Extreme Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 7) (8 page)

But Nails’ word was law, and that was the way it was. And anyway, Nails might be secretive and cautious and silent in ways that put Joker right the hell on edge, but he was also – and this was nothing but fucking
bizarre
for the MC world – a man of his word. If he promised something, it was a bond stronger than steel handcuffs.

So. If Nails said that he had something to check on, he actually did. If he got the answer that he was looking for, then he’d share that when he thought the time was right. And if that answer meant action, then he’d give the order to take down the girl… whoever the fuck she was, and however the fuck she could help the Fallen Angels get to stopping Cuddy’s breath.

All Joker had to do was wait. And he had one hell of a thing to look forward to, after all the waiting.

Killing that asshole is worth waiting for
.

Chapter Seven
Three days later

Ace stood in his open bedroom doorway, listening hard. Sure enough, he heard Liam moving around in his own bedroom. That meant that the coast was clear for Ace to head downstairs to grab a badly-needed coffee and some breakfast. Or – considering that it was going on afternoon – some lunch.

He knew that everyone assumed that he’d slept late every day over the past week, that he’d just rolled his lazy ass out of bed at the crack of noon like a guy with nowhere to be, and nothing to do, and without a care in the damn world. He wasn’t pissed about that assumption, since he’d made a point of not emerging from his room before that time – not after Liam had frozen him out for the first two days of their forced and enforced co-habitation. Ace didn’t blame him for his anger and coldness, not one bit… hell, if Ace were in Liam’s place, he’d want to throttle the idiot who had messed up his life so completely.

The truth was, though, that Ace had been awake at six a.m. every day since arriving at the safe house. It didn’t matter if he got into bed at ten at night or at four in the morning: he was wide awake at six. Liam was an early bird, a total morning person, and in the three years that he and Ace had shared a bed, Liam had never slept past seven a.m. Not even on a weekend.

Ace had loved waking up to see Liam relaxing next to him in bed, reading a book or tapping away on his laptop. He’d loved waking up to hear Liam clattering around in the kitchen making breakfast, loved waking up to the smell of coffee. And most of all, he’d loved –
loved, loved
– waking up to find Liam just lying there next to him, watching him wake up. Ace would look into those soft brown eyes, and he’d feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He’d feel like he’d just woken up at home. The only home that he’d ever really known in his life.

Waking up now was a painful experience, even seven years on. Ace hated waking up, dreaded those few seconds of wishing and hopefulness, of missing and memory, before opening his eyes to see no one there. Or worse, to see that some club pass-around that he’d gotten drunk enough to take to bed the night before was snoring next to him, her eye-makeup streaking the pillow case, her lipstick marks still visible on his dick. To this day, he wasn’t totally sure how he’d managed to fuck
any
of them, since he’d been loaded to the point of oblivion, but he knew who he’d been thinking about when he’d fucked those women. Always doggy-style, always with his eyes shut tightly, always pretending that it was another body under his.

God knows, he’d tried everything possible to delay the moment of waking. He’d used alcohol and he’d used drugs; he’d tried popping sleeping pills and he’d tried staying awake for days on end before crashing hard. Anything,
anything
to prolong those few seconds between the twilight of sleep and the dawn of wakefulness… because sometimes in those few dim, hazy seconds, Ace
still
felt Liam next to him,
still
heard Liam shutting the kitchen cupboards,
still
smelled the brewing coffee.

In those few seconds, Ace was happy and hopeful. The millisecond after he realized where he was was always devastating. Time hadn’t healed that pain, and he’d started to understand that it never would.

That’s
why it was so amazing that here in this safe house – running for his life, hiding from his own MC brothers, fearing for Liam’s safety – he woke up at six a.m. every day, and he woke up happy. He was happy because with no effort at all, he heard Liam open and close his bedroom door, heard Liam taking a shower in the bathroom next door. And by straining a bit, he heard Liam in his bedroom down the hall, heard Liam downstairs talking to one of the King’s Men badasses standing between them and the gravest danger that Ace had ever known.

So Ace just stayed in bed for hours, listening to Liam move around the safe house. He loved knowing that even though Liam was as pissed-off as hell at him, they were still sharing the same space and breathing the same air. He was happy because when
that
millisecond hit him between the eyes, he knew that Liam was close by and he wasn’t all alone anymore. Most importantly of all, though, was the comfort that Ace felt in listening to Liam move around – because that told him that the man that he loved was safe and whole. Furious and fiery, yes; cold as ice, definitely. But alive and well and walking around downstairs.

And that all made Ace happy. He was happy as he lay there at six o’clock in the morning, listening to nothing special at all. Just listening to Liam move, walk, talk. Exist and just
be
.

Not that anyone looking at him for the past week would know that he was happy. No, Ace had been his usual silent, hulking, and glowering self as he’d stomped around the safe house in his black t-shirts and jeans and boots, sucking back black coffee and staring at the TV. But he’d been watching Liam the whole time, out of the corner of his eye, or when nobody was looking, or when Liam’s back was turned. He’d been canny and careful, and he was sure that nobody had noticed his quick glances at Liam’s hands, his back muscles, his ass.

But he was
done
with sneaking around Liam, and he was
damn good and done
with letting himself be ignored. He was going to force the issue today, and if that meant a confrontation, well… so be it. They had things between them, things that needed to be said. At this point, Ace truly didn’t give a shit if Liam yelled those things, or if Jack and Honey and Tex heard those things, or if he was hurt by Liam throwing those things in his face. Ace figured that he deserved the shouting, the humiliation, the pain.

But he also deserved a chance to apologize properly. He didn’t deserve much in his brutal, ugly life, and he knew it, but he deserved this. He
did
.

And if Liam wasn’t going to offer it, then Ace was going to take it.

But first, he needed coffee.

He got dressed, then opened his door and stuck his head out. He half-hoped that Liam would be there, but no such luck, so Ace just clomped past Liam’s bedroom door and headed downstairs, waiting for one of King’s Babysitters to pop up and clock his every damn movement.

Sure enough, Jack came out of nowhere and greeted him at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes taking in every single thing that Ace showed, and pretty much everything that Ace didn’t want seen. It was weird, considering how Ace had been forced into turning snitch, but over the months and months of secretly meeting Jack to turn over information, Ace had come to like, respect and trust the other man very much. It was a source of endless puzzlement for him, but there it was: Ace thought highly of Jack, despite his innate dislike of most people on principle, and that was probably because Jack had always treated him like a human being, not a piece of garbage.

“Ace,” Jack said, his voice low and measured, those blue eyes missing exactly nothing. “Doing OK?”

“Yeah,” Ace said in his usual ‘no talk before caffeine’ growl, then he took a stab at manners. “You?”

Jack looked mildly surprised. “No complaints.”

“Hmmmmfff,” Ace said, done with etiquette for the day, and headed for the kitchen.

Jack followed, of course, watched as Ace poured himself a massive coffee, then leaned back against the counter to drink it. Jack was wearing
that
fucking expression, the one that Ace recognized right away and hated the most of all his profiler/mindreader/psychic expressions. It was the one that meant that Jack was looking to crawl around inside Ace’s head, and if Jack wanted to do that, it was going to happen, Ace knew. He sighed, knowing that resistance was fucking futile.

“What?” Jack said, pouring a coffee for himself. “What’s with the sigh?”

“Go on,” Ace replied, taking a fortifying swig of caffeine. “Whatever it is you’re after, just come on out and ask for it. Saves your time and my sanity.”

“OK,” Jack said easily. “I want to hear about your childhood.”

Ace hadn’t see
that
coming, and he reacted about as badly as possible. “Why the fuck do you want to hear about
that
? It’s ancient history, Taylor.”

Jack shrugged those massive shoulders, watching Ace actually back up and cross his arms to protect himself. “I just do.” He gave a grin that made Ace think of a wolf, the big bad kind. “I’m a bit of a historian, you see.”

“No, really,” Ace said, still unnerved and looking to buy some time. It was delaying the inevitable and was the verbal equivalent of trying to hold back the ocean, but he was going to give it a shot anyway, no matter how fruitless the effort. “Why?”

“Because it’s still fucking you up,” Jack said succinctly, shocking Ace to the core. “Whatever the hell happened to you, it’s made you who you are.”

“I think the club has made me who I am. The Fallen Angels have made me violent and suspicious and an all-round general prick.”

“No.” Jack shook his dark head. “You went to the club because it was the best fit for who you
already
were.”

“Aw, bullshit to the tenth degree,” Ace said, feeling the need to fight back now. “Lots of guys come from shit backgrounds and end up in lives of crime. It’s nothing unique or unusual, Jack, and I’d
also
point out that people with
good
backgrounds can end up in violent lives. I mean, look at you and some of your fellow King’s Men. How many people have you educated, trained, professional, ex-military types killed, either while overseas, or on King’s orders? Your hands aren’t anything
like
clean,
none
of you. So really, how are you so different from me in some ways, man? And if we’re not so different in the here and now, then who cares where the hell we began? Isn’t where we are
now
all that really matters?”

Jack grinned again, said nothing.

“
What
?” Ace demanded. “What’s so funny?”

“Your enthusiastic and very erudite deflection,” Jack said. “It was awesome. Masterful, even. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words in a row before.”

“Jesus fuck,” Ace said, clenching his hands. “Back the hell up, Taylor. And I mean
now
.”

“Nope.” Jack cocked his head, totally relaxed in the knowledge that even if Ace put off this little chat now, there’d be plenty of other chances soon enough. “Tell me now, tell me later, I don’t care, man. But you
are
going to tell me, and we both know it.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure you are. You’re going to tell me because you
want
to tell me.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. You’ve wanted to tell me for a while.”

“I have not.”

“Sure you have. How many times have you brought up your Dad in conversations with me, for no reason at all?”

“Uh,
never,
” Ace blustered, totally aware that he was lying. “Never
ever
. Not even once.”

“Bullshit,” Jack said amiably. “And your usage of ‘never’ twice results in an OTT denial and just shows me that you
know
you’re lying. Also? I find it
fascinating
that when I said that your childhood has made you who you are, you jumped to the assumption that I was referring to your violence and criminal acts.”

“Well, weren’t you?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“So, what then?”

“I was talking about pretending to be something that you’re not for years on end. Being able to hide in plain sight in an MC, which is an incredibly vigilant and paranoid environment, always operating in closed and close quarters. Avoiding reaction and conflict with people who hate everything that you actually are, and who aren’t shy to say it. Concealing the truth, holding your temper, pushing down on your core. Denying your own needs and desires day after day, for the whole of your life, among people who are always looking for secrets or betrayals.” Jack’s voice gentled now. “I was talking about passing yourself off as the exact
opposite
of every single thing that you actually are, Ace, and doing it well. Not even well… brilliantly. Not many people can do any of that, and I’ve
never
met anyone who does it as well as you did it for so long – and I work with people who are trained and specialize in undercover work. So where did it come from, huh? How did you learn it all by yourself, and why? What was it a coping technique for, Ace?”

Ace was stunned, but he managed a feeble retort: “Stop the shrinky shit, Taylor.”

“I won’t,” Jack said. “So what’s it going to be? You going to finally spill your guts, or are we going to tap dance around a bit more? I’m good either way, you know. I’ve got time.”

“I
don’t
–” Ace began, ready to fucking rip Jack’s nosy head off his goddamn
shoulders
, then he paused. Actually… well. Actually, maybe. Maybe he
should
talk to Jack, maybe just a little bit. After all, it’s not like silence and secrecy and denial had done him much fucking good so far, had they? They had, in fact, lost him Liam, and then landed him here in this mess.

And if Ace were being honest – and one thing that he’d promised himself up there in that bedroom, lying there at six a.m. with nothing to do but think, was that he
was
going to be honest in this new life – he wanted to talk to Jack.
Just
Jack, though, because the man was a trained profiler, a psychologist, a smart-as-all-hell guy who knew people and their behavior perfectly. If anyone in Ace’s life could help Ace understand who the hell he had been and who he was now, it was the man standing in front of him now, calmly drinking a coffee.

Hell, maybe Jack could even help Ace see the man that he could become. Because if there was one thing that Ace knew so deep inside that he knew it in his bones, it was that he didn’t like the person that he’d been pretending to be for most of his life. Maybe it was time to take a few steps back, retrace his path, figure out a new way to go.

Maybe it was time to think about some redemption and renewal.