Ace (Syns of Desert Angels MC Book 1)

by L. M. Reign

  “I heard you,” she croaks, closing her eyes again.

  Silence settles over us and I wait a little longer to get the doctor, savoring every moment I have with her alone.

  “You really joined?” She looks up, her eyes full of soul-searing pleading and despair. I squeeze her hand and nod.

  “I’m goin’ to do my trainin’ after you get better.” I begin explaining all the details, watching her expression transform into a peaceful, serene look.

  “I’m sorry,” she says once I finish.

  “For what?”

  “Being mad at you that day. I... I know you told me you wanted to leave the club, I didn’t believe you. And then, we found out that they were on the roof and you were running to them. I just didn’t trust you. And I’m sorry.”

  “I haven’t really given you much reason to trust me. For that, I’m sorry. The dagos called a meet with Bodi at the warehouse. I slipped a tracking strip in your back pocket to follow you. I was there for you, baby. Not them. I wanted to keep you safe and I failed.”

  “I knew the risks. It’s not your job to keep me safe.”

  “As your man, it is.”

  She smiles, stroking my hair again. “Did we get them?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Good,” she whispers, looking thoughtful.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “You once asked me if there was a covenant for marriage.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There is.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mo Chroí.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means my heart,” she cups my face. “You have it and my loyalty in a way that I never knew I would want to give it. Don’t cry,” she swipes at a stray tear from my cheek.

  “I’m not cryin’. I’m a badass.”

  “My badass,” she gives me a dazzling smile.

  “Yeah. Your badass. You’re stuck with me, baby. I hope you like the package.”

  She lifts her eyebrows and winks. “Definitely love the package.”

  _____________________

  Four Months Later

  Mila

  I walk into The Cradle, heading down the corridor with a rigid spine, straight to the execution room. The very one that was used for Bodi, Dimebag, and Dice’s execution last week for their role in this attack. All because they wanted money and territory.

  Bodi and Dimebag started getting greedy when they plotted to overthrow the Syndicate with the Italians. They wanted to take our territory and rule it themselves without splitting profits with anyone in the club. They planned to attack us by using Kieran which is why they were at the warehouse that night.

  Bloom was devastated when she found out that Bodi and Dimebag planned the ambush on the rest of the brothers with the Italians to avoid sharing profits once they took us down. Gibbs almost killed Bodi himself when he found out that his boys were sent to be slaughtered.

  Dimebag didn’t know Bodi had recruited Dice in secret, using him and Asher as plants with the club and the Italians. Bodi initially wanted to launch us and the Italians into a war so the club could pick up the remaining pieces. When that didn’t work, he settled for tearing apart the fragile truce we had with DAMC by having Asher accuse me of handing her over to them.

  Dimebag begged for mercy for his son and dad was gracious enough to make Dice’s death quick. We returned his body to Gibbs for a proper burial.

  Stepping inside, the lights are low, and the curtain is drawn on the audience, shielding us from the other side. I move to stand beside Milo.

  “Are you ready for this?” I ask with trepidation, afraid of the deadly gleam in his eye.

  “No,” he whispers honestly, his eyes glossing over.

  We recently learned that the reason Kieran killed mom was because she found out that he was the one behind Stella’s death. Giving the Italians her location as a sign of good faith in a deal they made. He killed her, and he killed mama because she was going to expose him.

  Months of torture had broken Kieran down to the smallest pieces, desecrating the human psyche to no longer withstand anymore. He began divesting himself of the details of the past, providing in depth explanations for his crimes against the family.

  Milo was in the room when he provided the information about Stella, losing the last shred of composure before beating him within an inch of his life. Several people had to restrain him before he killed him, robbing us of our own justice. He has that same look now, but this time, he won’t have to hold back.

  The doors open with a heavy clank and Reynard walks in with Lachlan and dad trailing behind him. The grief is evident on their faces, but so is pride and justice. We wait in silence while Kieran is escorted in and shackled upright to the wall. His body is artfully marred, bruised, and bloodied from months without medical care after a plethora of beatings and torture sessions.

  “Are we ready to begin?” Reynard questions, a somber silence falling across the room. He makes eye contact with each of us, his façade slipping a little when he settles on Kieran. They hold each other’s gaze for what feels like forever before Kieran drops his head.

  “Very well. Curtains, please.”

  Slowly, the curtains pull apart, revealing all the members of our Syndicate gathered here to see justice delivered for the crimes committed against the empire. We lost good soldiers because of him and he must pay.

  “Good evening,” Reynard stands at the podium to the side. “I’ve thought about this day many, many times, and I always thought I would be elated to finally have the opportunity to bring my dearly departed daughter’s murderer to justice.

  Unfortunately, I am saddened by the events that will unfold tonight because - as a father - I will lose my only son. But as your leader, we will avenge the death of not one, but two sisters. Justice will finally be served.

  Kieran Bastian, you stand before us today, a former member of the empire. You have betrayed the sanctity of your oath and killed two of your own in attempts to conceal your malicious intents.

  You will be punished by the families of those you’ve taken from. Stella Grace and Rose Rogers deserve the vengeance that will be exacted tonight.

  There are no rules or limitations on weapons. It is, upon my request, that I deliver the final blow. As you follow the old words, you will be stripped of your eyelids and denied eternal rest. You will not be granted the mercy of words as words were not a mercy for Stella or Rose.

  “Forghníomhú, céim ar aghaidh.” Executioner step forward. Strike.

  I watch as Milo steps forward, mulling over the offered weaponry before settling on the Spanish Tickler.

  Standing in front of Kieran, he leans forward and whispers a few words, earning a mirthless laugh before raising the claw and striking his chest, separating flesh from bone. Eviscerating his front with every blow. It’s painful to watch, but it certainly won’t kill him quickly.

  When Milo lays down his weapon, I step forward, pulling out mama’s set of knives. Carefully slipping my fingers into the holes. I twirl them around, having already decided how I want to mar his body.

  “I hope,” he wheezes, coughing up blood. “That this haunts you, niece.”

  I lean forward, leveling my face with him. “Come back and haunt me. I dare you.” Crossing my arms, I slash the knives upwards, carving a gruesome smile from the corners of his mouth to his ears. A Glasgow Smile to match the one he gave mama. I stab the knives between his collarbones, releasing my final burden with the sickening sound of piercing flesh.

  Returning to my place, I feel lighter with each step he takes closer to death. In the end, dad sliced his throat horizontally, pulling his tongue through the open wound, and Reynard took great care to carve out his heart, leaving it hanging from his chest cavity, still beating, before collection his eyelids.

  Kieran hung there for thirty more minutes before expelling his final breath, condemned to a purgatory of his own making.

  _____________________

&nb
sp; Cole

  I watch the curtains slide away from the wall of glass, revealing an audience for the execution we are about to perform. Finding Ma in the crowd, I watched her stare at Bodi with sadness. This will be the last time she’ll ever see him – ever be held captive by him. He hangs from the wall by chains, stripped of everything but his underwear.

  Reynard begins speaking, his words not hitting their mark as I stare at the man before me. My father. The one who was supposed to protect me. Defend me.

  “Bodi Davenport,” Reynard turns to him. “You stand before us today, a traitor in the truce we willingly engaged with you. You’ve cost us the lives of seven members and tried to have your own executed.

  Usually, traitors are to be punished by the families of which they’ve taken from. Tonight, that is not the case. Your son has requested that he be the one to take your life as you have taken from his.”

  I keep my head held high, tossing a quick glance at Mila. Nodding her head, she gives me the strength to do this.

  For me.

  For her.

  For us.

  “Forghníomhú, céim ar aghaidh.” Reynard tells me.

  Instead of choosing a weapon, I begin taping my hands. The only punishment he deserves is the one he was so good at giving.

  Moving to stand before him, I look at his hollow face, into his sunken eyes. He’s not broken. Not yet.

  Using my training, I begin to deliver coordinated blows to his major organs. Timing them perfectly to cause the body to shut down.

  Kill the body and the head will die.

  “Show me some mercy, boy,” he spit on my boots after a blow to the face.

  “Like you showed me?”

  It took an hour of punches and kicks to his kidneys, liver, and head for him to die. When he took his last breath, the final burden had been displaced from my chest.

  _____________________

  I scan the crowd, anxiously waiting on Mila to come me. Tonight’s the night of our inauguration and I want my girl by my side. Reynard insisted we have our inauguration later, not wanting to waste an inauguration on us if we didn’t survive training.

  The past four months has been the most grueling thing I’ve ever been through, but the knowledge that Mila and I would finally be together kept me sane. Driving me forward with a greater purpose. I now know what it means to be part of something much greater than yourself, much greater than the brotherhood I once had.

  “Waitin’ on her?” Brass nudges my shoulder. I smirk and nod, ribbing him back.

  “Waitin’ on Ness?”

  “Always.”

  “Where’s the guys?” I look around and find them the center of attention at a nearby table.

  “Locking down some pussy for tonight,” Brass huffs in annoyance.

  “You shouldn’t talk like that, you know?” Ma’s voice comes from behind us. I turn and find her stunning in a lavender gown, matching the rest of the ladies in the crowd since the ceremony doubles as Jorge’s Mo Chroí ceremony to Brooke.

  “Sorry, Ma. You know he can’t watch his mouth.” She lights up, pulling me into a squeezing hug.

  “You both look so handsome.” She starts fussing over our hair and dusting off our tuxes. “You don’t need to be usin’ that kind of language. Not when you’re more sophisticated men with absolutely gorgeous women hangin’ off your arms. Speaking of gorgeous women,” she says, tilting her head towards the doorway.

  I turn, rooted to my spot at the sight of Mila. Her brunette hair falls in messy waves down her bare face like she just pulled it out of a bun, and she’s wearing a tight as sin dress, matching the color of Ma’s.

  The thin straps are barely holding it up over her tits and I can see the attention of every man drawing towards her; a siren in purple. She ignores them, wringing her hands nervously. Ness holds her arm while her eyes gloss over the crowd.

  I only have to wait a second when her striking blues connect with mine, and a wide smile relaxes her features.

  Impatient, she strides towards me with determination. The clack of her heels echo across the floor as she quickens her pace, launching herself into my arms.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” I squeeze her tightly, inhaling the scent of magnolias.

  “You should’ve come for me,” she says, giving me a sultry smirk.

  “I will,” I wink. “Later. I promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that. I had to check something and was helping Brooke. She was struggling with her dress.”

  Pulling her to me, I rest my hand on her lower back, making it known that she’s mine. The urge to squeeze her plump ass is strong, but I resist, settling for clutching her closer to me. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, recognizing my intent.

  God, I want to marry this woman.

  Leaning down, I whisper in her ear. “Tá mé ag dul chun pósadh leat.” I’m goin’ to marry you.

  She jerks back in surprise before grinning wildly. “Tá súil agam go luath.” I hope it’s soon.

  “Why?” I question. She takes my hand and slides it over her stomach, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of worry and excitement.

  “Really?”

  She nods her head vigorously. “Really.”

  _____________________

  Mila

  He ducks his blond head, breathing hard in my face as he grabs my head and crushes my mouth with brutal possession. Swiping my lips with loving flicks of his tongue.

  “We’re havin’ a baby?” He breathes harshly. I lay my forehead against his, nodding slowly.

  “We’re having a baby,” I repeat.

  “Shit. You can’t drink. Need to get you away from these speakers. What are some things that you can’t have? We need to make sure the waiters know.”

  “Hey, hey,” I soothe him. “It’s fine. Let’s get through tonight, and we’ll figure out the rest, okay?”

  “Together,” he murmurs, linking our fingers. “We’ll figure out the rest together.”

  Epilogue

  8 Months Later

  Cole

  Sneaking into the house undetected has become sort of a game Mila and I started playing since we bought it. It was our first step towards a full-time commitment after my inauguration, the night she told me she was pregnant.

  I wanted to get married right away, but Mila decided after the first doctor’s appointment that she wanted to wait because she wanted our baby to be there with us when she finally becomes Mrs. Davenport. I was reluctant to agree, but I couldn’t tell her no. Not when she was still clinging to remnants of fear that I’d leave her again.

  Making my way upstairs, I discard my clothes quietly before peeking in the bedroom, discovering why I’ve made it this far without being caught. Mila’s nestled into the pregnancy pillow she uses when I’m not here and wants the cuddle. The blankets gather at her waist making her protruding belly prominent.

  Ever since she told me she was pregnant, I was elated and hyperaware of all the changes her body was going through. There was something sensual about watching her breasts, ribs, and hips expand to make room to carry our son. That, coupled with the fact that I’ve impregnated my high school sweetheart, my woman - my mate - speaks to me on a primal level. Giving me a sense of pride.

  I never understood how the strongest of men could crumble at the whims of a women but now I know. I’d stand on the rooftops and bang on my chest if I knew I wouldn’t wake her up. Mila isn’t very forgiving regarding her sleep.

  “I’m growing an eyeball. Two eyeballs. Please let me sleep,” she whined.

  “Baby, I need you to wake up,” I soothe, rubbing the ache in her lower back.

  “No,” she said with finality. I began to retreat but stopped when she latched onto my hand, guiding it back to the spot I was rubbing. “Rub.”

  It took months for Mila to start showing and I became impatient and overbearing. Worrying that she wasn’t eating enough and working too much. Since her injury, she’s been focused on getting better, faster, and staying fit du
ring the pregnancy.

  It took hours of conversations with doctors and other members of the Syndicate to understand her limitations and how to train with her. I was at the front, drilling it into their heads that if they hurt my babies, there would be hell to pay.

  “Okay, that’s enough sparring today,” Milo told her, stepping off the mat.

  “No. I can go for a little while longer,” she taunted him.

  “Hey,” I got her attention. “C’mere,” I pull her to me when she’s close, burying my nose in her hair.

  Fuckin’ magnolias get me every damn time.

  “I missed you,” I whisper, watching a smile break across her face.

  The brightest parts of my day are the times when she comes to me willingly. When she looks at me with that beautiful fucking smile and sparkling blue eyes.

  I hope he gets that from her.

  The past few months have taught me a lot about trust and how to cultivate it. Nurture it. I can’t ever assume Mila is supposed to just love me, trust me, and listen to me solely because I’ve told her over and over again that I’m hers and she’s mine.

  That trust needs to be nurtured and it won’t be built overnight, but by consistency.

  Yet, those moments where there’s even an ounce of hesitation or anxiety about whether or not we belong together, I prove it to her over and over again. And she does the same for me.

  “How you feelin’?” I peck her lips and rub her flat stomach.

  “I’m fine,” she smirks, turning her blues on me. “I can see you worrying in there. Stop. I’m fine.”

  Plopping on the bench, I pull her in my lap, keeping my hand firmly on her stomach. She places hers on top of mine and gives me another kiss. Attempting to soothe my worries.

  “I’m fine. We,” she pats my hand on her stomach, “are fine.”

  “But why don’t you look pregnant? Are you eatin’? Is trainin’ stressful?”