ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys

by Frankie Love

Mark goes back to his office and shuts his door.

  I'm reeling. Punching that bag at the gym feels a million miles away.

  I pause at Sherry's desk, needing some kind of lead.

  “Why is Grotto looking for a lawyer?”

  She must see the intensity in my eyes, the desperation. I would beg her for the information and she knows it. She shows me the mercy I’m looking for.

  Leaning into close, she whispers, “He's being called in for questioning. Apparently there was a car crash, and a girl ended up in a coma. They think he may have been driving the car.”

  My head falls back, feeling like everything is spinning out of control.

  Emmy's sister. Bullet. Grotto. Trenton's murder. The shit on my family.

  Emmy leaving.

  Me wanting her to stay.

  It's all too much.

  “Thanks, Sherry,” I tell her. “I'll have my assistant get you passes to the club and a restaurant.”

  “Thanks Ace, but you don't need to do that. Being nice to an old lady like me might ruin your bad-boy image.”

  “There are enough bad boys in this town, Sherry. I don't want to be one of them.”

  EMMY

  The hospital is quiet. It always is.

  I sit here with my sister.

  Her days are numbered.

  I've begged the doctor. Pleaded with the nurses. Asked for more tests. More labs. More time.

  But all I get is sad looks and shakes of the head.

  The decision has been made.

  Janie will be unplugged from life support in two days. The state has helped cover her hospital expenses, but it’s cruel to keep her hooked up when she is all but dead.

  It’s time to let her go.

  So here I sit. My hand in hers. Remembering. Wishing everything had been different.

  I never had a real family. Never really had anyone, for that matter.

  I always clung to the hope of a relationship with Janie, longed for a connection with her, but she always pulled away.

  Maybe it feels worse knowing she’s been with a man like Ace, a man who uses women, used her.

  Is that what her life amounts to?

  The daughter of addicts and the escort to the Boss-man?

  It's not enough. She deserves more.

  But she isn't going to get it.

  I told the detective on the case about Ace … how I thought he was Bullet. He took the information, but said it wasn’t solid. That they can't arrest a man for having a nickname.

  I told him that Ace admitted to knowing Janie. But he just told me, hands folded on his desk, that he would see what he could do.

  If that isn't fucking anticlimactic I don't know what is.

  So I sit with her.

  In the quiet hospital room.

  Wishing for her eyes to open, wishing for her to squeeze my hand.

  Wishing for my sister to come back to life, come back to me for the first time in her life.

  16

  ACE

  Standing in the large, vacant space, I see potential. The building doesn't need to be torn down completely, just rebuilt. The foundation is solid.

  I wonder what sort of fucking metaphor this is supposed to be.

  “What do you think?” The real estate agent, Stacy, asks us—Landon, McQueen, Jack and me. She’s a no-nonsense type of woman, in her fifties, and a typical cougar. She is eyeing us so hard she’s practically purring. And no one has even made a move.

  And we won't. We take this meeting seriously.

  “What’s the business we’re investing in, exactly?” Landon asks. “I don't really give a shit … but this money is actually my father's. He was quite proud at the notion of me wanting to be a venture capitalist. I just had to evade his questions about what the venture itself is.”

  “Right,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “The thing is, we need to decide.”

  “You don't know what you intend to use this space for?” Stacy asks. Her nails tap against the clipboard she holds in her hand. “It’s pretty important to know what you want it for, considering the bank is going to need to approve the loan based on the intention.”

  I don't answer, and Jack cuts in, “Is anyone else interested in the space?”

  We all know Grotto claimed a bid, but we don't know what for. And we know only one person will win.

  “Yes, I know for a fact one other solid offer has been made. But since the bank owns this property, they’ve chosen to keep it open for bids until the end of next week.”

  “What will they base their choice on? Highest bidder wins?” I ask. If it’s that simple, we just need to find out how deep Grotto's pockets go.

  “It's more complicated than that,” Stacy explains. “The city of Las Vegas has brokered agreements with banks to invest in projects that will add the most value to the city.”

  “And what adds the most value to Sin City?” McQueen asks. “Strip clubs? Because then we know our business model.”

  “I don't know those details,” Stacy says. “I wish I did know what they were looking for, but they keep that close to their chest—with reason. If everyone know what they wanted this property bought for, every bid would come in riddled with false claims.”

  “So you're saying we need to know what our business will be before we can make an offer?” I ask, my hands in my pockets in an attempt not to fidget. This is all making me more nervous than the first time I had sex.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Landon lifts his hands as if he’s about to add something important to the conversation. Then he drops them. “I got nothing. Honestly, Boss, this is your show. I'm just here for the applause.”

  “You really don't have an idea what you want this space for?” Jack asks.

  “Grotto can't have this property,” I say adamantly. “I don't know much, but I do know that. He has bad intentions.”

  “And yours are pure?” McQueen laughs. “Bro, you own Spades Royalle. You have female escort phone books on every bedside table. Your hotel drips sex and sleaze—”

  I cut him off. “Sex, yes, but not sleaze. My place is classy, right?” I ask my friends.

  They shrug, apparently not knowing the difference between the two. Fuck, maybe I don't either.

  Stacy steps in, smiling at me. “Look Ace, Spades Royalle is special. It has an exclusive feel that no other casino in Vegas offers. I'm not sure what Grotto's plans are, but let me ask around, see what I can dig up.

  “And in the meantime, I can move forward with paperwork, and just leave the parts blank you aren't ready to commit to. In a week though, I'm going to need to know your plans so I can submit this offer.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, grateful for her cooperation.

  A few days later, the guys and I meet up at Spades to discuss the meeting with the real estate agent. McQueen has a show tonight, Jack does, too. Landon will be playing at a table he reserved with some of the other high-rollers, and me … well. I'm acting like the Boss I am.

  We sit in the whiskey bar, commanding the room.

  “So what are your big ideas, Ace?” Jack asks. “You heard Stacy. She wasn't joking.”

  “Yeah, and what the fuck, bro?” McQueen asks. “You want us to money up but you don't know what for? Don't you need a business plan?”

  “You're right. I just saw this property so close to the strip—which is never available—and wanted to pounce. Same thing as when I found the listing for what I turned into Spades Royalle. It was a shitty place before I renovated it.”

  “Time isn't on our side, though,” Landon says pessimistically.

  “I say we build a strip club. People love those. And there are never enough of them in Vegas. Hell, I'll star in the show.”

  “You already star in a stripper show,” Jack says, laughing.

  “Spank You is classy,” McQueen says defensively. He's right, of course—no trashy stripper routine is gonna fly in my casino. But Spank You is an all-male revue … so the likelihood of Jack or Landon
ever actually seeing McQueen perform is slim to none.

  I haven't seen him either. I have a manager to do the hiring for that one.

  “So you jackasses think Vegas wants another strip club?” I ask, taking a sip of my aged whiskey.

  “Why the hell not?” Jack asks. “We'll make it classy like the shit at this hotel, but more bare pussies and big tits. Truth is, I think I need more strippers in my life. Ashley was way too insecure to ever let me go to a club like that.”

  “That's because Ashley was a bitch,” Landon says.

  “Hey, talk nice about her,” McQueen says, defending the singing sensation who was Jack's longtime girlfriend.

  “To be fair,” Jack says. “She also picked out my clothes if we were going out and refused to let me pee without shutting the door.”

  “See,” Landon says. “She was a bitch.”

  I'm laughing with the guys when out of the corner of my eye I see Emmy.

  I watch her cross the casino floor, a tray in her hand, her feet in those high-ass heels, her thonged cheeks covered in fishnets, the pleather of her uniform pushing her tits up to perfection.

  I haven't seen her in days. I swear I get a hard on and she hasn't even looked in my direction.

  “Hey, is that your girl?” McQueen says.

  Jack punches him in the shoulder.

  “What?” McQueen asks. “Just because she kicked you out of her apartment doesn't mean she doesn't still want you.”

  “It kind of does,” Jack says. “Which is reason number eighty-nine that you've never had a long term relationship.”

  “Like any of us asses, have besides you,” Landon says truthfully.

  “That's gonna change,” I say, standing up.

  My friends laugh. “What's that mean?” Jack asks. “You just gonna go up to her and force her to be your woman?”

  “No, I'm gonna go up to her and remind her why she shouldn't have walked away.”

  EMMY

  I feel his eyes following me as I cut through the casino floor. I know he's just now noticed I’m here, but I've been watching him move around the place since he walked in an hour ago.

  I swear to God my heart is connected to his. Being near him causes my pulse to quicken, and the longing I want to ignore to rise to the surface.

  It’s been one hell of a week.

  Tomorrow Janie will be taken off life support.

  I should be with her now … but I was so tired, so exhausted at being alone in that room, with no one to talk to.

  Sure, Claire and Tess have generously sat with me, brought me In-N-Out and Starbucks. They've sat with Janie so I could go home and shower, sat with her so I could cry alone in the chapel, praying to a god I have no faith in. A god I've never believed in.

  But I don't want to be alone tonight. I'm tired of crying, tired of sitting in a sterile room. I need to do something. So tonight, I came to work. But my mind isn't on this job. My mind is on the fact it is my sister’s last night on Earth.

  And when I decided to come I wasn't even thinking of Ace. Because yeah, he ripped my heart out when he told me he had known my sister, but he isn't my sole reason for living.

  Not that I have any clue what is.

  “Emmy, stop,” Ace calls out to me.

  I keep walking.

  “Emmy Rose, wait,” he calls again.

  I stop.

  Maybe it's because he calls me Emmy Rose, my name falling off his lips so effortlessly, like he’s made to speak my name. Or maybe it’s because I'm so damn tired and confused. Maybe it's because the last time I was lost I fell into the comfort of his arms, and I feel lost again right now.

  Last time he held me and I now … now I just need to hold on for dear life.

  “Emmy,” he says once more, coming to a stop at the heels of my feet. He doesn't hide the fact he wants me. Me, his employee. Him, the most powerful man in this casino. He doesn't pretend there isn't something between us—the thing I’ve been pretending all week doesn't exist.

  He comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist. He pushes the hair from my neck and growls in my ear.

  “Don't tell me to leave. Don't tell me that ever again.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, my chest heaving, my entire body tingling under his tight hold. I nearly drop my tray with the one hand I use to balance it. My other hand grips his forearm tightly; I don't want to let go. He’s keeping me steady, grounded in a way I wish he couldn’t.

  But he does.

  Oh, fuck me, he does. I feel the way he grounds me by the hardness in his pants, the hardness pressed up against my ass.

  I like that when I’m in these heels we’re the same height. It gives me the advantage right now, to feel what his body really wants.

  It wants what I want.

  He loosens his grip and then grabs the tray of drinks. He sets it down on a table absently, not caring that he’s just screwed up the game some players were betting on. He doesn't see anything because he only has eyes for me.

  He takes my hand, holds it so tight. Leading me across the floor, the one I’ve memorized as I’ve worked this room to death for two months straight. I pass Tess, and her eyes bulge out her sockets.

  I smile, sheepishly. All week, she's heard the reasons why Ace and I are bad news. She's listened to me berate his cockiness and his insensitivity and his absolute womanizing behavior.

  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 shak
es 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.”