Ace (Syns of Desert Angels MC Book 1)

by L. M. Reign

  What happened?

  Why didn’t you answer the phone?

  When did you stop loving me?

  “Mila.”

  I freeze, wrapping my arms around myself at the chill that runs through my body; not from the cold, but from hearing his voice again.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath; willing myself not to do this. Not to become that hurt girl again. Not in front of him. Not after all this time.

  _____________________

  Cole

  I take her in, standing there in all black. That tight dress hugging her curves in all the best places right down to her fuck-me boots. Gone is the girl I cuddled beneath the stars, and in her place is the woman she became. A woman that only shares a body with the girl I fell in love with.

  “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

  “What do you want, Cole?” Her hair whips around her head as the wind blows. Turning around, her eyes shine with all the pain that’s etched deep in my soul.

  Even in the darkness, I can see the slight shudder in her shoulders. I don’t hesitate to whip off my jacket and wrap it around her before she can stop me, bringing us closer.

  “Don’t,” she jerks back from me like my touch set her on fire.

  “You hate the cold. You’re not even wearin’ anything. What is that? A fuckin’ shirt? Just take the fuckin’ jacket,” I growl at her.

  She narrows her eyes at me, staring at my exposed arms. “I’m fine,” she shakes it off and holds it out for me.

  “Put. The fuckin’. Jacket. On,” I grit, ignoring her offer.

  “No.” She moves to drape the jacket over the broken armchair. Fed up with her not listening, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder, taking the path to the bonfire further out in the woods for privacy.

  “Put me down!” She assaults my back with heavy hits. Each punch to my kidney almost brings me to my knees.

  “Stop punchin’ me before I fall. If I go down, so do you.” I set her down on one of the logs in front of the bonfire, the moon being my guide as I toss the gasoline-soaked sticks in the center, striking a match.

  Heat assaults my skin as angry flames flick towards the sky, illuminating her face. I should say something, anything really, but I can’t conjure the words to initiate a conversation. I scratch the back of my neck, remembering how her body was nestled against mine not even ten minutes ago.

  “You lookin’ for dick here?” I ask, pissed that she was willing to go when I told her I wanted to be inside her. What if it wasn’t me? Some douchebag would’ve been fucking my girl if fate didn’t intervene. I send a quick thanks above for placing me here.

  Thank God it was me.

  “I can take care of myself, Cole,” she stands, moving towards the fire with her hands out.

  “Wouldn’t have known it was you if you didn’t turn around.” She stares off, looking anywhere but me. “When did you get back?’

  “I’m not back,” she rubs her hands together, her dark gaze meeting mine. “Just passing through.”

  The fact that she isn’t staying spurs something inside me. This overwhelming desire to explain, apologize, and ask her for forgiveness threatens to crush me. I wrack my brain for words to say as we stand there with only the sounds of crackling logs conversing in the air. I take her in, the harsh glow of her features reminiscent of a much different time. One where this distance between us didn’t even exist.

  “Where are you stayin’?”

  “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  “It has been five years.” Five long agonizing years of wondering if and when word would spread around town that she’s found someone else, gotten married, and had babies. Words that have yet to come. Her gaze fastens on me with an intense smolder that could churn me to a crisp.

  “Thanks for the reminder,” she tosses over her shoulder. I stare at her retreating back before willing myself to go after her.

  “Hey. Hey, wait,” I get in front of her, halting her movements with my hands out as if she’s a rabid animal. She might as well be. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right about now. Shoving her hands in her pockets in a snit, she cocks her hip. I take that as my cute to continue.

  “I’m sorry,” sincerity laces my apology. Her pretty eyes go cold at the statement as she takes an intimidating step forward with her five-foot-five inch frame making me step back and cover my groin.

  “Sorry for what?” She quirks an eyebrow, baiting me. Making me own my shit. Mila was always a firm believer that apologies should be thorough. You need to know what you’re apologizing for, why you’re apologizing for it, and why you won’t do whatever it is that you’re apologizing for again. Her mama taught her that.

  “All of it. I was young and lost an-”

  “And I’ve heard enough,” she interrupts curtly, stepping around me to go back inside.

  “Mila,” I move to stop her. Catching the scent of magnolias on the wind.

  This.

  This is Mila.

  My Mila.

  I itch to pull her into my arms. “Please?”

  Please don’t leave.

  Please let me touch you.

  Please forgive me.

  I haven’t had to apologize for my actions in years.

  Ever since she left, my world has been darkness. Pure darkness. The kind that makes you feel like you’re falling away from the world. That’s the darkness that’s consumed me. That’s the darkness that doesn’t apologize. Yet, here I stand before her, compelled to apologize for the hurt my actions inflicted on her. The hurt that’s written on her face, clear as day.

  “What, Cole? ‘Please’ what?” She mocks mirthlessly with her icy eyes.

  “Forgive me,” I mumble. Not wanting to sound like a pussy. But I was. She always had me wrapped around her finger. And I liked it. That never changed.

  “Please forgive you for deciding we weren’t worth the effort of friendship anymore?” Her cold façade was slipping. The final threads of her composure ripped apart and her voice dripped with venom. “Or please forgive you for not letting us know you were even alive? We thought your dad went off and fucking killed you in one of his raging fits. Or please forgive you for not even having the decency to even break up with me!? I. Loved. You!” She yelled that last part, her shoulders slumping forward as if it took all of her energy to admit.

  “Mila?” A man calls her name. I groan at the interruption.

  “Back here,” she answers, straightening her spine.

  “Milo?”

  “The one and only,” she looks over my shoulder.

  “Mila,” I hear him coming towards us, not bothering to turn around.

  “You son of a bitch,” he grips my shoulder, jerking me around. My head snaps right, pain radiating from my jaw. I straighten and face him, wiping blood from the fresh cut on my lip.

  “Square up, motherfucker. I told you I’d kill you,” he starts hopping from one foot to the other with his fist in front of him.

  “Is this goin’ to make it better?” I snarl at him, holding my fist up.

  “No. But I’ll feel better.” He spits at the ground in front of him.

  “Fuckin’ bring it,” I tell him.

  No more words are exchanged. I charge at him; the sounds of grunts and fists meeting flesh and bone fill the air. His connecting more than mine. He grabs me by my shirt collar, holding me in place as we trade tired punches at each other’s face.

  “STOP.” Chino’s deep voice draws our attention to the pathway. “Not on my fucking property. You want to fight, you take that shit away from here.”

  “Let him go.” Mila tells Milo, pulling his hand off my shirt.

  “This shit ain’t finished,” Milo shoulders me as he walks by. “Let’s go, Mi.”

  “Get yourself cleaned up,” she tells me, walking away.

  “Mila!” I yell after her. Looking at me over her shoulder, her eyes meet mine with regret. “We aren’t done,” I promise. Not by a long shot are we even remotely finished.
She’s my one that got away even though I let her go.

  “We’re past done, Cole,” she tells me as Milo puts his hand on her back, ushering her away.

  Fuck.

  I watch her disappear into the night, her confession disabling me.

  Chapter 3

  Mila

  It’s the day of Brooke’s inauguration. The house is full of chaos which I am promptly avoiding in the safety of my room. Especially after informing dad that I may have shot someone in the Desert Angels MC.

  “Goddamnit, Mila!” He slams his hand on the table.

  “I’m sorry.” Dad got quiet again, thinking and waved a hand towards me.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  I stare at the dress that has been altered for me. It’s been hanging on the back of my door since I arrived. Taunting me. Mocking me with its timeless beauty and elegance. Mom had good taste. I don’t feel worthy of the honor to wear her dress, the very one that she wore to her own inauguration so many years ago. I feel tears threatening to spill and pinch my leg to focus on pain instead.

  Tearing my gaze away from the dress, I stare at myself in the vanity. Stormy eyes look back at me as I remember the last time I was in this very room with my mother, getting ready for an event; the night of my own inauguration.

  “Mila, get ready. Your father will be expecting you,” she glided across the floor to where I was sitting, staring in the mirror as I questioned the decisions I had made.

  Her form fitting dress flowed with each step she took. Her hair pulled up in a carefully crafted bun, guarded by the black spiked tiara that held her hair in perfect ‘O’ shape. She was every bit dangerous and beautiful from her perfectly set makeup to her weaponized hair. I’ve always wanted to be just like her when I was younger. Now I’ll actually get the chance.

  Grabbing the brush from the vanity, she began sorting through the small knots that hid in my hair.

  “Mom, I’m not ready,” I whisper, casting my eyes downward in shame. She put the brush down and sat beside me.

  Tilting my chin, she said, “You are Mila Amaria Rogers. Daughter of Jorge and Rose Rogers. You were born a warrior. It is the empire that isn’t ready for you, baby.”

  A knock on the door tears me from my memory. I run my hand through the wayward strands of hair in an attempt to tame the wilderness before answering.

  “Ms. Mila?” Our housekeeper, Maryse, is before me, bearing a soft smile when she sees my red rimmed eyes.

  “Yes?” I clear my throat and give her a genuine smile. Maryse has always been good to me and my brother. She held me many, many times after mom died. Especially, when dad couldn’t tear himself away from his grief long enough to console his children.

  “Your, what do the young ones call it, ‘glam squad’, is here to fix you up.” I laugh and shake my head. “I’ll send them up.”

  She gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Grabbing my hands, she whispers, “Your mom would be so proud, Mila. So proud.” Overwhelmed with emotion, I pull Maryse into a hug.

  “Family hug!” Milo yells as he wraps his arms around us, squeezing.

  “You’re crushing her!” I yell at him as I pull her away from my embrace.

  “Being crushed by the love of you two isn’t a bad way to go,” Maryse points out as she straightens her uniform.

  “I’ll send them up for you, Mila. You,” she points at Milo’s bruised face, “be on your best behavior tonight. No more of this fighting nonsense, young man.” Milo glares at me as I laugh.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try.” Quirking an eyebrow, Maryse makes her way back down the staircase.

  “You hear about tonight?” Milo asks, leaning against the doorframe across the hall.

  “No, what?” I mirror his stance.

  “They invited bikers.”

  My eyes widen. There was only one MC in Gilbert and Cole’s dad was the President; The Desert Angels. “What? Why?”

  Would he come?

  Rubbing his beard, he continues. “We have a new job. Looks like we’ll be staying here for a bit,” he rubs the back of his neck anxiously. He hates staying in this house. “Guess who gets to escort them?” He sings, his eyes glinting with a matching smirk.

  “Me.” I groan and walk into my room, lying on my bed.

  “And Ness. You can always caw if you need me,” he reminds me before his tone turns serious. “Are you okay? After last night?”

  I shrug, not able to form words to express the complexity of emotions that are roiling through me. “I’m fine,” I lie. Guilt coats my insides like black tar, and seeing Cole only made that tar start to bubble; bringing back all that shit I thought I left behind.

  Except, I didn’t leave one part behind. No, I carried that part with me every single day which meant I carried Cole with me every single day, too. He was intricately tied to my biggest regret. It’s because of that, I’m not ready to face the past. Or forgive him.

  “I love you, Mi,” Milo interrupts my inner battles. “Caw if you need me.” He backs into the hallway.

  “CAW!” I yell.

  “CAW! Oh, hello.” I hear his tone change as footsteps clack down the hall. My hair and makeup artists walk inside.

  “Ignore him,” I tell the ladies. “He’s proof that evolution can go in reverse,” I say loudly.

  “Fuck you! Is that even a real thing?” Milo’s faint voice travels the hallway, leaving us laughing.

  _____________________

  Cole

  Jolting forward to the piercing sound of my cell phone ringing from the nightstand, I’m tempted to throw it against the wall and let it shatter. The ringing fades and I stop searching for it, lying back down. I throw my arm out beside me, connecting with a naked body.

  After Mila left, I asked Chino for the strongest shit he had. That shit made me black out. I don’t remember much after I took the drugs he gave me.

  “You left her, man. Let it go. Let her live her life.” Chino crossed his arms and gave me a disapproving look.

  “I don’t care. She’s mine. You hear me, mine. Make sure everyone knows it,” I felt myself slurring, leaning towards him.

  “Get your boy and go.” Chino told someone, handing me off.

  I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t even remember bringing home the bitch next to me. I don’t even remember getting home, period.

  His shit has only made me black out once before.

  When Mila’s mom died.

  I was at the funeral, hiding behind one of the trees in the back. I couldn’t see them well through the pelting rain, but the pain was clear as day. Milo made it clear that I wasn’t welcome when he caught me.

  “The fuck are you doing here?” He slammed me against the mausoleum when he caught me watching Mila after everyone left. She was the only one sitting in a chair in front of her mom’s plot, watching as they put the dirt back into the ground. My beautiful girl was slumped over, sobs wracking her tiny body. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to go to her. To hold her and make it better.

  “Fuck, Milo! I’m sorry! I heard and wanted to give my condolences. Your Ma was…”

  “Don’t finish that fucking sentence.” I stared at him. His eyes were red rimmed and exhausted. I haven’t seen him like this since we pulled an all-nighter to pass chem two years ago. This Milo was kind of scary when he was pissed off. Colder than he used to be; rougher. And fucking jacked.

  “You takin’ ‘roids man?” I clap his shoulders. “What the fuck?” He just stared at me, pain and anger battling behind his eyes. “Hey,” I grab his shoulders as his hold on me weakened. He sagged, and I pulled him into a hug before he shoved me away.

  “Leave her alone, Cole. We’ve got enough shit to deal with without you in the picture. She’s moving on. She doesn’t love you anymore.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t believe that.” And I didn’t. Not when I saw the pendant of stars dangling from her neck.

  “Fine. Don’t. But believe this. I love my sister. I’ve loved her since the
second she came into this world, and we came into it together. I’ll be damned if I let you back into our lives after the shit you pulled. I don’t care what happened, I saw what it did to her. I’ve got her back for life. You have no place here, man. Go home.” He started walking towards her. “And Cole?”

  I look him in the eye. “Yeah?”

  “The next time I see you, I’ll kill you.” And in that moment, I knew he meant it.

  The phone rings again, activating the nausea and pounding in my temples. Finding the phone wrapped in the sheets on my bed, I answer.

  “Jesus Fuckin’ Christ! What?!” My voice gives away my sour mood. This phone call better be brief. I need some fucking sleep.

  “Wake the fuck up,” Brass snaps. I groan and bring myself to sit, leaning against the headboard. I look at myself in the dresser mirror. Fuckin’ Milo. My face is riddled with bruises.

  “What’s up?” I wipe the sleep from my eyes, wincing at the pain radiating on my cheek.

  “Bodi called. Cops were here earlier askin’ questions,” I sneer when he mentions my ol’ man. “Syn sent some shit over for the thing tonight. You need to get over here.”

  “I need to sleep this shit off,” I slowly nudge the whore next to me. “You need to wake up,” I tell her. She flips over, her tits flopping as she moans.

  “You don’t have time to sleep it off. It’s fuckin’ six, man. This thing is at nine. Get the fuck over here before Bodi flips his shit,” he ends the call.

  Tossing my cell on the bed, I nudge her again. “Look, get up. Get out. I got shit to do.” Her eyes slowly flutter open, her makeup fucked up beyond belief. Black eyeliner and mascara ring her bloodshot eyes. Groaning, she slowly peels herself from my bed without a word, and stumbles into her clothes.

  Once I’m sure she’s left my house, I start getting dressed. Zipping my pants and grabbing a clean t-shirt from my dresser. I wrap up the sheets from the bed and walk them into the laundry room. Pocketing my phone and wallet, I shove my shoes on and walk out the door.