Buttoning his fly, he grabbed his keys and shoved his feet into boots. He’d had a long day. He’d been too tired to haunt the parking lot at Vixen’s, and he hadn’t wanted to embarrass himself by falling asleep in his truck again. He’d heard that White Lightning was having a bonfire in Bombay Beach, anyway. Chances were slim that Jester and his friends would leave the party to pester Janelle.
He grabbed a caffeinated soda from the fridge and left, lighting up a cigarette on his way out the door. Slab City was about forty miles from Coachella. The road there was flanked by the Salton Sea on one side and train tracks on the other.
Courtney had died in a car accident on this very stretch after an epic fight between them. She’d been drunk and high at the time, definitely not safe to drive. He’d always wondered if she’d crashed on purpose. She hadn’t braked until the last minute, right before she’d slammed into the concrete wall.
Ace had brought Skye to the wall twice in the past two years, to commemorate her mother. They’d left flowers there and at her gravesite. Ace didn’t think Skye remembered her. She’d been too young at the time of her death.
The memories of Courtney made him feel numb. He was a heartless bastard, because he hadn’t loved her. If he had, maybe she’d still be alive.
She’d been a needy, troubled girlfriend at best, and a drug-addicted parasite at worst. They’d both been irresponsible parents. He’d enabled her and lost control of himself. Their relationship had been a roller coaster from hell, and he should’ve left. He shouldn’t have slept with her in the first place.
Shawnee blamed him for Courtney’s death. Ace blamed himself. But he felt guilt rather than grief. Guilt, and a twinge of relief. She’d been a mess of a mother. He was glad Skye didn’t have to grow up with her.
Only a cold-blooded son of a bitch would be glad his former girlfriend and the mother of his child was dead, but there it was.
He took the exit to Slab City, wondering where he should look first. He knew all the good hideouts. A twelve-year-old boy wouldn’t be partying with adults, because even in Slab City some of the adults asked questions. He probably wouldn’t be at the teenage hotspots, either. Not unless he wanted to get beat up again.
When Ace was Jamie’s age, he frequented a couple of places in particular. The first was the communal bathing area. Slab City had its own hot springs pool, surrounded by scrub brush. Ace had spent countless hours crouched in the shadows, hoping to see naked women. He’d been disappointed with old-man ass nine times out of ten.
In addition to honing his pervert skills, he’d hunted for rabbits in a big open field on the old gunnery range. His third favorite spot was a graffiti-covered barricade where he liked to set off firecrackers.
He drove by the barricade and didn’t see anyone. On impulse, he headed toward Kelly Kincaid’s trailer. The kid who’d punched Jamie had been a Kincaid. Ace had hooked up with Kelly once or twice, so he knew where she lived.
Ace spotted two figures lurking in the dark across from her place. They were standing behind an abandoned vehicle. Ace pulled forward, illuminating the space with his headlights. Two boys stared at him with wide eyes.
One was Jamie.
The other, who clearly had more street smarts, took off running. Jamie started to follow and stopped. He returned to pick up an open backpack. A carton of eggs tumbled out, spilling all over the ground. He slipped and fell down in the mess.
Ace had never seen a clumsier escape attempt. He laughed, turning off the engine before he exited the vehicle. He didn’t even have to run to catch up with Jamie. The kid was still flailing in egg yolks.
“You making an omelet?” he asked, arching a brow.
Jamie scrambled to his feet, wary. He zipped up his backpack and put it on. “What do you want?”
“Your mother sent me to look for you.”
His shoulders slumped with defeat. He’d been caught, yellow-handed.
“How’d you get here?” Ace asked.
“I walked.”
“With that other kid?”
“No. He lives a couple of rows over.”
Ace nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Call your mother and tell her you’re on your way home.”
Jamie wiped his grimy hand on his shirt and dialed her number. Janelle didn’t pick up, so he left a mumbled voice message. Then he followed Ace to the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.
Ace got behind the wheel again. Instead of starting the engine, he glanced at Kelly’s trailer, which was dark. “Did you throw any eggs?”
“No.”
“Were you going to?”
Jamie shrugged.
It was none of Ace’s concern, but he found himself annoyed and puzzled by Jamie’s behavior. Ace had advised him to leave Patrick alone. “Why would you do that? Do you want to get your ass kicked again?”
Jamie reached into his backpack for a crumpled-up piece of paper. He handed it over.
Ace used his phone screen as a light and skimmed the contents. It was a flyer for Vixen, showcasing three of the dancers with framed headshots. One might have been Janelle in a cowgirl hat. It was a grainy copy. Someone had drawn a spurting penis by her face and scrawled “Jamie’s mom sucks cocks.”
Ace stuck the paper out the window and set it on fire with his lighter. He dropped the last corner before it burned his fingers.
“His mom is the cocksucker,” Jamie said, sullen.
“How do you know that?”
“Everyone says it.”
“So what?”
“So, he shouldn’t talk.”
“He’s doing it because it bothers you. He can tell you’re ashamed.”
“He’s the one who should be ashamed,” Jamie said, his eyes narrow.
Ace started the engine and pulled away. He lit a cigarette as they left Slab City. “I grew up here.”
“Really?”
He exhaled, nodding. “My mom was sixteen when she had me. She worked as a waitress at that ‘50s-style diner in Brawley. You know the one?”
“Yeah.”
“She had this condition called endometriosis. She didn’t get it diagnosed until I was older. But she was in pain a lot, and she got fired for calling in sick too much. It was hard for her to keep a steady job.”
“What did she do?”
“She turned tricks.”
Jamie appeared to know what that meant. His mouth dropped open and he closed it quickly, glancing away.
Ace took another drag of his cigarette. “She didn’t do it often. Just when money was really tight, and we needed groceries or whatever. One day when I was about your age, she left on a date and never came back.”
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see who she went with, and neither did anyone else. I finally reported her missing, and they put me in foster care, but I kept running away. I lived by myself in our trailer all through high school.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Good question. He flicked the ash from his cigarette, uncertain. “I guess because I would’ve given anything to see her again. You’re lucky to have a mother. Not everyone does.” Skye didn’t. She had Shawnee, the imposter. “You shouldn’t look down on Patrick’s mother, or on yours for doing her best to support you.”
“She could do other things. She’s not sick.”
“Well, she’s been in college. It can’t be easy to work and go to school and take care of a kid on your own.”
Jamie couldn’t argue his logic, so he went on the defensive. “You’re not my dad,” he said in a low voice. “You’re just another guy who wants to get in my mom’s pants. So you can spare me the life lessons.”
Mouthy little fucker. Ace put his cigarette butt in the soda can, where it extinguished with a hiss. He w
as irritated for a few minutes. Then he pictured Jamie slipping on eggshells and laughed, shaking his head.
“What’s so funny?” Jamie asked.
“Nothing.”
They arrived at his grandmother’s house and Jamie got out. Ace hadn’t planned to stay, but Janelle’s mother was standing in the front yard and it seemed rude not to acknowledge her. He followed Jamie, feeling awkward.
“I was so worried,” she said to Jamie, clutching the lapel of her bathrobe. “What were you thinking?”
Jamie shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Is that egg on your pants? Did you take my eggs?”
“I’ll buy you some more tomorrow,” he said.
Ace stepped forward to introduce himself. “Hi. I’m Aaron.”
Janelle’s mother shook his hand weakly, studying his tattoos. She was a plump, petite woman in her fifties. “Renata Parker.”
“My mom said your name was Ace,” Jamie pointed out, as if Ace was trying to pull a fast one on his grandmother.
“Either way,” he said with a shrug.
“Would you like to come in for some lemonade?” Renata asked. She had a slight Southern accent.
Ace glanced at Jamie, who seemed opposed to the idea. “That’d be great.”
Renata gestured for Ace to come in. She shooed Jamie to his room and walked to the kitchen, where she poured Ace a tall glass of lemonade. He hadn’t really wanted any, but the drink was tart and delicious.
“Thanks,” he said, looking around. Her place wasn’t fancy, but it was nicer than any of the trailers he’d lived in.
“Have a seat.”
His stomach sank as he realized his mistake. She wanted to grill him about Janelle, and now he was stuck. He took a chair across from her, clearing his throat.
“How do you know my daughter?”
Ace tried not to wince at the question. Well, ma’am, I paid her for a lap dance. Then I kidnapped her.
“It’s okay if you met her at work,” she said.
“I’m not a regular customer,” he said, feeling his neck warm.
Jesus. Why was he embarrassed? He was a fucking hitman, or he used to be. Visiting a strip club was the least of his sins.
“What do you do?”
“I own a demolition business.” He took a card out of his wallet to prove it.
She seemed impressed. “So you destroy buildings?”
“Mostly houses, or just rooms. I do tear-outs in preparation for remodels. Jackhammering concrete, trash removal. That sort of thing.”
“Where are you from?”
“This area. I live in Coachella now.”
He wasn’t the type of man mothers usually wanted around their daughters, but Renata’s attitude was welcoming and friendly. Maybe he’d earned some brownie points by finding Jamie. Ace supposed that any guy, even him, was a step up from Shane.
They chatted about inconsequential things for a few minutes. Ace didn’t mention Patrick or the paper with the crude drawing, but he told her about Jamie falling in the eggs. Renata laughed along with him, slapping her thigh.
They were still laughing when Janelle walked in. She still had her work make-up on, with a loose dress and cowboy boots. Her brow was furrowed in concern. She probably hadn’t expected him to be cozying up to her mother. “Where’s Jamie?”
“In his room,” Renata said.
“He’s okay?”
“He’s fine.”
Janelle strode forward and grabbed a plastic cup. Ignoring the lemonade container, she filled her cup with pale pink wine from a box in the fridge. Then she closed the door, looking back and forth between them.
Ace rose to his feet. “I’d better go.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Renata said.
“Thanks for the lemonade.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Janelle said. She followed him through the door and stopped to talk in the front yard. “Where was he?”
“Slab City.”
“Doing what?”
Ace told her.
“Was he drunk again?”
“No.”
She sipped her wine and shuddered. “Ugh. I hate wine. Do you want it?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Since when?”
“Since Skye’s mother died driving drunk.”
Her lips parted in sympathy. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
Ace didn’t have a response for that. So he said nothing.
She dumped out the wine and set her cup next to a pink flamingo lawn ornament. “Thank you for picking up Jamie, and not...taking advantage of the situation.”
He studied her for a long moment, a war waging inside him. She must have known he hadn’t acted out of the goodness of his heart. He’d done it to score points with her, and maybe to assuage his guilt a little. He wanted to keep seeing her, which was stupid. The timing couldn’t have been worse for him to pursue a relationship, and she wasn’t one-fuck material. They had too much history between them.
“No problem,” he said, heading toward his truck.
She accompanied him to the driveway. He didn’t think he had a chance to hook up with her at her mother’s house, but he wasn’t in a rush to leave. He leaned against the wheel well, enjoying the sight of her pretty face in the moonlight.
He preferred her without makeup, but only because he liked the feel of bare skin and the taste of unpainted lips. He didn’t care much for perfume, either. He was a natural kind of guy. When he was going down on a woman, he wanted her to smell like pussy, not a fucking bouquet of flowers.
She crossed her arms over her chest, seeming uneasy.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked, gesturing to the house.
“No, I was born in Texas. We left when I was eight.”
That explained her mom’s Southern accent, and Janelle’s fondness for cowgirl style. “Why did you come to California?”
“To get away from my dad. He was abusive.”
“To you, or your mom?”
“Mostly her. He got me once when I stepped between them.” She touched her cheek, as if remembering the blow.
Ace put her father on his mental hit list. “Where is he now?”
“Still there, I imagine. My mom thought he might come after us, but he never did. She met my stepfather and remarried less than six months after we moved. I think she wanted his protection. He was a cop.”
He froze at this news. A cop?
“Don’t worry,” she said in a bitter tone. “He’s dead now.”
“Was he good to her?”
“No.”
“Better or worse than your father?”
“Better to her. Worse to me.”
Ace figured she was talking about sexual abuse. Although his mind tried to reject her admission, to change it into something less disturbing, he could read the truth in her expression. There was pain and shame in her eyes, along with the unshakable resilience he’d seen from the start. Fury welled within him at the thought of her being mistreated. He wanted to make any man who’d hurt her pay—himself included.
He stepped forward and cupped her chin, brushing his thumb over the same cheek she’d just touched. She grasped his wrist, but she didn’t pull away. She stared up at him, waiting for him to speak.
“I’d kill him for you, if he was alive.”
“That’s...very comforting.”
He smiled at her sarcasm. If she felt safe enough to joke around with him, they were making progress.
She had good reason to be wary of him. He was a dangerous man in a desperate situation. He’d done bad things to her, and imagined doing plenty more. She was a strong, sensible woman who’d been through a lot. She deserved better th
an him.
But when he lowered his head, she tilted hers back, as if she wasn’t opposed to letting him ease her troubles, just for a little while...
He covered her mouth with his, happy to oblige.
Chapter Ten
Janelle couldn’t believe she was doing this.
She couldn’t believe she’d opened up to him about her father, and her stepfather. His reaction wasn’t what she’d expected. He didn’t seem surprised by her background. Abuse was practically a prerequisite to her profession—or so people thought. She’d met a wide range of dancers and plenty of them came from nice, quiet families. Tragic childhoods were common in the sex industry, but not every girl who’d been preyed on became a stripper. If they did, there’d be a club on every corner.
Ace didn’t press her for details or recoil in disgust. He appeared agitated, but not turned off. She imagined he would have killed her stepfather without blinking an eye. She didn’t know how to feel about that.
Kissing Ace would introduce a whole new host of problems and not solve any old ones, but she couldn’t resist. He’d gone out of his way to help her and find Jamie. He’d charmed her mother somehow. He’d refused to take her up on the offer for sex. She shivered, remembering his words on the phone.
Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet and you’re hungry for my cock.
His mouth descended on hers and all rational thought fled. He didn’t waste any time easing her into it. He just backed her up against his truck, slid his hand into her hair and filled her mouth with his tongue.
She gasped at his bold manner, melting against him. He tasted like citrus and smoke. Her heart pounded with excitement and her knees went weak. She had to twine her arms around his neck for balance. He changed the angle of the kiss, making a low sound in the back of his throat. It was as if he’d been waiting for this moment, fantasizing about it. He finally had her where he wanted her, and he was going to keep her there.
Janelle kissed him back with breathless excitement, her tongue seeking his. There was no softness in him, other than his mouth. His chest was like a brick wall, his arms rock-solid. His hand on her cheek had felt scratchy, callused. The scrape of his stubble chafed her skin. She moaned at the thought of his rough fingertips on the rest of her body, stimulating her nipples and stroking her clit.
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