ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys (19 page)

He hands me back my bag, and slips in a business card. I push open the now-unlocked door, tumbling out onto the sidewalk as quickly as I can.

He pulls the door shut from the inside and the car drives away, fast.

I’m left standing there, trembling.

What the fuck just happened?

I pull out my phone and dial Ace, but no one answers.

I leave a message.

“Hey baby, just … wanting to make sure you’re alright.”

I hang up feeling completely confused and caught off-guard.

I’m ready for things to start making sense.

I need them to.

A
fter Emmy leaves my penthouse
, I take a back exit out of the hotel, and get in my car. Driving across the city, I head directly for Denzel & Swopes, I need to see Mark before I meet with the guys about the property.

Exiting the elevator on the fortieth floor, I see Sherry sitting at her desk, tapping away at her computer.

“Ace,” she says, looking surprised.

“Mark busy?” I ask. I must be a lot more aggressive most times I come here, because she looks stunned that I’ve stopped and asked.

“He isn’t seeing anyone right now, let me buzz him out.”

I nod and begin pacing the room.

Mark walks out, and the sallow look to his skin makes me feel like a fucking ass.

Sure, he decided to represent that fuckhead Grotto, but he didn’t deserve to have me walk out like a fucking prick. Especially when his wife was dying.

“Ace, everything okay?” Mark asks.

When I shake my head, he waves me back into his office.

“I’m sorry, Mark, for being such a dick. I saw Janet at the hospital. I had no idea things had gotten so bad.”

“Well, you were right about Grotto. Something is off about that guy.”

“He still detained?”

“No, they released him this morning, and honestly, I don’t think he wanted my counsel. I think he wanted dirt on you.”

“Me?” I ask, the color draining from my face. “I don’t want any connection with Grotto. I need him off my back.”

“I know,” Mark says. “We’ll work on it.”

“And Janet, she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know, Ace, she’s been fighting for a long time.”

It’s a relief for things to have been settled between us. I keep acting like a motherfucking ass, and I need to do better. Be better. If I have any hope of someone as good as Emmy Rose sticking around, I need to keep my shit in order.

Just then, a noise comes from the hall. One second Mark and I are getting our shit figured out, and the next I hear Sherry yelling.

“Wait, just stop for one second,” she screams. But whoever’s out there keeps heading toward us.

“Hold it,” a voice calls, pushing open Mark’s door, not waiting for him to answer.

Two deputies in Clark County uniforms hold up their badges.

“What the fuck?” I look at Mark, wondering if he has any clue what this is about. He looks as bewildered as me.

“We have a warrant for the arrest of Ace Royalle,” an officer says, holding up an official piece of paper.

“What is this for?” Mark asks stepping forward.

“This warrant is for fleeing the scene of a potentially fatal accident.”

I shake my head. Fuck. This can’t be happening. My name is clear. My hands are clean. What the fuck is Grotto doing to me?

I can’t be held responsible for this; it will destroy everything I’ve worked to build.

I will destroy everything with Emmy.

The officer gets out a pair of handcuffs and pulls my hands behind my back.

I want to scream, punch something, but as the other officer reads me my Miranda Rights, I know I need to keep my face shut.

“It’s okay, Ace—we’ll get this sorted out. Keep your mouth closed, hear me?” Mark says coolly, trying so hard to keep it together. I see his fists balled, and the shock written on his face. I need him to believe my innocence.

“Ace Royalle, come with us,” the officer directs, and he leads me down the hall. I have no choice but to oblige.

Walking away in handcuffs is the last thing I want. The last thing I fucking need.

I wanted to keep my name clear, but Grotto seems determined to find a way to make me break.

* * *

A
s I walk into the hospital my heart is still racing from the limo ride. I hate that Grotto got to me that way.

But more than anything, I just need Janie to start talking.

I’ve been here in Vegas for two months, teetering on egg shells, and I feel ready to crack.

The nurses smile at me, but seeing them just reminds me of how many days I have walked in here, hoping for answers, and not getting any.

I walk in Janie’s room and open the blinds. The air is dry—just the desert heat—and I sit, feeling parched. Feeling depleted.

It’s so frustrating, I spent three days being rejuvenated in Ace’s arms, my lungs filling with the gust of fresh air that I so desperately needed—and then after a short car ride where I was held hostage, suddenly it’s like I can’t breathe.

Sitting next to Janie, I grab her hand, pleading with her to talk. Her eyes are open, and she blinks, but she looks hollow. Like she’s still an empty vessel.

“Janie,” I plead. “I just need help understanding what was happening here in Vegas. What you were doing. I want to know who was driving the car the night this happened. I need to make sense of it all.”

Janie coughs, as if trying to open her throat, which must be causing her so much pain with the ventilator shoved down it.

“Janie who were you with that night? Who was driving the car?” As I beg, tears fall down my cheeks.

Her mouth cracks open, and she squeezes my hand. I know she hears me, I know she wants to help.

“Who was it?” I cry. “Who’s guilty? Who fled the scene of the crime?”

Her voice has been silent for so long, but her first words are clear. Clear as the desert day.

“Ace,” Janie says. “Ace was driving the car.”

E
verything spins
: my heart, my head. Everything I thought was true ... isn’t.

I hold tight to Janie’s hands, and she stares at me as my words stumble out, trying to catch up to the sentence she just spoke. The one that rocked my world.

Ace was driving the car.

Ace, the man I just offered my heart to, the one I chose to trust, chose to believe. Chose to ... love. Because that was what was happening between him and me, I can’t deny that.

I haven’t said those words aloud—but damn it, they are written on my heart.

“Janie, you’ve been in a coma for two months. Are you sure you remember? It was Ace?” I ask her.

Two nurses have come into the room to check Janie’s vitals, and she tries to sit up with their assistance.

This is what we’ve all been holding our breath for, for this moment when she finally came to, finally returned to the land of the living.

But she woke with information that nearly kills me.

Janie licks her lips, her eyes sunk in and her skin craving the sun. After all this time in a hospital room she’s become sallow and sad. But the truth is, I haven’t seen my sister for a long time.

I try to remember a younger Janie, before she became the girl who left me to pick up the pieces alone after our parents died. I need to remember, because I can’t seem to see straight.

“It’s been like ... a dream ... a nightmare ...” she says, blinking heavily as if this is the most difficult thing of her life. Maybe it is. “The crash was bad?” she asks. “Did anyone die?”

“No, no one died, thank God,” I tell her, holding both her hands in mine. “I came to Vegas as soon as I heard you’d been hurt. And I know it’s been a long time, but Janie, I’m here. For you. Any way I can be.”

My phone starts ringing, but I know that right now I need to focus on my sister. I want to ask more about Ace. I need to focus on her.

“So everyone is alive from the crash?” she asks again.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “And you said Ace was driving?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding her head slowly, her eyes suddenly more alive. “It was Ace Royalle.”

My phone rings again, and this time I reach for it. Maybe I need an out, because right now I can’t breathe.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Emmy?” Ace says. “Baby, I’m in jail.”

“What?” I ask, shaking my head, looking back at Janie who’s getting checked out for the millionth time by the nurses. I step out of the room, pressing my hand to my chest.

“Grotto framed me. I’m here being detained for your sister’s accident. I just need you to know I’m okay, and I have my lawyer sorting this all out.”

“Ace,” I say, my words choking as I say them. “Janie started talking.”

“Oh, fuck, really? She did?” Ace sounds surprised, but also ... unhappy? “What did she say?”

“I think I need to talk to the police before I talk to you, Ace.”

“What are you talking about, Emmy? You can tell me anything.”

“I can’t do this, Ace.”

“Do what?” he asks. A steel edge sharpens his voice; it hurts to hear him like this.

“You. You aren’t who you say you are.”

“I’m everything I say. I got one fucking call when they brought me in, and I called you. You, Emmy Rose. You. Don’t fuck with me now.”

“I’m not fucking anything.” My words are ice, everything within me going cold.

I don’t want to be this way. Not with him. Even if that makes me a fool.

Being with him is the only thing that has ever allowed me to begin to thaw, allowed the frozen pieces of myself to melt away.

So, in a whisper, I breathe the words I know I shouldn’t. If Ace
has
played me, anything I say may help his case. But I can’t
not
. The memories of the past three days flash in my mind. The Nutella sandwiches and the shower where he held me, the whispered words as we made love. I can’t erase them. I don’t want to.

“Ace,” I whisper. “She said you were driving.”

He starts to defend himself, but I can’t listen. It hurts too much and confuses me too much. I don’t feel safe at all. Grotto just blindsided me, and then Janie did too.

I need to think.

I hang up my phone and search my contacts for Detective Clark.

I look through the hospital room window at my sister, and see the nurses helping her sit up. She looks weak, like she might topple to the ground. Her hands grip the rails on the bed, her chin raised, as she takes deep breaths. Like she’s fighting to stay above water.

But right now I’m the one in way over my head.

* * *

I slam the phone down. Slam my fist into the concrete wall. Fuck. I press my palm around my bloodied hand, trying to shake it off.

But it’s not possible.

What the fuck sort of lies is Emmy’s sister feeding her? Telling her I was driving the car that crashed? It’s bullshit.

How many fucking times do I need to tell Emmy the truth for her to believe me?

I look around, screwed. Of course she doesn’t believe me. I’m the one who just got hauled off to jail.

Denzel says my arraignment is tomorrow, and that’s not gonna fly. I need to get the fuck out of here. Now.

In the cell, I sit with a few drunks and a cokehead. How the hell did I get here?

I run through the possibilities.

My friends would never have sold me out like this. Mark has my back—he’s trying to get my arraignment sooner–so I know he isn’t out to fuck with me.

There are only a few people left.

When I met Janie, I knew she was trouble. She sauntered out to my car high as a kite—by the looks of it, she had the same appearance as this cokehead across from me. She’d clearly been doing hardcore drugs.

I need to know her connection with Grotto. Whatever Janie and Grotto are doing to try and frame me is going to bite them in the ass.

I own this town, and it’s time they motherfucking remembered that.

One thing that eases my fear, as I sit on this stone cold bench in a fucking City of Las Vegas jumpsuit, is that whatever shit Grotto says he has on my family, on me, isn’t so deep. He doesn’t know about my true connections with the mob; if he did, he’d have told the cops my real name, told them some actual shit.

Not this story he fed them about me driving the car the night of the accident.

And that eases some of my worry.

But when the afternoon turns to night, turns to the early morning hours, and I’m still in this cell, my worry is replaced with anger. With rage.

What doesn’t sit right, the thing gnawing at the back of my mind, is Emmy.

She’s is hell-bent on not trusting me, and she hasn’t been fully on my side since the get-go. Then the moment her druggy sister woke up, sounds like she believed her. And why, when everything Emmy has said over the past few weeks about Janie is criminal? She ran out on Emmy years ago, never calls. Has never reached out to her sister once.

So why would Emmy trust her over me?

Unless.

Unless Emmy is in on this.

Unless Emmy has been drawing me in, ready to pounce.

And maybe she’s getting ready to hit me where it will hurt the most.

My fucking heart.