Dark Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 6)

by James, Marysol

  The silence was deafening.

  “Now, what you need to decide is this,” King said. “What do you want after it’s done?”

  Ace cocked his dark head. “I – what do you mean?”

  “I mean, if we cut off the snake’s head at the exact right time, then we can take down the whole viper’s nest. If we kill Jensen in the right way, at the right moment, we can make sure that the right person rises up in his place.” King’s eyes glittered. “We can make sure that there’s nobody but the right person to rise.”

  “Wait,” Ace said, totally disbelieving.”You’re saying that I’d be the right person? That you’d want me to take Kirk’s place?”

  “You could,” King said implacably. “But then I’d make it my life’s mission to keep you under my thumb as my informant. I’d control your every movement and feeling and thought. Forever. You’d be my puppet, and you’d better believe that I’d pull your strings and make you dance. However trapped and manipulated you’ve been feeling these past few months… it’d be nothing compared to what I’d do to you if you stepped in to Jensen’s shoes. But you’d be alive, and you’d have the protection of King’s Men. You’d be an asset worth protecting, after all.”

  Ace blinked again.

  “Or.” King held Ace’s black eyes steadily. “There’s a second option.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You get out.”

  Ace waited. “…Out? Of what?”

  “Of it all.”

  “You mean – out of the Fallen Angels? Out of… out of the life?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ace fought down the wild urge to laugh. “And do what, man? I’m pushing forty and I’ve never done or been anything but an MC member, or prospect, or tag-along. It ain’t like I’ve got any office experience, or any leadership skills outside of being VP and now Prez of the Angels. Shit, I barely got a high school education, and I was lucky to scrape by and get that. I ain’t even qualified to work at fucking MacDonald’s, you get me?”

  “You could start again.” King paused, and for the first time, Jack saw that he was uncertain about what he was about to say. “You could start again with Liam.”

  Ace froze. “Liam?”

  “Yeah.” King’s face gentled, and both Ace and Jack were surprised at that. “You could be with him, Ace. Be with him openly.”

  “I – I can’t.”

  “If you were out of the MC life, you could. You broke things off with him because your MC brothers can’t accept a gay man in their space, and no way they’d accept a gay man in a leadership role. But if you were free of it all? Then you could, Ace. You could be free to live your life as you truly, deeply want. You could live honestly for the first time ever, and you could do it with the man that you love. Assuming you can win him back, I mean.”

  His words stuck in his throat, so Ace just shook his head.

  “Well.” The hard tone was back in King’s voice now. “Those are the choices I’m offering you, so you get to pick one.”

  “Wait.” Ace was still shaking his head, but now it looked like he was trying to clear it. “My choices are that I take over when you take down Kirk, or I leave the only life I’ve ever known?”

  “Yep,” King said. “Oh, and one more thing… if you decide to take over for Jensen, then I’ll kill him myself, since you won’t be able to be anywhere near him when it happens. No question marks over your head, no questioning your part in his death, you get me? But if you decide to walk away – with or without Liam – then you’ll be the one to take care of Jensen.”

  Ace leapt to his feet. “I – what? Why?”

  “That’s the price you need to pay to get out,” King said quietly, staying in his chair. “You kill him, and you make sure your brothers know that it was you that did it. That way, you shut every door and every window to that life. No way for you to sneak back in later.”

  “But I’d be a dead man,” Ace protested. “I’d never get out the door after doing it.”

  “Me and my people would have your back. We’d get you out, we’d get you away.”

  “King’s Men would protect me?”

  “As ironic and fucked up as it is, yes.” King’s smile had exactly zero mirth. “We’d keep you alive.”

  “Christ,” Ace muttered. “I never thought I’d see the day that King’s Men would take up for the Fallen Angels President.”

  “Join the club,” Jack said. He eyed King, watching the other man’s non-verbal cues, saw that King was determined that this was going to happen. As he’d said, it was done.

  In many ways, what King was proposing was totally unlike him – and in others, it was so damn much like King, Jack was astonished. Jack knew that Matt Kingston was a good guy, at the end of the day, and he’d happily lay down his own life to save someone else’s. He loved hard, and he protected those he cared about, and he was honest to a fault.

  But his sense of morality didn’t always line up with legality. He’d taken many, many lives, but he’d never done so glibly or easily – planning Trigger MacGee’s murder had been practical, and smart, and necessary, but Jack had never kidded himself about what it had really been. It had been illegal, no doubt about that. And what King was talking about here with Jensen was Murder 1, and no lawyer in the land would be able to argue anything different.

  Did Kirk Jensen deserve to die? Oh, hell, yeah. Yeah, he did. He was a murderer, and a drug dealer, and a sex trafficker of women and kids, and he ran kidnapping rings that sold children. He was on countless cops’ ‘Most Wanted’ List – and he made sure that he never got caught. Never, ever. Every single time the cops or feds finally got close to him, one of his associates stepped up to take the fall. Jensen generously rewarded his patsies and their families, and he protected his fall-guys in jail as they served their sentences on his behalf. He was untouchable and he was smart, and Jack knew damn good and well that trying to stop Jensen by legal means had been tried, over and over again, and it had failed. Miserably. Over and over again, for years.

  And more and more people got hurt badly and suffered terribly. Died horribly.

  Maybe King was right, then. Maybe this was all that was left. The only way to end it, once and for all.

  “Anyway.” King’s tone was ruthless, relentless. “You think it through, Cuddy, and you let me know which way you want to go.”

  “When?” Ace’s voice was quiet, almost defeated. “How much time do I have?”

  “How long will you be holding Shay?”

  “Dunno. That’s Kirk’s call. But I can’t see it being more than two weeks. I know he’s making contact with Crusher the day after tomorrow.”

  “So let’s agree that the babysitting of Shay Alcott will be your last official duty as President of the Fallen Angels. After that’s over, you either move up… or you move on.”

  Ace nodded, tried to figure out what he was feeling. On the one hand, it was like a noose tightening around his neck, or a door slamming shut. Like he was suffocating and drowning; like his whole life was a never-ending cycle of violence, and hatred, and death. Taking the top post would just bring more of those things in to his world, and he knew that as sure as he knew his own name.

  On the other hand, though, he felt… like he had a taste of freedom. Like he suddenly had possibilities. Like he had chances, for the first time in a long, long time. Like he could settle down someplace warm, and bright, and real. Someplace with sunlight.

  He knew the cycle of darkness well; he knew it intimately. He lived it, he breathed it, he inhabited it on a cellular level. It was familiar now, so familiar that he was almost comfortable in it.

  The light, though. The thought that he could live in the light… that was something he never thought he’d have, and so he’d never let himself want it. Never gave himself permission to wish for or dream about being free to start again – maybe even start agai
n with Liam.

  What King was offering him was a second chance to do something that he’d walked away from years before, and he’d regretted leaving ever since. King was offering him the chance to be honest about who he was, and to love who he wanted, without fear or shame. He’d have to be crazy to not take this chance, right?

  But would he be safe? Would Liam? Would they have to spend their whole lives looking over their shoulders? Would Liam even want him, after everything he’d done, all the people he’d hurt? What if Liam didn’t want him – could Ace embark on a new life, living openly as a gay man, and find love with someone else? Did he even want to live his life that way if he couldn’t be with Liam? Maybe he’d be better off alone, pantomiming life as a straight man, running a criminal organization, getting drunk enough to fuck the club hellions – all the while cursing his decision to have not left with Liam all those years ago, back when Liam had begged him to.

  Yeah. This was a big decision and if Ace were being totally honest, he truly didn’t know what he wanted to do.

  “OK,” he said at last. “I’ll let you know in about two weeks.”

  King and Jack both nodded and Ace took a deep breath. In his mind, a huge hand turned an hourglass over, the sand started to flow smoothly, continuously.

  And time started running down.

  Chapter Five

  In the kitchen, Warren filled the largest mixing bowl with cool water, fighting hard to calm his nerves. It was easier said than done, though.

  Shay was in his bed, burning up with fever. Despite him shooting her up with enough antibiotics and painkillers to take down a horse, her body hadn’t responded yet. He’d watched helplessly as her pale skin had reddened, watched the numbers on the thermometer climb higher. When she’d started to sweat madly and pull at her clothes, he’d taken a deep breath, then done what had to be done.

  Gently, he’d tugged off her baggy jeans, her oversized sweater. He’d been momentarily taken aback at the underwear that she had on under her shapeless, dark clothing. Lacy, revealing and dusky purple, the sex-kitten bra and panties were yet one more way that this woman surprised him. Unable to resist, he’d just stood over her for a few seconds, admiring her long, lean body.

  And yeah, he had noticed that her legs were curvy and full, her small breasts shapely and pert, her stomach smooth and toned. He’d been as worried as hell about her, but he wasn’t blind, after all, and he’d found himself wondering just why the hell this woman would cover up this hot little body.

  He returned to his bedroom now, grabbed a fresh cloth from the hall closet on the way. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, just looking at the way that the flames from the bedroom fireplace danced over her tousled blonde hair, over her sleek curves. That was when she moaned and turned her head away from him.

  The small sound jolted him back in to the moment, and he hurried over to sit next to her on the bed. He dipped the cloth in the cool water, touched it to her heated body. Slowly, carefully. Trying so damn hard to help her, any way that he could.

  He started at her forehead, ran the rough-soft material over her flushed face. He traced the hollow of her throat, then down. Between her perfect breasts, back up and over her slim shoulders, the length of both arms. When he reached her wrists, he barely touched them – the bruising was an ugly, mottled purple now, and he dreaded the possibility of causing her any more pain.

  He wrung out the cloth, refreshed the water, moved on to the curve of her hips, the groove of her stomach. He paused at the waistband of those fucking incredible lace panties, aching to see under them. He saw the outline of her sex through the tight material and to his horror, he hardened.

  God, he was a bastard. The woman was helpless and unconscious, and here he was staring at the place where her pussy lips met. That honeyed line taunted him, tormented him, and he ached to slide those sexy-as-hell little panties down her endless legs, bury his tongue in her sweetness.

  Yeah, she’d be sweet. He knew it.

  “Get a hold of yourself, man,” he muttered aloud. “Don’t be an asshole here.”

  Hearing his own voice steadied him, somehow, and he refreshed the cloth again. Then he moved down her legs, avoiding the wrap bandage around her wound. He stroked the cloth down all the way to her delicate ankles and slim feet, before working his way back up the whole length of her body.

  Her astounding, astonishing, amazing body.

  “Mind out of the gutter, dickhead,” he said to himself. “Jesus Christ.”

  Shay sighed, murmured something. Warren leaned in, hoping that she’d open her eyes.

  “Shay?” He touched her cheek, thought that she felt a bit cooler. “You awake, honey?”

  She whimpered and twisted, then she surprised him by half-sitting up, and cuddling up to him. Without one second of thought, he tugged her in to his arms, pulled her in tight. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he was totally unable to stop himself from lowering his lips to her hair. He dropped a tiny kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the fragrance of vanilla and something else. Something sweet and strong.

  Just like her.

  “Shay?” he whispered in her ear. “Open your eyes if you can hear me.”

  She made a sound in her throat, something hurt and lost. She was totally limp in his embrace, her whole body heavy on his chest. Slowly, not wanting to jostle her, he lay down, pulling her with him as he went. She stiffened, just for a second, then relaxed.

  And suddenly, there they were: Warren holding a half-naked, delirious, smoking-hot woman in his arms. A woman who was burning up with fever, and who was now starting to shiver and shake in reaction to the drugs.

  Cursing under his breath, Warren grabbed the blankets, hauled them up and over her trembling body. She fought him at first, pushing the blankets off, but he tucked them around her body firmly, not giving her a choice about any of this. She needed warmth, and softness, and safety, and she needed them badly. Warren couldn’t do much more than he’d already done about the infection raging through her body, but he could give her those things.

  Her shaking got worse, and she started to whimper again. Her hands found his t-shirt, curled around it tightly, holding on for dear life. Tears leaked out from behind her closed eyelids, and she gasped with sobs. He held her closer, murmuring to her now as he stroked her hair.

  “Shay, you’re alright. I got you. You’re safe and I’m taking care of you, OK? Just sleep. Just let go and rest.”

  Proving that she was exactly the kind of exasperating woman who did the polar opposite of what he told her to, she turned her face up to his, and opened her eyes. Glassy, unfocused, those clear, pure depths were heartbreakingly blank. Gently, he took her chin between his strong fingers, tipped her tear-stained face up a bit more. He desperately wanted to see a spark of recognition in those eyes, just a hint of fire. He saw nothing, though, and his stomach clenched.

  “Here, baby,” he said. “I’m right here.”

  She frowned, her brow furrowed. He saw her trying to focus now, and he moved his face just inches away from hers.

  “Shay. Can you hear me? See me?”

  Her blank stare sharpened a bit, and he watched as those green eyes focused on him. A look of confusion passed over her face, and Warren smiled at her, a tight, worried smile.

  “Hey,” he said quietly.

  “Hey,” she responded, her voice weak. His heart leapt to hear it, though, since it meant that she was there with him, even just temporarily.

  “How you doing, Shay?”

  She contemplated him, semi-lucid now. “You know me?”

  “Uh-huh.” He dared to stroke her cheek with the tips of his rough fingers, wiping away her tears, and she blinked at him hazily. “How you feeling?”

  “I – I’m –” She swallowed hard. “Thirsty.”

  He nodded and reached for the glass of water on the beside table. He held it
to her lips, helped her to sit up a bit. She drank, coughed, and drank a bit more. Slowly, he eased her back down to the bed, gathered her close again, and she let him. Shay sighed, rested her forehead against his chest.

  “Am I sick?” she asked, her voice stronger now.

  “Yeah. Yeah, you are. But I’m taking care of you.”

  She leaned back a bit, looked at him some more, and he wasn’t at all sure how much of this she was actually taking in. “You are?”

  “I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled again, a real smile, one that reached all the way to his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  Shay stared at him. “My God. You’re gorgeous.”

  Startled, he huffed out a small laugh. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Out of the blue, she started to shake. She didn’t even notice, but he quickly wrapped the blanket around her again, pulled her back in to the circle of his arms. She clutched the blanket to her chest, still gazing at his face. “Do I know you?”

  “Yeah, baby. Kinda.”

  She nodded as if that made perfect sense, then he watched her eyes flutter shut. She sighed heavily, burrowed deep in to his body, and he knew she was going under. Sleep was the best thing for her now, so he lay quiet and still next to her, waited for her to drop off.

  When her breathing became slow and steady, he carefully moved away from her. She moaned and rolled away to face the wall. Warren registered his body’s dislike for this, how much it resisted the distance between them.

  Without her in his arms, they felt hollow and useless, like he suddenly didn’t know just what the hell to do with them. They hung at his sides, limp and empty, itching to wrap around her once more. It seemed that if they weren’t holding Shay, then they served no earthly purpose whatsoever.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, stared at her slim back some more. Then he went to the kitchen to clean up the mess on the floor, and to make some nuclear-grade coffee. It was going to be one hell of a long night.

  **

  Almost forty hours hours later, Warren checked the bite on her leg again, and heaved a sigh of relief. It was still red, but the swelling and inflammation were both way down. He touched her hand, her throat, her face, and knew that her body temperature was settling a bit.