by Frankie Love
“You’re the fucker who got us the gigs we have here at Spades,” Jack says. “You’re the reason my career, and McQueen’s career, have taken off. And our boy Landon would be playing at the fucking Tropicana if you hadn’t saved his ass from that scene. We’re good, bro.”
“Okay,” I tell them. “Let’s do this.”
EMMY
The next morning I wake up on the couch. Errr, the next day. It's like two in the afternoon. I genuinely can't think of the last time I slept in so late, but considering we didn't get home until five this morning, I guess we didn't sleep an obscene about of time.
Claire and Tess are sprawled out in my bed. They fell asleep there last night while I was in the shower and I didn't have the heart to wake them.
Now I pull open the blinds, squinting in the afternoon sun. Walking a few steps into the kitchen, I begin making a pot of coffee.
As it brews, I turn on my phone and see I've missed several calls and texts.
Text 1: This is Denise, Ace Royalle's personal assistant. We met yesterday at the buffet. Please call back ASAP.
Text 2: Hello, Denise again. Please return message.
Then there are three voice mails saying the same sort of thing.
The final voicemail, however, is a bit more worrisome: This is Denise, calling on behalf of Ace Royalle. Shall I have someone come to your listed address to check on you?
I so do not want anyone connected with Ace showing up here.
Claire and Tess inch out of my bedroom, both wearing tee-shirts of mine.
“Must. Have. Coffee,” Claire mutters as she does a zombie walk toward the pot. Pouring herself a cup, she literally guzzles it.
“Did you just burn your throat?” Tess asks warily.
“It was totally worth it.” Claire smiles a bit manically, as if the caffeine has already shot through her blood stream.
“You are so weird,” I say, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and adding it to my own steaming mug.
“I'm not the weird one,” Claire says. “You, sweetie, are the one who screwed the most eligible bachelor in Vegas, then ran out all tears and confusion and cried yourself to sleep. Without explaining anything.”
“True.” I sigh, feeling defeated. “Look, I just don't want you to judge me. And, now that I know the truth about Ace, what I actually need to do is go speak with my detective.”
“The detective on your sister’s case?” Tess asks, scrunching up her nose. “What does he have to do with Ace?”
“I think Ace was driving the car the night of the accident.”
“No shit!” Claire gasps, nearly spitting out her coffee.
“I know. It is fifty shades of crazy.” I explain the conversation with the detective from the day before, and then fill them in on what Grotto said last night.
“Wow. I guess it makes sense now why you freaked out,” Claire says.
“Yeah, and here I was thinking you got all weird because Ace was bad in bed,” Tess adds.
“Well, they technically didn't screw in a bed—they were in a hallway at the club or something, right, Emmy?”
Oh. My friends weren't privy to my previous evening’s post-poker game sex-capades.
“We actually hooked up after the poker game—”
“I knew it!” Tess shrieks.
Claire shoots Tess dagger-eyes. “No screeching this early in the morning.”
“It's not the morning anymore,” I say. “Also, there's nothing to get hyper about. Ace is a creep, remember? What kind of man leaves a woman alone after a car crash? He's a monster.”
“You may be jumping to conclusions,” Tess says. “I mean you don't have actual proof.”
“Are you seriously defending him right now?” I ask. “Because tell me, Tess, how many people have you ever met who go by the name Bullet?”
“None, I guess. I just. I don't know … he seemed so nice. So generous.”
“You just like the fact that I hooked up with a guy who is loaded and comes with a fancy entourage.”
“Let's not get catty, ladies,” Claire says, pouring herself another cup of joe. “Look, Emmy, no judgment, but did you actually like Ace, or was it just sex?”
I feel the burn on my cheeks with that question. The reason it hurt so bad to hear him called Bullet last night was because I actually did like him. But more than that … because like sounds flat and feel superficial.
Ace and I had a connection that was real. I just wish I could have explored that more … really gotten to know him before the carpet got pulled out from under me.
“I … he … it was….” I can't finish my sentence, because I don't want to feel the way I feel. So completely torn.
It doesn't matter what I felt before I learned the truth. Now I can't go back. If I do, what does that make me? A monster too?
“Okay then….” Claire pulls her words out exaggeratedly. “But honey, the fact that you can’t answer says something. Maybe you should get the facts straight before you dismiss him all together. Maybe he isn't what you think. Maybe he’s what you need.”
Just then my doorbell rings.
“Who's that? I don't know anyone in Vegas besides you two.”
Tess heads to the door and looks through the peephole.
“Oh, shit,” she says pulling back and looking at me with shock written on her face.
“Who is it?” Claire walks over and takes a look herself as another knock hits the door. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“Emmy,” a voice calls through the door. “Emmy, are you there?”
My stomach drops. Whatever red flush filled my cheeks a minute ago, with Claire's questioning, has drained.
Ace is here. For me.
“Ohmigod, I can't deal with this,” I hiss at my friends. “Say I'm not here. Say I'm … at work.”
“Ugh, that won't fly. He owns the casino you work at dummy,” Tess whispers back.
“Just—” Claire rolls her eyes, exasperated, as if she has all this experience with men like Ace. “You guys are so weird. Just let me deal with it.”
I grab Tess's arm and pull her into my bedroom. I close the door, keeping a small crack open so I can watch Claire be the grown-up. The two of us look through the opening, not wanting to miss a thing.
Claire pulls open the door, revealing a tall, handsome man. A man with searing green eyes and a grim look on his face. There is no cockiness or fronting. Right now, Ace looks pissed.
“Oh, Ace, what are you doing here?” Claire asks, all wide eyes and feigned surprise.
“Where's Emmy?” he asks, stepping into my apartment.
I watch as he takes in the modest space that is my sister’s apartment. I don't let myself be embarrassed with the place I live in. I’m grateful to be able to take care of Janie’s place until she gets out of the hospital.
If she gets out of the hospital.
Which I know is beyond a long shot.
“She's not here. Went to get coffee.” Claire shrugs unapologetically.
“Then why are you drinking that?” he asks, pointing to the still-steaming mug in her hands. His eyes sweep the room and land on the two other half-filled coffee cups on the table. The near empty pot on the counter. The creamer opened, still sitting out.
“Oh.” Claire laughs in an awkward high-pitched way I've never heard escape her lips.
This is bad. But it's also kind of hilarious to watch Claire get all flustered around Ace, a bad-boy hottie to the extreme.
She’s probably thinking about the fact that her recent date with the bowling league babe doesn't compare to someone so chilled, so rock-solid. Someone who I want to be mine.
Stop it Emmy!
I want to punch myself in the freaking face. I should not be here cowering behind a bedroom door. I should walk out there, calling Ace on his shit, and then getting my tail over to the hospital to talk with the doctor who freaking wants to pull Janie off life support.
This is the problem with men. They one hundred percent, without f
ail, screw with a woman's priorities.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
But seriously, I don't.
“Where is she, Claire?” Ace asks, his voice softer than I expect. “It's not funny. I tried to reach her half a dozen times and she isn't answering. I got worried. The guy at the club, Grotto, got under my skin, and I don’t want him to hurt her.”
“He hasn’t been around, I promise. And Emmy’s tough. She can handle a lot.”
“I didn’t say she couldn’t handle it, but Grotto’s dangerous. And she left last night without a word. I just want to makes sure she's okay.”
“She doesn't want to see you, Ace.” Claire bit her lip, and then spoke apologetically. “Sorry. I don't want to get in the middle of anything … but she's my girl.”
“Yeah,” Ace sneers, his soft edge unfurling. “Well, she's my woman.”
Claire's eyes get wide at that statement, and Tess squeezes my leg, giving a not-so-silent squeak.
I'll admit it—my entire chest fills with emotion as I hear his words. Emotions I can't sort out this fast. I love the way the possessive statement rolled off his tongue. But I hate the kind of man he is. I'm scared of the places he's been.
Ace and Claire hear Tess's squeak, and both sets of eyes dart our way.
Shit.
Ace takes two long strides and opens the door. Both Tess and I stumbling as our hide-out is uncovered.
“Hey,” I say, standing, tugging at the tank top I put on after the shower last night.
“We need to talk.” Ace doesn't ask if I want to, he just tells me what we need to do. This sort of authority is the kind that will get me in trouble.
The kind that will give me exactly what I need.
“Uh, I'm gonna call an Uber,” Claire says, dashing into my room and grabbing her phone.
“No,” I tell her. “Stay. Both of you.”
“I think you guys need to talk.”
“You’re seriously gonna leave me here with him? This monster?”
Ace's eyes swivel to mine. He looks completely caught off guard by my words. Good. I want him shaking in his boots. Okay, so he isn't wearing boots. He's wearing some shiny, fancy-pants dress shoes and a suit that looks like it was made for someone to wear down the red carpet.
He looks good, but truthfully I think his look is a little forced. I honestly think he'd be more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.
“Just go. Both of you,” I say, exasperated. I turn to get my coffee cup, needing more coffee if I’m going to have this conversation with Ace.
Not that I know what the conversation will entail.
Were you driving the car the night my sister went into a coma? Were you the one who fled the scene?
And what if he denies it? What am I supposed to say or do then?
Claire and Tess throw their clothes in a tote bag and pull on sweats and tee-shirts.
“Can we borrow some flip-flops?” Tess asks.
“Of course,” I say, knowing sweats, tee-shirts, and the high heels they wore last night would look ridiculous together. Thankfully for them I stocked up on cheap flip-flops when I moved to the desert.
Ace stands in the center of the apartment, and I have literally no clue what he is thinking. Do I want to know?
“The car's here, Tess,” Claire says, checking her phone.
“Okay,” Tess says, then walks over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You text me in an hour or I'm gonna start stalking you like Ace here, ’kay?”
“Got it,” I say, smiling tightly.
“You swear you're good?” Claire asks me, as she wraps an arm around my neck. “Because we can stay.”
“She's fine,” Ace says coolly.
I nod in agreement, and watch as my friends leave the apartment.
I walk over to the door and bolt it closed.
14
EMMY
Ace has his arms crossed over his chest, so I mimic him. Unfortunately, I also lick my lips, which I assume is the cause for the small smile spreading across his face.
Once I set my mouth in a firm line, his smiles fades.
“I'm a monster now? What happened to last night, when you said you wanted me inside you? Didn't seem like I was much of a monster then.”
“Have you been here before, you sick fuck?” I ask. “To this apartment?” I want to know if he came to this apartment to pick up my sister the night the car she was riding in crashed. The night someone left her to die.
“What the hell?” Ace says, his face flaring in anger. “You come at me with this crazy shit? I pegged you as a wild one—but a girl off her goddamn rocker?” He runs his hands through his hair. “I seriously missed that when I was pounding you.”
“I'm not crazy.” My words are sharp and directed at him. His words remind me of the way I used him last night. “You're the crazy one, Bullet.” I throw the word across the room, seeing if he’ll dodge it. He doesn’t even flinch.
“What's this really about?” he asks, stepping toward me.
“You know.” I press my hands against his chest, pushing him away. His chest is hard and solid, and I need that sort of surety in my life. But not from him. I want to feel safe, with someone actually able to protect me. I need to get the hell away from Ace.
Being around him makes me remember all the things I want to forget.
“You fucking know,” I yell at him. “I know who my sister was talking to the night she went into a coma. She was texting with someone named Bullet. Now explain that to me. Because Grotto sure as hell knew you as one man, and I thought I knew you as another.”
His eyes reveal nothing. I hoped calling him Bullet would dislodge his confidence, but it didn’t.
“You know nothing about me, Emmy Rose.”
“That's for damn straight. And I don't want to.”
“Prove it. Prove you don't want to know me. Because I see you face right now and I saw your pussy last night and neither of those things wanted to push me away. They both wanted to be devoured.”
Ace takes me by the waist, lifts me up in one fell swoop. He shoves me against the wall as my legs wrap around him.
My brain screams that I should claw myself away, but I can't. I know I won't. I know the ugly parts of myself don't want him to ever let go.
My veins flood with shame for what I desire.
I knew the moment Ace showed up here I wouldn't get a straight answer from him.
And do I really want to? What if he told me he was the Bullet my sister spoke with? The Bullet my sister sexted, maybe even the Bullet my sister fucked? What if Ace told me he had been in this very apartment a dozen times with her?
What then?
Would it make me walk away?
I'd like to believe it would.
But he didn't admit anything.
And it's better this way, isn't it? This way I can straddle between the good intentions and my bad desire.
I can fucking straddle him.
“What do you want with me?” I ask him, plead with him. I press my hands on his cheeks, hold his fucking gorgeous, chiseled face in my hands.
“I want everything.” His voice is soft again. And I’m done with questions.
I'll talk to the detective later today. I'll see my sister tonight. I’ll beg the doctor for more time.
But right now I just need the comfort that only Ace, the fucking train wreck of a man before me, can offer.
Right now I want to go off the rails.
ACE
My head spins as I hold Emmy against the door. Her hands cradle my face and I can't remember the last time anyone ever touched me this way.
She silently begs me to stop trying to understand. The moment her friends left she was coming at me buzzing, fists raised—wanting to fight. But I won't fight her. Not Emmy Rose, not now. Not ever.
I just want to keep this broken woman safe.
I want to protect her in a way that is archaic and insane, I want to protect her in a way that no one else ever could.
/>
I press my mouth against hers. She is warm and breathless, and hungrily moans against me. She is all spun up and wrung out. She clings to me, and while I never want her to let me go, I also want to understand.
“Baby, it's okay,” I say in her ear.
“Don't talk, Ace.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you to lie to me. So instead, don't say anything at all. Just fuck me until I can't think.”
“So are you just using me for my body? For my cock?” I ask, my shoulders tensing.
“Isn't that what you are doing with me?”
“Not even close.”
Emmy Rose doesn't understand the depths of what I feel for her. She may be a stranger in a lot of ways, but I'm not letting her go.
And fine, she thinks she just wants me for my thick rod? Let her think that for as long as she needs to. Because sooner or later she isn't going to believe that lie anymore.
Sooner or later, she'll know that a bad boy like me is the only one who will ever make her happy.
I carry Emmy to the bedroom, a room I've never set foot in before.
But I don't tell her that I've driven by this apartment complex. That I've had my driver pull into this very parking lot and park the car. I don't tell her I've picked up a girl that I've come to realize looks an awful lot like her.
If I tell her that, she’ll stop letting me touch her. Feel her. Make love to her.
And maybe that does make me the monster she called me today.
But maybe I don't give a fuck.
Because what matters more is being with Emmy. Right here. Right now.
EMMY
A slim ray of sunlight is cast over the room. Ace is quiet and so am I.
He carried me from the living room to the bed. He set me down carefully, as if he was scared I might break.
He's right.
I feel fragile and small.
I'm not a pliable, moldable sort of girl. I'm either on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces, or balancing on the edge of something too tough for my own good.
Right now I don't want to be strong. Right now I want to be broken.
