ACE: Las Vegas Bad Boys (9 page)

T
he club is bumping
, full of girls who are trying too hard and guys who are hoping to find someone—anyone—to take home.

And yeah, sometimes I feel too old for this scene, sometimes I feel too old for this whole town—but that’s mostly because by the time I was eighteen I'd already seen and done way too much shit for my own good.

Right now I don't need to think about that bullshit. Right now I need to drink some top shelf whiskey, loosen the fucking tie around my neck, and wait for Emmy to slink in here, her fucking tits on parade, and have her give me the lap dance she denied me in earlier.

Sure, she walked away in the elevator—but that’s because she was fucking terrified of what it might mean if she really gave into something this good, this hot. If she gave into us.

She might lose her fucking mind.

But I know she'll come back.

She's no dick tease. She and I both know she wants my cock.

She just got scared.

And fuck, don't I know it? I'm gonna fucking lose my cool with this woman. She has my stomach in knots, my fucking eyes are darting around this club looking for one thing and one thing only.

Emmy Rose.

“Ace, chill out for a moment, okay?” Landon says, as we both take a seat at my table. Bottles of liquor cover the table—glasses, ice, Dom Pérignon on ice. We're fucking set up to dominate this night. “Your cock hasn't stopped prowling since we arrived.”

We’ve been ushered right to our table by a gorgeous hostess. We've only been here ten minutes and already a half-dozen women are sitting near us, inching closer toward the booze—and our laps—with each word we say.

“I'm not prowling.” I know my tone is defensive, and that Landon is just looking out for me. And I may need my friends tonight. Sure, I put on a tough guy act, all bravado and motherfucking confidence, but I swear to God this broad has shaken me.

I need the guys here to make sure I don't fucking punch another wall. It's nearly midnight; McQueen just texted that he is on his way. Jack is up in his DJ booth spinning some sick beats.

“You ladies want to join us?” Landon asks a pair of long-legged beauties.

I look them up and down, and quickly determine they aren't my type. They’re rocking fake tans, with big hair and big tits—nothing natural. Nothing I want to sink my teeth into.

Nothing I want to fondle and fuck.

The women sit next to Landon, but I just sip my whiskey.

There are thousands of people in this three-story club. The pit in the center is filled with people dancing. Glow sticks and topless women and hands waving in the air set the tone: straight-up party.

McQueen finds his way to us, grinning like the motherfucker he is.

“Jack is killing it up there,” I say, pointing to Jack as McQueen takes a seat.

“Yeah, he is.” McQueen eyes the women around us. “And so are you,” he says to a blonde woman who has just walked up to us.

She is dressed less risqué than the gyrating women around us; she has on a nice black dress, but wears a big smile.

And she ‘ Emmy's friend.

“I'm Claire. Your assistant told us to meet you here. Are we in the right place?”

“Of course we are!” Behind Claire is Tess, the girl who looks like she's never heard the words
trying too hard
. “Hey Ace, thanks for the invite. That was totes nice of you.”

I look behind them, hoping to see Emmy. She is nowhere to be found.

“Of course,” I say, keeping it cool. “Glad you could come.” Not asking what I really want. I invited them here to keep the game of cat and mouse going with Emmy. I don't think my ego can handle her running without first giving me a chance to catch her.

Landon begins pouring the girls drinks, and my jaw clenches. My heart pounds. I want to ask. I know I can't.

Thankfully, Tess is my motherfucking savior.

“So, Emmy's on her way.” Tess's words are as bubbly as the champagne she is drinking. “She just got a voicemail from the doctor at the hospital where her sister is. She knew it would be too loud in here. She'll meet us in a sec.”

“Her sister is in the hospital?” I ask, leaning forward.

“Well, yeah. I mean, that's the only reason she's here in Vegas,” Claire says in a non-nonsense way.

“Is her sister alright?” Landon asks, finding a seat next to Tess. I can already tell he'll be into her. She’s moldable, the exact sort of woman he prefers.

“Not really,” Claire says. “Her sister is in a coma. I mean, all you'd need to do is ask her three questions about herself and you'd know that.”

Rubbing my jaw with the back of my hand, I realize I've only focused on one thing when it came to Emmy: her perfect pussy.

“Oh, there she is,” Tess says pointing through the crowd.

Landon, McQueen, and I all turn to look, and so do half of the men in the club.

Emmy would be a knockout in anything. But in this skintight, wine-colored dress she is everything. She's been poured into that fabric, and I want to drink her up as she comes toward me.

“Fuck, your girl is looking fly,” McQueen says.

Claire gives me a hard look, her eyes flicking back to Emmy. She's trying to piece things together, and I can tell that Emmy has kept her cards close. I fucking love that about her. I don't need some woman who can't keep things behind closed doors.

As Emmy walks up to me, giving me a cool once-over, it's clear she didn't tell her friends much of anything.

“Emmy.” I stand so I can stop her from sitting down. I don't want to talk to her here with everyone listening and watching.

I want her in ways no one else can see.

“Everything okay?” Landon asks, his English accent making him sound more sincere than I would sound if I posed the same question.

“It's fine.” Emmy shakes her head, giving Claire and Tess hard looks of annoyance. I love that Emmy has worn minimal make-up, her hair is loose and hanging around her shoulders. I smile, noticing the tips are still wet, as if she literally stepped out of a shower and came out tonight.

The other women here are nothing like her. Everything about them is forced. Emmy isn't trying to make an impression. She’s just herself. And that is more than enough.

“Really?” Claire asks. “Is everything honestly okay?”

“Yeah,” Emmy says, brushing her off, accepting the flute of champagne McQueen hands her. The women on our periphery look Emmy up and down, see her as competition.

She isn't their competition. This woman has already fucking won.

Now if I could just make that clear to her.

“The voicemail from the doctor was from hours ago, when we were at dinner. I just hadn't checked my phone.”

Claire and Tess give her sympathetic nods and drop it. In those simple looks, though, it is clear these girls are important to Emmy. She trusts them.

I won't let my boys hurt them.

On my phone I send a quick text to McQueen, Landon and Jack.

Me:
Don't fuck with Emmy's girls. I mean it. Okay?

I watch as McQueen and Landon look down at their phones, type quick responses.

McQueen:
Got it, boss-man.

Landon:
We’ll behave.

Knowing that’s dealt with, I take Emmy by the hand, and pull her up. The music is loud, the drinks are being poured, and I'm ready to fucking put my hands all over this woman.

And never let her go.

* * *

So in the past twenty-four hours I've seen Ace act like a confident prick in the hallway, a reckless lover in the bedroom, and a dominating ass in the elevator.

And now, on the dance floor, I see him as a hungry, desperate man. A man who wants something that he's scared he won't get.

Scared he won't get me.

I swear those fucking eyes are going to be my demise.

And in this moment, with hundreds of people around us, with music vibrating off the walls, with his arms snaking around my waist, I want him to wreck me.

I want to be ruined.

It's so loud on the dance floor I can't hear myself think, can't hear his whispered words. Can't remember why resisting him will make me happy.

I know that earlier I walked away because I didn't want to be used, didn't want to be Ace's plaything. But right now he isn't in control. He isn't in the power seat.

I am.

I know that I'm what and who he wants. As I run my hands through his hair, press my lips against his ear, breathing in and out, I know that right now he isn't in charge the way he wanted to be in the elevator.

Right now I'm driving this racecar and I want to take it around the track at 150 mph. I want to be chaos and I want to crash.

The voicemail from the doctor said that if Janie doesn't wake within the week they’re going to take her off life support.

I don't want to think. I don't want to talk.

I just want to escape.

My hands find their way to Ace's waist, slide down the front of his pants, where his throbbing rod is waiting for me.

People are everywhere. We've moved to the center of the dance pit where everyone moves cheek to cheek, asses grinding against the hard cocks behind them. Men and women have their mouths on one another, have their hands rubbing against glistening skin, and smoldering eyes greedily watching the heat of the night.

It is a fucking orgy waiting to happen.

But I don't want an orgy. I want Ace.

I want him now.

His eyes close, the music sinking into our skin, lights flashing around us, confetti falling from the ceiling as the DJ—Jack—spins the club into a frenzy.

My hands press against the hardness in his pants but it's not enough. I want more. I want everything.

“Ace, I need you. Now.” In his ear I whisper words that are truer than he knows. Somehow he hears me and silently takes my hand, pulls me through the crowd.

He doesn't take me back to his table.

Instead, he takes me away.

* * *

W
e don't talk
. What words would I use?

I'm using you so I don't feel the fear clawing its way at my heart?

I'm using you so I can pretend my past isn't tumbling to the present?

I'm using you because I don't want to be alone?

I can't say those things.

So I say nothing at all.

He leads me to a dark room down a hallway, past the restrooms and past the bar kitchen and past the noise.

He leads me to a closet, switches on a dim light, and I see that the room is filled with shelves of liquor. He finds a bottle of whiskey, unscrews the cap. Takes a long pull that I know must burn his throat as he swallows.

I take the bottle, drink. I want to be set on fire.

I want to be consumed by a blaze.

His eyes are on me and I lock mine on him. The electricity of the club bounces through the walls.

But the electricity of what I feel with Ace right now is deeper, longer. More. What I feel right now is a mixture of heartbreak from the phone call and desire for what he is going to do to me.

What I feel right now is alive.

And that is so much better than turning to ash.

“Fuck me, Ace.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searing into mine. He can see my pain, read my hurt. It is good of him to ask.

But I don't want to answer because I don't want to lie. Not to him.

“Just do it, do me. Please.”

I beg him. And I am not ashamed.

I beg him. And I am not afraid.

I beg him. And he answers.