“Right.” Jack paused. “You feel at peace about how that all ended?”
“Jack,” Ace said. “It’s just about the only damn thing in my whole life that I do feel at peace about.”
**
Spider snuck back upstairs to his room, heart pounding and legs shaking, holding his breath the whole way. He didn’t release the badly-needed exhale until he was safely behind his closed door, and then he sank onto his bed, his knees still a bit weak.
Ten minutes earlier, he’d smelled bacon and gone to the top of the stairs, hoping and praying that Ace The Asshole was still holed up in his bedroom, jerking off or staring at the walls or whatever the hell he did in there for hours and hours on end every day. But no… he was down in the kitchen with Jack, drinking coffee and eating bacon and eggs, and just taking up the space that Spider wanted to occupy. Annoyed and disgusted, he’d turned on his heel, ready to stalk back to his room to browse some news – but then he’d heard Jack ask about Ace’s childhood.
Spider had stopped dead in his tracks, boy… he’d just frozen where he stood. Because even though Ace had been cagey about many, many things when they’d been together, the thing that he’d been most closed-mouthed about had been his earliest years on this earth.
Oh, Spider had known a few things, of course. He’d known that Ace’s mother had died, and that his father had been a gambler and a mean drunk, and that Ace had been taken away from the loser pretty young. What Spider hadn’t known was why.
Well, he knew now. And it made him sick to his stomach. It also explained all those nightmares that Ace had had sometimes, nightmares where he’d been trapped in small, dark spaces with no way out, or in long, dark hallways that got narrower and narrower as Ace walked down them, and which closed behind him, forcing him forward. God, he’d woken up shaking and panting from those dreams – and he’d never told Spider why. Not once.
Also? He had always assumed that ‘Ace’ was the man’s road name; he’d asked what Ace’s ‘real name’ was, and more than once, but Ace had just given him that quirky little smile and said, “Ace is my real name, sweetheart.” And Spider had taken that to mean that he felt more like ‘Ace’ than whoever he’d been before being named for the MC – and he’d let the matter drop, but not happily.
Spider knew then and he still knew now, God help him, how good it felt for Ace to call him ‘Liam’. For Ace to still be the only person to call him that, except for his Mom. It felt… intimate to him. Like it was something warm and sweet and secret, something just between them that they shared. When Ace said his name, it was like a soft, gentle caress; it was like a rhythm that Spider could set his life breath and heartbeat to.
Why hadn’t Ace told him the full story about his name? About his God-awful son-of-a-bitch asshole loser drunk gambler father? About almost dying all alone in a fucking closet at the age of eight, about damn near killing his own father in a convenience store parking lot at the age of twelve? Did Ace think that Spider was going to judge him? Condemn him? Think less of him?
But – no. No. Ace would have known that wouldn’t happen. Which meant… which meant that he’d been ashamed and embarrassed and hurt. He hadn’t wanted to tell Spider because Ace hadn’t wanted to relive any of that. He ‘d told Jack, though, because his whole life had just blown up in his face, and – let’s face it – Ace had nothing much to lose anymore. Not his reputation, or his Presidency, or the respect of his MC brothers, or his income, or his place in the world. All those things were gone now, long gone, and they weren’t ever coming back. He was a different man now, a man who was hopeless and adrift in many ways, defiant and proud in others.
Maybe Ace is looking to start again – maybe a whole new way this time?
Maybe the right way this time?
Maybe – just maybe – that meant laying some stuff to rest at long last. Maybe Ace was looking for a day of reckoning, and he was going to be his own judge, jury and quite possibly, executioner. Maybe he was looking to make amends, turn pages, wipe slates clean.
And maybe he was ready to be honest about who he was… maybe he was going to look at himself in the mirror and accept the fact that he was gay, and think that that was absolutely fine. It had always been fine, actually, but not to Ace.
Maybe he was finally going to be fine with it. And if he was, then Spider wanted to be there for him in that moment. Forget all the shit between them; forget the hurt and betrayal; forget the years of icy silence and blazing anger. In Ace’s whole life, Spider was the only person who really, truly understood what it had cost Ace to deny his true nature for almost his entire earthly existence… and damned if Spider wasn’t going to stand next to the man and celebrate with him if he was ready to live with integrity and without apology.
He heard footsteps outside now, heard them go down the hall to Ace’s room. A door opened and shut, and Spider didn’t hesitate for one second.
He got to his feet, checked his hair in the mirror, nervously flattened it a bit. And then he went to Ace.
**
The knock at the door took Ace by total surprise, and he stared at it.
“Jack?” he said cautiously.
“No.”
What the fuck?
Without a word, Ace threw himself at the door, flung it open. He knew it was Liam, of course, but even when his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him, he continued to stand there stunned.
Perhaps the most stunning thing of all was that Liam didn’t look even the slightest bit pissed off, and after one week of nothing but seeing him that way, it was a bit of a shock to the system.
“Uh,” Ace said, at a loss. “You OK?”
“Can we talk?”
“Uh,” Ace repeated, feeling like an utter moron. “Yes?”
“Good.” Liam stepped into the room, and Ace took a massive step back. Liam shut the door firmly, and Ace scuttled back again. “Can we sit?”
Ace nodded, indicated to the bed. He himself took the desk chair, way the hell on the other side of the room. He crossed his arms, stared at Liam some more, and waited.
“So.” Liam settled on the mattress, and Ace pushed down hard on his memories of the warm, welcoming beds of the past that he’d shared with this gorgeous, amazing man. “I heard you talking to Jack.”
“You – what?” All desire and yearning were gone now, replaced by shame and horror. “How much?”
“All of it.” Liam’s voice and eyes were gentle. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I –” Ace stopped, wrestled with himself. Years and years of never being honest wth anyone – least of all himself – were working against him now, and he had to fight hard against his natural inclination to lie, deflect, evade. “I – I don’t know.”
Liam was quiet for a second, then he said, “Did you think I’d look at you differently?”
Ace hesitated. “I – maybe.” He took a deep breath, reminded himself that if there was anyone on this planet he was to be honest with, it was this man with the brown eyes and large hands. “Yeah.”
“You thought I’d feel sorry for you.”
“Yeah.”
“Would that have really been so bad?” Liam asked him. “To have someone sorry for what you went through, and sorrowful on your behalf? Would it have been that hard to live with, knowing that I cared about you enough to be fucking livid and hurt for you?”
“Uh…” Ace stared at the other man. “I never – I didn’t think about it that way. I just – I couldn’t stand the thought of being pitied. I could handle being loathed and hated, and I actually liked being feared. I wanted respect and for me, respect wasn’t possible if weakness was spotted. That was how I survived my childhood, and how I functioned in the MC, and it was how I wanted you to see me when we were together. I wanted your respect for me as a man, Liam… not your hurt or anger for me as a kid. ”
“You could have ha
d both.”
“I – really?”
“Of course.” Liam shook his head, but it was an affectionate gesture. “I can separate things, Ace, and actually…” He hesitated. “Actually, I’d have been really touched if you’d told me about what happened to you as a kid. I worried about you, you know. About the nightmares. I knew they were awful for you, and I also knew that they were too… I don’t know. Too deep-rooted and terrifying for them to be from your more recent life. I just had the feeling that they were demons from a long, long time ago, things that you hadn’t even started to work through. If you’d told me? I’d have – I wouldn’t have been surprised. I think I already suspected, but I have to admit, what I’d imagined your childhood looked like wasn’t anything as bad as what it was.”
“I wish I’d told you.” Ace’s voice was low. “I should have. I mean – it would have been a real sign of my trust in you.” He swallowed, determined to keep talking. “Trust is hard for me, Liam. It’s – I think it’s the hardest thing.”
“I know.” Liam smiled. “And it’s OK. I get it, and I’m not upset. I swear.”
Ace barely heard the reassuring, forgiving words, since he was staring at Liam’s face. God, that smile. It was radiant, and open, and the closest thing to perfection that Ace had ever known. Ace had been on the receiving end of that smile countless times, and it had never, ever ceased to knock his breath clean out of his chest; it had never stopped being a tiny miracle that he felt honored and almost humbled to witness.
When Liam smiled at him like that, it made Ace believe in good shit, like angels and souls and grace and – quite possibly and with a bit of a stretch – a God. Maybe.
So he just stared at Liam… and Liam stared back. Their eyes met; their eyes held. And suddenly – between breaths and heartbeats – they were back in The Grinning Skulls, looking at each other across the heaving bar for the first time ever. The air between them crackled and sizzled, just like it had done in that smoky, noisy MC bar, and just like that night that had changed everything, everything changed.
Ace’s eyes dropped to Liam’s lips, and he couldn’t stop himself from licking his own. He’d never forgotten how the man over there had felt to kiss: hard and angular and strong. Ace had been addicted to Liam’s body, his mind, his kind heart, but Christ alive, he still missed the taste of Liam’s mouth under his own. Liam always tasted of something sweetly smoky, something wild and forbidden and a bit dangerous. But pure, for all of that, like water fresh from a spring.
Liam definitely noticed his perusal, because he blushed, then shifted on the bed. Yeah, he knew what Ace was thinking, and Ace didn’t even bother to try to hide it. Ace knew that the look on his own face right this moment was the exact same one that he’d worn every single time that he’d come at Liam from across a room to rip his clothes off, or rolled him over in the bed to take him again, or come back from the hotel room door to give him one last kiss before leaving. It was the look that said, Don’t you even think about protesting, sweetheart, because you’re mine, and I ain’t done with you yet.
It was the look that meant that Ace was staking his claim, taking ownership.
Reclaiming what was fucking his.
Liam’s eyes widened in shock – maybe in fear, definitely in recognition – and he shot to his feet, then backed up to the door. Ace stayed sitting, though, not moving a muscle, just watching him go. He smiled now too, but he knew it wasn’t a shining, dizzying smile like Liam’s had been. No, his smile was savage and predatory, full of dark promise and darker sex, the smile of a night creature watching its prey get away… for now.
Just for now.
Liam’s back hit the door, and he fumbled with the handle. “Anyway, I… ummm… I’m going to go. I’ll – I’ll see you later, OK? Maybe – maybe we can have sort of a… truce between us? I mean… maybe we can at least eat meals together?”
Ace smiled wider, his black eyes intent and intense. He nodded, still didn’t speak.
“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Liam said almost in a whisper. “Furious, actually.”
Now the corner of Ace’s mouth turned up into that fucking awesome little smirk that Liam knew and loved so well. His eyes narrowed until they were as focused a laser beam on Liam’s face, then Ace said in a low, guttural growl:
“I know, sweetheart.”
Liam opened the door so fast, he almost fell out of the room into the hallway. He shut the door quietly, and Ace leaned back in his chair, his cock rock-hard, his breathing shallow, his hands itching to pull Liam’s shirt off his lickable chest.
And just like that – almost a full decade after their eyes had first met, locked, revealed everything that they’d never shown anyone else ever before, right there in that biker bar – it all began again.
Chapter Eight
Two days later
“Everyone here?” King asked the speaker on the table. “Sound off, guys.”
“Honey and Tex on the call,” Honey said. “Jack is on the front door.”
“Good,” King said. “Other safe house?”
“Tank and Val.” Val’s crisp voice made everyone sit up a bit straighter, as usual. “Dillon’s here tonight, and so is Selena. They’re on guard duty.”
“How are the ladies?” King asked right away, not caring even one iota that it was a question motivated by personal concern, not professional. God, he wanted Naomi home, and based on the previous night’s conversation at Curves, he knew the other guys were on the same page. “They going stir-crazy?”
“Actually, no,” Tank said. “They been talkin’ non-stop about wedding stuff. I think they felt a bit guilty about it at first, but now they’ve settled in. In fact, man, your fiancée was on some never-ending Skype call this morning with a wedding dress designer that Sarah recommended. Elise Jordan.”
“Yeah?” King said, thrilled that Naomi was working on their wedding, even if he wasn’t directly involved. After all, the date was set for the autumn, and time was flying. “She was looking at dresses?”
“Yep.” Tank’s smile was clear in his voice. “Elise carried the phone around the store and showed Naomi racks of things, and Naomi chose some stuff to try on. Elise says she’ll ship it, if it’s OK with you.” He paused. “Or maybe you have some security concerns, and want me to go pick up the stuff from Elise, boss-man?”
He was working hard at sounding all cool and collected, but the truth was that Tank kind of liked saying Elise’s name. In fact, he liked pretty much everything about the woman. He’d been in the living room that morning with the ladies, just coming on duty, and when the sexiest, sultriest female voice that he’d ever heard in his entire life had come from the laptop speakers, Tank had just casually wandered on over and glanced at the screen. And damned if the woman he saw there wasn’t the sexiest, sultriest thing that he’d ever laid eyes on.
Elise Jordan had long, curly hair the color of molasses, and eyes the color of pure golden-brown amber. She was curvy and lush, and that worked just fine for Tank. He loved his women to be a handful – both literally and figuratively – since he was a massive hulk of a man. Tiny, delicate little pixies made him nervous in the bedroom: he needed a woman that he could cover with his muscled, massive body without fear of hurting her, or crushing her, or breaking her. His large hands were made for caressing breasts that spilled from lacy bras, for pulling rounded thighs open roughly, for pulling a generous ass closer and tighter as he ground against a warm, soft pussy.
The other truth was that he was kind of eager to meet Elise in the oh-so-delectable flesh… and if that meant taking an errand-boy run to her bridal boutique, then Tank was game. Sadly, his boss had other ideas.
“Hell, yeah, it’s OK,” King said, grinning broadly at Lilly and Knox across the table. They smiled too, a bit taken aback at their badass, kick-ass, scowling boss all excited about a damn dress. “Nobody from the MC will be watching a random weddi
ng shop’s outgoing deliveries. It’s cool.”
Tank nodded, swallowing his disappointment.
“So,” Honey said, the teasing evident in her tone, since she already knew the answer. “You getting ideas for your own wedding, Val?”
“Pfwah,” Val said, or something approximating it. It was a combined snort, huff, and scoff, and everyone mentally laughed. Val’s disdain of all things relationship, and most of all, all things matrimonial, was well-known among her fellow Men, and nobody could resist yanking her chain a bit. “Jesus.”
“So… no?” Honey said innocently. “Not getting any nice ideas?”
“Actually,” Val said. “Someone has been extremely curious about all the wedding crap going on around here.”
“Oh, yeah?” Knox drawled, running a hand over his shaved head. “Tank?”
“Nope,” Val said. “Guess again.”
“Well, maybe Dallas,” King said. “He was married last year – maybe he’s offering pointers?”
“Nope again.” Val paused. “Curtis.”
“Say what?” King said. “Curtis?”
“Yep.” Now Tank was in on it. “The man is interested, I swear it. Asks a million questions about engagement rings and shit like that every time he passes the room where the women are sitting and planning.”
King blinked. He knew Curtis to be a good guy, of course, but he was also quite possibly the most intimidating son-of-a-bitch that he knew, and seeing as who he kept company with, that was saying something. The thought of the man asking about anything not to do with football, or guns, or boxing was incomprehensible.
“Uh,” King said, a bit floored. “Is he making plans for him and Tessa?”
“Looks that way,” Val said, clearly unimpressed. “Poor girl.”
“Nice,” King said with approval, completely ignoring Val The Wet Blanket. “I wonder if Tessa knows?”
Extreme Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 7) Page 11
