Extreme Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 7)

by James,Marysol

  “You’re kiddin’,” Tank said. “Ace wasn’t bein’ the dickhead?”

  “Nope,” Tex said. “He was trying. Like really trying. He made coffee for Spider a few times and brought it to him, and Spider ignored it. Ace tried to start a few conversations with him, just about general stuff, and Spider ignored him. Ace came down to dinner when Spider was eating and asked to join him, and Spider ignored him, so Ace left. Ace apologized to Spider at least three times, and Spider –”

  “Ignored him,” everyone said.

  “Saw that coming, huh?” Tex said. “Yep. So you get the picture.”

  “Dammit,” King said. “I get that Spider’s pissed, but you’d think he’d at least be civil at this point, for everyone’s sake.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “You want me to talk to him? Tell him to grow the hell up?” He paused. “Though maybe a tad more nicely than that?”

  “Nah,” King said. “Give them a bit more time to figure it out on their own. So long as there isn’t blood on the walls, leave them to it.”

  “OK.” Jack sighed. “Like goddamn kindergarten, I swear to God. Except that average five-year-old is slightly more mature than Spider at this point.”

  “Give them some space,” King said.

  “There’s nothing but space between them,” Tex pointed out. “But they can carry on doing that for as long as they want. Fine by me, though I’d still rather be watching women pick out wedding dresses.”

  “And how are the ladies doing?” King said right away, missing Naomi so much at this point, he actually ached from it; some parts of him ached more than others, he had to admit. “How’s my girl?”

  “They’re actually really good,” Dallas said. “They’re handling it all just fine, but they’re asking if they can talk to their men. You got the burner phones handled, King?”

  “Yeah. Lilly sorted all that out this morning.”

  “I’ll be dropping the phones at Curves tonight,” Lilly said. “I already gave King his, and Jax said that he’ll distribute the rest of them to the guys. You guys all set at your end?”

  “Yeah,” Dallas said. “Selena got the phones for us, and the ladies already have them. They’re just waiting for someone to call them now.”

  “Tell them to hang on one more day,” King said, squeezing the cell in his jeans pocket, already planning to call Naomi s soon as this damn conference call was over. “They’ll talk to the guys soon.”

  “I will,” Tank said. “Anythin’ else, boss man? Any word on what Nails and Joker have been up to these past few days? Any sense of the MC’s activity and movements?”

  “Hell, yeah.” King’s voice hardened now, and everyone snapped to attention. “And the word is that they’re doing exactly nothing.”

  A tense silence followed his words. Then Tex said, “How the actual fuck is that even possible? No way they’re sitting around singing Kumbaya and making peace with what happened, getting in touch with their feelings and working on forgiveness.”

  “Clearly, that’s not what these whack-jobs are doing,” King said. “No, they’re plotting and planning – but they’re doing it in a way that they’ve never done it before. They’re doing it quiet and slow. They’re doing it smart.”

  “Well, that’s worrying,” Dallas said. “Personally, I like my MC members as stupid as hollowed-out tree stumps. I don’t like when they actually have custody of more than one brain cell between the lot of ‘em.”

  “I’m with you, man,” Tank said. “I think we all are.”

  “Well, we always knew that Nails was a whole different breed, King,” Jack reminded him. “He’s not a hot-headed moron like Trigger, and he’s not able to be manipulated like Ace. He’s cool and cunning, and most of all, he’s patient. He can wait until the exact right moment, and when it comes, he’ll have everything planned, step by step. He’s formidable, and we need to change our expectations of attack. He’s not going to kick in the front door with guns blazing, just spraying bullets and hoping that something hits. That’s what Trigger would have done within an hour of hearing about Kirk, and it’s what Kirk would have told Ace to do… but that is not Nails’ style, and that’s why we haven’t heard a peep from the Fallen Angels in almost a week.”

  “So how then?” Tex said to him. “What should we be expecting?”

  Jack was silent.

  “C’mon, son,” Tex said. “Give us some of your freaky profiler shit. What will Nails do?”

  “Honestly?” Jack said heavily. “He’s going to do something that nobody will see coming, and he’s going to catch us all by total surprise. He’s not even going to do anything as basic as sneak in a secret window. No, he’s going to pop up from a hidden room in the basement that none of us fucking even knew was there… because it’s a room that he’s going to have tunnelled right under our damn feet as we stood there looking out the window, without us having a clue he was even in the house. He’s laying the groundwork now, guys, and it’s a brilliant, diabolical labyrinth. It’s unpredictable and it’s unforeseeable, and we’re way at a disadvantage here.”

  “So what I’m hearing is that we’re totally screwed,” Tex said, trying to sound joking and totally failing. “Is that right, Jack?”

  “Not totally,” Jack said. “But still screwed pretty goddamn bad, for all of that.”

  **

  Nails Paxton stared at the pictures in front of him, considering all his options, weighing all the pros and cons. From across the table, Joker Kane sat and watched his new Prez thinking, wondering where the ax was going to fall. He’d been watching the man think for the past hour, ever since Doc had finished giving his brief on the people in the pictures, and even though Joker wasn’t a patient man, he was ready to sit here for another hour. Or two. Or a fucking day, if that’s what it took… because when Nails finally swung that ax, it was going to be lethal.

  That was worth waiting for.

  Joker had had to learn quite a bit about waiting over the past few days, much to his initial chagrin. The truth was that if he’d had his way, he’d have marched out of Ace’s place that day that he’d found those fucking pictures on that drive, and he’d have emptied the club’s armoury, and he’d have called in Jensen’s people and every single MC that the Fallen Angels were owed a favor from – and then he’d have gone to King’s Garage and shot the doors off their goddamn hinges. He’d have blasted Matt Fucking Kingston in the face right off the bat, then methodically gone about killing every single member of his infamous and elite King’s Men group… whoever they were. Oh, the MC knew a few of them, of course, but surprisingly few. Those assholes were good at covering their tracks. But Joker would have shot first and asked questions later, and if a few customers of the garage had gotten dead in the mess, well… tough shit.

  And all of that would have just been for starters, of course. Just a calling card. Next he’d have twisted and tortured a few of the team members into giving up Ace Cuddy’s whereabouts. And if they didn’t crack, Joker was sure that someone would have a phone with a helpful call history. Or a kid that they didn’t want drowned in the family bathtub. Or a spouse whose car brakes they didn’t want to ‘fail’ on a steep hill. Or a parent that they didn’t want smothered with a pillow.

  Everyone had someone that made them vulnerable, something that could be held over their heads – even that human mountain King and his merry band of hard-ass special-ops types – and this was what Nails was looking for now.

  Joker could respect this approach, actually. The difference between him and Nails was that Joker would have looked for the vulnerability later, almost as an after-thought, while Nails was using it as a starting point. Joker still wasn’t sure that this was the way to go, but he’d raised his objections as VP, been shot down by his President, and his role now was to respect his leader’s decisions. To be staunchly loyal and to have Nails’ back – and unlike that cocksucker Ace Cuddy,
Joker was loyal. To the death, if necessary.

  And considering the absolute shit-storm that Nails was planning to unleash, it just might be necessary this time. Joker had survived an entire lifetime in the MC world… and he’d always known that he’d die in it, one way or the other. And if he died in the process of taking down that traitorous faggot bastard Cuddy, then Joker would eagerly step right on up and make that sacrifice. Hell, he’d be honored to die while taking his ex-President’s life.

  In a way, he felt like this was what he’d been born to do, what his life in the MC had been grooming him for.

  Like killing Ace Cuddy was his destiny.

  Nails suddenly slammed his hand down on one of the pictures; Joker jumped, startled.

  “This one,” Nails rasped.

  Joker leaned over to look at the picture, and was stunned at his Prez’s choice. That was not the way that Joker would have gone, if it were up to him.

  “Yeah?” Joker said carefully, determined to show no disrespect, but still feeling the need to check in. “You sure?”

  Nails nodded, his cold blue eyes brooking no dissent or argument. Joker looked back down at the picture, trying to find the logic in this choice, but it escaped him. Kidnapping a man was always, always harder than kidnapping a woman, and that was just a basic fact. Men fought back harder, they were stronger, and this guy was athletic and muscled from his daily workouts at The Rock, the local gym known for its martial arts and boxing classes. Why Nails would want to grab this particular guy when there was a soccer mom and a parent stricken with cancer to choose from was beyond Joker.

  “Alright,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “Is it OK if I ask… if I ask?”

  “Why him, when there are easier targets?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because it’s not about him,” Nails said. “He’s not the target.”

  Joker didn’t get it, not even slightly; he stayed silent, confused. Nails saw that, and he knew that elaboration was required for his Veep.

  “Look, he’s a tool, man. An instrument to abuse and exploit,” Nails explained. “He’s just something that we’re using to get to who we really want.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “His girl.”

  “And who’s she?” Joker was perplexed. “And how can she help us get to Cuddy?”

  “I’m not saying anything about her yet, since I have one thing to confirm and lock down. I think I’m right, and once I’m sure that I am, we’re going full-steam ahead.”

  Joker was dying to ask… like, actually dying to ask. But one look at his Prez’s steely gaze shut his mouth hard and for sure. There was no more information to be had here, and he’d best back down. Gracefully admitting temporary defeat was yet another new experience for Joker, one that he’d never really had before Nails, and he disliked it about as much as being forced to be patient.

  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 ar
ound 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.