Misguided (Fallen Aces MC Book 5)

by Max Henry

  Nothing.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” he calls through the darkness, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be serious with someone. But you make me want to learn, Mel. You’d be worth giving this up for.”

  Except, maybe that.

  I turn in time to see him wrench his cut off, dropping it to the ground. My breath stutters in my chest at the sight of him so blatantly disrespecting the club, and I lean right to make sure nobody else has followed or might have seen.

  “Don’t be angry at me, babe.” He staggers right, jamming a boot out awkwardly to regain his balance. “I’m a jerk when I’m him.” He points to the cut, groaning as he sinks to his knees. “He’s an idiot,” he says, slurring his words a little. “A fuckin’ idiot. But this guy,” he pounds his chest twice with closed fists, “he only wanted to see you smile.” His words die off, his voice weakening as he sags on his knees, his head almost touching the ground. “He loves your smile,” Dog whispers.

  No, scratch that. Koen whispers.

  The man doubled before me isn’t the jerk I just witnessed doing body shots off a mostly naked whore. The guy palming the damp grass beneath his hands as though its texture can sober him up, bring him back to reality, is the man I sat upstairs thinking about.

  This is why living two lives can never work. This is why he needs to understand the importance behind finding out which Mel I am and running with it.

  If balancing two lives destroys him, then what the hell would it do to someone already weakened like me?

  “Stand up,” I say softly, approaching him with caution.

  He groans; his T-shirt bunched up over his back so that his tanned flesh stands out against his black clothing like a beacon in the dark. His hands walk a path back toward his torso, and yet his head stays firmly planted on the grass.

  “Are you okay?” I stop right before him and squat down. “Hey, look at me.”

  I don’t know how many shots they got him to do, but the guy’s absolutely roasted. He pushes, his forearms twisting and cording as he heaves his dead weight upright.

  “You came back?” he murmurs, his voice breaking on the last word promptly before he hunches over and vomits.

  “Oh! Dude!” I scramble back, sure my boots are wearing some of it. “Jesus, Dog. How many did you have?”

  He flops onto his back, rolling to the side. “Koen,” he scratches out.

  “Dog, Koen, whoever,” I say, doing my damnedest to wipe my boots off on the grass. “You still drank too much.”

  I stare down at him, my hands on my hips as I evaluate the sorry mess before me. I’m still mad at the asshole, so much so that I’m worried if I reach out to help him up, the physical contact will prompt me to kick him instead.

  But still—my daddy raised me better than to leave a man this skunk-drunk alone on his own.

  I pick his cut up off the ground and move it between my hands. I can’t carry it and help him, yet I can’t get it back on him either given he’s flat out. Plus, if I left it out here in the grass to be ruined, he, I, or both of us would get raked over the coals for it.

  Glancing back to the distant clubhouse, I sigh, and wrench it on over my own. The armholes hang to the bottom of my ribs, and the length is more like a mini dress, but at least it’s out of the way.

  Taking a hold of his T-shirt in both hands, I bunch the fabric at his shoulders and heave. He budges slightly, his head hung back as he moans, and then promptly hits the ground with a whompf as I drop him.

  Bastard’s heavier than I gave him credit for.

  I re-plant my feet on either side of his hips and throw my back into it. He lolls a little, but I manage to set him upright against my knees while I work out how to get him to his feet.

  It’s almost comical, the way his head hangs between my thighs, his hair brushing against the apex of my leather pants. Good for a little teasing later.

  “Honey, you’re gonna have to help me.” I tap him on the back between his shoulders.

  “You came back,” he mumbles, the words barely coherent.

  “I never went anywhere.” I place both hands under his shoulders and jerk. “Can you help me?”

  He slams a hand down to his left, and then promptly falls on his back again.

  We repeat the same process, more or less, five more times before he finally manages to get to his feet. My side strains, my shoulders protesting at his dead weight, as I guide him across the yard.

  He stumbles a few times, but we manage to get up the steps before he completely hits the floor again.

  Crackers hesitates mid-step as he crosses the entrance on the other side of the doors. He leans back, head twisted to the side as he looks us over.

  “What the hell? I wondered where you two went.”

  “A little help?” I nudge Dog with my foot, and he groans.

  Crackers chuckles and then runs a palm over his face to wipe the humor clear. “Those prospects sure know how to get their own back.”

  “It’s not funny.” I frown. “What if he’d collapsed somewhere and choked on his vomit?”

  “Wouldn’t be a first around here.”

  “Unless he died from it.”

  Crackers steps out onto the porch and gives me a firm slap on the shoulder. “Never mind, fair maiden.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just help me get him into bed, would you?”

  Crackers bends his knees and tucks both hands under Dog. “Which one?”

  “Mine.”

  He pauses, Dog suspended in his arms. “Are you sure?”

  “Somebody’s going to have to watch him, right?”

  “I guess.” He shrugs, making Dog bob in the process, and then heaves him to his feet. “Come on, trooper. Time for nigh-nighs.”

  I follow as Crackers damn near carries Dog to bed; the sinking pit in my stomach telling me this probably isn’t such a good idea. As mad as I am at the jerk, there’s a definite flutter that tells me I also still care enough to want to hear his excuse.

  A wise woman would leave him to suffer in solitude and walk away.

  A foolish woman would nurse him until he felt better, trying to win his heart by playing the perfect girlfriend.

  Me? I’m going the same old route I’m used to: straight up the middle. I’ll watch him, make sure he recovers, but he’ll also have a lot to answer for if he expects me to stay on good terms with him.

  “You want help undressing him?” Crackers asks as he heaves Dog’s legs onto the bed.

  I shake my head, placing my hand to Crackers’ arm. “Nope, I’m okay. Thank you.”

  His eyes say it all before he even opens his mouth. “I hope you know what you’re doin’, Mel.”

  “Do any of us?” I ask with a small smile.

  I know how he is with Beth. Everyone can see how much he loves her, but it seems that even after a year he’s still denying the truth to himself. He’s hardly in a position to comment on the mess I’ve got going on here.

  “I guess not,” he answers, stepping back. “Call out if you need any more help.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  He leaves the room, pulling the door slightly as he does. I cross over to where Dog lies fast asleep, at least it seems as though he is. Just as much of a chance that he’s simply too messed up to move.

  “I’m going to turn the light on, okay?” I was told once that having the light helps fight the spins because your mind has visual anchors to ground you, objects to focus on. Never worked for me, but hey, worth a try for him I guess.

  He grumbles in response as I cross over and hit the switch, the bulb taking a few seconds to warm up to its full strength.

  “How’s that?”

  He flops an arm off the side of the bed and then manages to lift it with one thumb stuck high.

  Winning, then.

  “Be back in a minute.”

  Certain he’ll be okay on his own, I skim downstairs and around the back of the late night revelers to retrieve a couple of bottles of water and a packe
t of Advil. I double back and step into the washhouse, retrieve a bucket, and then make my way back upstairs.

  His head lifts from where he’s now seated on the floor as I enter, his back against the side of the bed. “Needed to be upright.”

  His brow pinches, flattens, and then sets in a deep frown as he tilts forward.

  The water and Advil hit the floor, and I barely manage to scrape the bucket underneath him before he lets loose again. The stench hits my nose hard, even my arm covering my face does fuck all to stop it from permeating the air I breathe.

  “What the fuck did you drink?”

  He shrugs, cradling the bucket. “It burned at the start.” He wretches. “But was okay once my tongue went numb.”

  Fucking idiots. I guess a lot hasn’t changed then. The men still drink like they have iron guts and the constitution of a seventeen-year-old.

  “Ever thought of giving it up? The heavy drinking?” I ask.

  His bloodshot eyes find mine, and a smile spreads over his lips before he chuckles. “You’re funny.”

  Yeah.

  Hilarious.

  SEVENTEEN

  Dog

  My hot tacky body pulls me from sleep, the temperature uncomfortable as I roll to get out of bed and hit a wall? Takes me a solid minute to remember that no, I haven’t forgotten changing the layout of my room; I’m just not in it.

  I push onto my elbows with a groan, flashes of last night coming in waves; strong and then weak, clear and then foamy. Makes it hard to remember what actually happened and what I dreamed.

  One thing’s definitely real though, and that’s the angry looking woman at the foot of the bed.

  Mel rests her back against the wall, legs kicked out over the bed horizontally. “Feel any better?”

  “Should I?” Head pounds like the bass at a fucking rave, but other than that …

  “Considering you eviscerated the contents of your stomach, then you shouldn’t be too bad.”

  Oh, yeah. Oh …

  “Sorry.” I wince, partially from shame, mostly from the pain the sliver of sunlight through the blinds causes.

  “I’d say you’d learned your lesson, but somehow I don’t think you have.” She folds her arms. “Am I right?”

  I’ve got nothing. She caught me licking the remnants of whatever the fuck the prospects gave me out of the dip of some woman’s pelvis. Another inch to the left and I would have been licking the outer folds of her cunt.

  Pretty sure there’s no coming back from this.

  Also pretty sure that fucking ache I get in my chest when I look at what I’ve lost glaring at me won’t go away either.

  “Guess I better get some coffee and hit the road, huh?” I toss the covers back and find I’m at least still wearing my boxers.

  “Clothes are over there.” Mel points to where they’re laid out freshly laundered on her set of drawers.

  “When the hell did that get done?” I check the time on my phone, which sits on the nightstand. Sure enough, it’s barely after dawn.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” is all she says.

  I hesitate on the edge of the bed, my feet on the floor, as she slides off and walks to the closet. Her back is mostly turned as she picks out some fresh clothes for herself, but as I study the glimpses of her face that I can see, it’s pretty damn obvious the woman hasn’t had a wink of sleep.

  And yet here I was, in her bed, sleeping soundly.

  Dick. I don’t deserve her, this, any of it.

  “Thanks, Mel.”

  She shrugs, slinging a clean pair of black denim jeans over her arm. “I wouldn’t have achieved anything by lowering myself to your level, would I?”

  Ouch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” she says slowly, turning to face me. “I could have gone downstairs, found some random guy to suck off, and tried to hurt you like you hurt me, but the truth is” —she sucks her lips to her teeth with a hiss— “I don’t think you would have cared.”

  My nostrils flare, the look I give her is so fucking pissed off it makes her frown and place a foot to the side, ready to bolt.

  “What?” She shrugs again, making me want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until all the messed up shit in her head gets back to where it should be.

  “Those lips of yours go anywhere near another man’s junk, I promise it won’t be pretty.”

  I can’t even think straight when I look at her. All I see is the fuck-off eyes she’d be giving that asshole as she dropped to her knees. My fist curls, my forearm aching with the strain.

  “My lips,” she snaps with a bit more sass than necessary, “can go wherever the fuck I please.” She frowns hard, doing that little head wiggle thing chicks do when they’re about to go off. “Why should the rules be different for me than they are for you?”

  “What fuckin’ rules?” I ram my fist into the mattress to save from getting up and smashing it into the wall.

  “You can suck some bitch downstairs, but I’m not allowed to—”

  “Don’t fuckin’ say it again.” I hold a finger up, closing my eyes as I wince.

  Her feet make soft padding noises as she hustles across the floor. Her breath is hot and minty over my face as she leans right in. I don’t dare open my eyes, don’t dare breathe her in too hard in case I snap.

  “Suck. A. Dick,” she murmurs right in my face. “Choke on a cock. Let a man face-fu—”

  My hand’s on her throat before I even fully open my eyes. “Don’t.”

  She still glares at me; her fucking kissable lips an inch from mine. I screwed up, I get it, but it’s not as though I intended on hammering the fucking bitch after I was done. Shit, I don’t think I could have sported a fucking woody if I tried given how much I’d consumed.

  There’s only one woman on my mind right now, and the feel of her pulse beneath my thumb tells me her heart races as hard as mine.

  “There’s only one guy who’ll put anythin’ other than food in that mouth of yours, babe.”

  “That so?” Her gaze drops to my lips, her right hand moving to the bed beside mine to steady herself.

  “Don’t even try to test me.” I brush my nose against hers.

  She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes hooded. “Could be fun, though.”

  “If you want to explain to your brother why he’s down a member when he gets back, then go for it.” I apply a little pressure to her throat, relishing the gasp that she gives in return.

  She creeps closer, her legs on either side of mine. All the woman would have to do is drop her gaze and she’d soon see how this little interaction has got me all kinds of knotted up.

  “Why are you so possessive, Dog?” Bitch drags her bottom lip over the tip of my nose. “We kissed once, that was all.”

  “Done a fuck load more than that in my mind,” I utter.

  A smug smirk makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Thought about me, huh?”

  “Only thing on my mind lately.”

  “Barely forty-eight hours since you picked me up.”

  I shift my thumb under her jaw, tilting her head so our lips brush as I tell her, “Three years since I first caught a glimpse of you, though.”

  She lets out a satisfied, “Huh.”

  “Cherry red lips.” I place a soft kiss to her mouth. “Dangly black earrings.” Tilt her head to one side so I can kiss the spot on her neck where those earrings brushed. “And a strapless top that looked as though it’d drop right off these fuckin’ tits at any second.” She moans in the back of her throat as I first kiss her shoulder, and then bring my free hand up to cup her breast.

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “So fuck me like you mean it.”

  She rips out of my hold, my fingers no doubt bruising her neck a little as she pulls away. “You need a shower, asshole.”

  Bitch. She played me like a fucking fiddle. Mel smirks as she backs up a couple of steps, her hips swinging. She knew what she was doing; the way her grin spreads a
s she checks out the erection tenting my boxers confirms that.

  “Fuckin’ tease,” I growl.

  Her lips part as she runs the tip of her tongue across her teeth. “Oh, baby. It’s just the beginning.”

  She snatches up a pair of clean panties and a bra from the set of drawers and then takes that tight little butt right out of the room. I flop back on her bed, my dick bobbing in frustration at being left hanging.

  All I can do is laugh.

  Goddamn minx is going to make me walk through fucking fire to prove how devoted I am to her before she lets me anywhere near that fit little body. She’s in command of this game, and fuck it all if that doesn’t make me even hotter for the woman.

  Just hope there ain’t too many rounds before she lets me tap out, because if this is how much it aches after the first brush-off, then I’m going to be well and truly ruined before the final bell.

  EIGHTEEN

  Mel

  Fool.

  I could see the excitement in his eyes when he thought I’d fold and grovel like all the other women he’s had. He might have my head all twisted up, but that doesn’t mean he gets to control me.

  If any of Daddy’s lessons stuck, it was to hold my head high and do my best to maintain my dignity.

  I head down the corridor and make my way to the opposite end. Yesterday was hard enough, which is why I put this off until now. At the opposite end of the house lies Dana’s room. Daddy wanted our bedrooms to be near each other, but she begged and whined until he relented and let her have this one amongst the male members’ quarters.

  I push the door open, and hold my breath for a beat as I take it all in. I honestly expected they would have cleared it out like they did Daddy’s room, but instead her room sits mostly untouched, exactly as she left it.

  The bedroom would have been the master in the original home, wide and with windows on each side that ensure sunshine spills across the floor no matter what time of day it is. Her bed sits made in the center, her furniture still adorned with her belongings. To the side, though, lays a black leather trunk. No guessing whose it is thanks to the winter jacket laid out over top.

  I make my way across the dusty floor and drop to my knees. The stitching on the jacket is worn, a few barren holes left where a badge has been removed. I turn it over and run my palm over the Fallen Aces logo: a skull in a top hat, bearing the ace of spades. No matter where I go, who I become, I have no doubt this image will always provoke the same reaction within me. I lift a hand to my chest and rub at the ache brought by pride at who these people are.