine and her stomach fluttered. She tore her gaze away and stepped back from Gordon as the song ended. “Thank you for the dance, Gordon. Please excuse me, I’m going to get some air.”

  “Would you like me to join you, Serafina?” His tone suggested she’d be getting more than air if he escorted her.

  Strike three, you’re out Gordy. She tried not to show her revulsion.

  Much as he’d done moments ago, she hovered close to his ear. “No, Gordon, I’d like a moment alone. And if I have to tell you to call me Fia again, I’ll be doing so while you’re doubled over with my knee against your balls,” she whispered.

  She turned and walked away from a slack-jawed Gordon, heading in the opposite direction of the mysterious Adam Wellington.

  Whoops. So much for acting like a lady.

  Chapter Two

  Acer laughed out loud, a full, this-is-truly-hilarious kind of laugh. “Let me get this straight. You want me to be a coyote? For you?” The fact that the man thought Acer would do anything for him, for any amount of money, was comical in and of itself, but this took the cake.

  Across the round oak table in a luxury suite two floors above the gala, Reginald frowned at him, not a strand of silver hair out of place despite his growing displeasure. Though his lips turned down, the expression above his mouth didn’t transform one bit, too much Botox to allow for a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know what you find so amusing, son.”

  Acer leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. His voice lowered to a lethal tone. “I’m no longer your son. You lost the right to call me that twenty years ago, when you fucked over my real family. What I find amusing, Reggie, is that you think I’d put myself, and my club, on the line to help you do anything.”

  Reginald’s eyes narrowed, but he rallied and shrugged, twisting a gaudy jeweled ring around the ring finger of his right hand. As far back as Acer could remember, his father did that when his frustration rose.

  “This isn’t about helping me or our personal family issues, it’s strictly business.”

  Acer held in his laugh this time. “You want to use my club to smuggle Mexicans across the border so you can exploit them for cheap labor. You have any idea how crazy ICE is down in Arizona? Any idea the shit-storm of Feds I’d be bringing to my club? You’re as crazy as you are evil.”

  If his MC brothers could see him now, dressed in a tux, without his cut, surrounded by the rich and elite, he’d be tormented for life. They rubbed his face in his posh upbringing at least ten times a day. But, he’d made a promise to his grandmother on her deathbed. Derek’s incarceration weighed on her almost as much as it did Acer. That was the reason she set up this charity, and the reason Acer agreed to attend it each year, even after she passed. To honor his lost friend.

  He held his father’s gaze. “And you and I both know how fucking evil you are.”

  His father abandoned the unaffected act and rose, slapping his open palm against the heavy table. The clank of the metal ring against the wooden surface reverberated through the room as the two men stared each other down. “Don’t act like you’re above the law. You and your precious club are nothing but a band of common criminals. Don’t act like I’d be sullying a pristine reputation.”

  Acer stood as well. With a three-inch height advantage over his father, the older man had to tip his head to maintain the stare. It gave Acer a secret thrill to be glaring down at the man for once. “Never claimed to be a choir boy. But I’m not going to put my family at risk to help you. That’s the bottom line. We done here?”

  “Your family?” Reginald scoffed. “You made the mistake of putting scum above your real family once before. You learned a hard lesson. Maybe you need a refresher, Adam.”

  The reference to Derek pierced Acer’s skin like a deep splinter, as did the emphasis on his given name. He should be grateful Reggie didn’t call him Acer. No one referred to him as Adam in his everyday life—they valued their noses too much— but hearing the nickname Derek had coined leave Reginald’s lips may have sent Acer into a frenzy. “There’s a lot more to family than some genes.”

  “You’re a fool to pass up this kind of money.” A bit of desperation worked its way past the anger in Reginald’s tone.

  Acer had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, and the No Prisoners had what they needed to be comfortable. “I’m here for one reason and one reason only, because I made a promise to your mother, my grandmother, on her deathbed. The least I owe her is to keep my word. I owe you nothing and there isn’t a damn thing I need from you, old man. Especially not your filthy money. This bullshit is over.”

  Reginald moved from the table and stood in Acer’s path, blocking the exit. His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a lethal level. “I can make things uncomfortable for your club, Adam. My connections are far reaching.”

  Acer laughed again, a cold mirthless sound. “Knock yourself out. I’m not a trusting eighteen-year-old boy you can screw over anymore. I bet my connections would trump yours any day.” He stalked around the table and strode toward the door, unwilling to listen to his father’s pathetic threats. As he plowed past, he bumped the old man with his shoulder.

  “This is happening, Adam, and in Arizona. I offered you first rights, remember that. And remember, no matter how much leather you wear or how many tattoos you get, Wellington blood will always flow through your veins.”

  Hand on the door handle, Acer paused. “Keep your business the fuck off my turf and I don’t give a shit what you do.” He flung the door open and lengthened his step as he made his way to the elevator and down one flight to the gala.

  His first move upon entering the ballroom was to hit the bar. The collar of the tux was too tight around his neck and pent up energy that had no release fired his nerve endings.

  He needed a stiff drink.

  And a hard fuck.

  In the many years he’d attended this event, he’d never picked up a woman. Pampered society princesses didn’t pique his interest, and while a one-night stand was just that, he couldn’t stomach the thought of sleeping with someone who represented everything he despised.

  A pair of whiskey-colored eyes flashed in his mind. The eyes belonged to one hell of a sexy woman who caught his attention a few times tonight. He’d been captivated by the feisty sparkle in her eye and the lack of sparkle on her dress and around her neck.

  The majority of the women in attendance dripped with flashy diamonds and colorful jewels dangling from heavy chains. Status symbols screaming, look how much money I have. This woman had small teardrop diamonds hanging from each ear and an equally humble solitaire diamond on a delicate chain around her neck. Yet he didn’t get the impression the tasteful accessory choice was due to lack of coin.

  She was understated and classy, though her body was anything but understated. That eggplant gown fit her like a second skin, molded to her mouthwatering curves. The dress had only one strap, leaving a single creamy shoulder bare; temptation for every man in the room.

  Christ, now he was semi-hard with no relief in sight.

  Both pissed off and aroused, not a good combination.

  He held up a finger to signal the bartender and seconds later, his chosen drink appeared. The man was good, paid attention to his clientele. Acer tossed back the twenty-one-year-old Glenlivet and sighed. One thing he hadn’t shaken from his fancy upbringing was the love of good scotch.

  The walls of the ballroom seemed to shrink in on him and his tie grew tighter around his neck. He needed air before he lost h
is shit and started a fight with some unsuspecting self-centered asshole he recognized from his former life.

  Acer hastened his stride and made his way toward a set of French doors leading to a large balcony. It wasn’t far enough away from the crowd, but it would have to do for now. In two hours, this farce would be over and he could catch a good night sleep before he rode back to Arizona.

  He loosened the knot at the base of his throat with one hand as he pushed the double doors open with the other. Ahh, peace, quiet, and solitude.

  Almost.

  A woman stood with her hands wrapped around the railing of the balcony, staring out into the night, looking lost and a bit pissed off if the angry sigh she emitted was any indication. One look at the eggplant colored fabric and the blood heated in Acer’s veins. It was as though he’d conjured up the woman he’d been lusting after only moments before.

  She was so deep in thought, she didn’t notice him breach her sanctuary. Enjoying the second of being undetected, Acer swept his gaze up and down her sexy figure. She was bent slightly forward, which only served to draw his attention to her ass, and damn it was a nice ass. She wasn’t a stick figure like most of the ladies here. Her body was just a bit rounded, that ass perfect for gripping as he pounded into her.

  He cleared his throat. “You look like you are enjoying your evening almost as much as I am.”

  The woman jumped and gasped as she spun around, a hand pressed to her chest. Whiskey eyes met his gaze. She obviously belonged here, expensive dress, fancy hair, but something about her led him to believe she was like him. Here out of obligation and sick of wealthy snobs. Maybe it was the spark of sass that lit her eyes. He didn’t see that feisty glow in any of the too-sophisticated and cultured women here. Learning just how feisty she was would be fun, especially if it extended to the bedroom.

  And damned if he wasn’t sporting a full-blown erection now.

  ~ ~ ~ ~