Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

by Frankie Love

  Right now, the cost for everything seems too high.

  I can't believe I had sex with Ace after I found out my sister was getting yanked off life support. Where the hell are my priorities?

  After going through the Jack in the Box drive-thru, we pull up at my apartment. My friends follow me up the stairs to the second floor unit, Tess carrying her bag of greasy goodness.

  “You guys don't have to come with. You can go home.”

  “Like hell. We aren't going anywhere until you fill us in on whatever the heck is going on with you.”

  I jam my key in the door and then swing it open, revealing a modest apartment that feels only half lived in.

  I'm still paying for my place in Steel Rock, Washington, and all my crap is there. I had no idea when I got here two months ago that my stay would be as long as it has been. A couple suitcases were all I brought when I boarded the plane to see if my sister was still alive.

  “Your apartment is so depressing,” Claire said, kicking off her heels. “Every time I come here I think, This girl needs a house plant.”

  The apartment was furnished by the landlord, so nothing here feels very loved or homey. A pair of plastic chairs circle a small wooden table; a thrift store coffee table is set before an old couch. The small bedroom is the best room in the house, because at least the bedding is new.

  What can say? Even if I'm on a budget, I gotta have a cute Target duvet.

  I flip on the lights and walk to the kitchen sink, pouring us each a glass of water from the tap. I fish for ibuprofen from my purse and shake out a substantial dose. We've all been drinking a bunch in a smoky club. We need all the help we can get.

  “Do you have any coconut water?” Tess asks, opening her fast food bag. “It helps restore electrolytes.”

  “Says the girl chowing down on a processed chicken sandwich,” Claire says.

  “Hey, this is all white meat.”

  “Just stop, okay?” I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to absorb the night I've just had, and debating how much I should actually divulge.

  “Emmy, just out with it,” Claire says, snatching a fry from Tess. “Holding it in isn't doing you any favors. You look like you've been run over by a bus.”

  “A sex bus,” Tess says, smirking.

  I look down, realizing that this dress does scream fuck me. Opening the bathroom door, I take in my appearance in the full-length mirror.

  My hair is uncharacteristically tousled; my breasts still plunge from the neck line. My lips are permanently swollen from Ace's kisses, not to mention the space between my thighs is still sticky and sweet.

  “I think I should shower.”

  Tess sets down her food and stands like she's been given an order. She digs a clean towel out of the closet. Meanwhile, Claire turns on the faucet in the tub and runs her hand through the water to check the temperature.

  “Step out of your shoes,” Tess says, taking my hands, helping me keep my balance as I take off the ridiculous heels Ace bought me in exchange for a few fucks.

  Claire reaches behind me and pulls a few bobby pins from my hair. I unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor.

  Getting in the tub, I hear my friends scoop up my clothes and gently shut the door.

  The warm water runs over my body. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to clasp hold of something.

  I let my hands fall.

  My skin is covered with a man I don't want to remember.

  13

  ACE

  I've called Denise five times in the last five hours. She promised she tried to get in touch with Emmy using the number left on her employment records, but Emmy hasn't answered.

  I haven't slept. I'm fucking pacing my penthouse, so spun up over the fact Grotto is busting my balls and Emmy isn't answering.

  I've never been like this with a woman. Granted, I've never met a woman I actually wanted for something more than a quick fuck. I've worked damn hard to keep my head clear by never falling for a girl.

  But this wasn't intentional. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours, and all I can think of is her.

  McQueen texts that he and the guys are on their way up to my penthouse. I head for the kitchen and notice the caterer has brought in lunch. It’s sitting on the kitchen counter but none of it is appetizing. There’s only one thing I want to eat.

  So I grab a beer from the fridge, and take a long swig. I hardly slept. My mind is reeling about what dirt Grotto could have on me.

  If he's truly dug up shit on me, it could get bad. The investors I need for this property deal aren't gonna want anything to do with me if they learn I pulled the wool over their eyes in regards to where my initial capital came from. I didn't drum up investors in Spades Royalle by mentioning my father was a mob-boss.

  The elevator opens, and in walk McQueen, Landon, and Jack. These guys all have enough shit going on in their own lives, but here they are, on a Saturday afternoon, sticking out their necks for me.

  I swear I'm a fucking pansy because my eyes sting at the fucking sight of them—showing up here like this for me.

  It makes me miss having a family. Makes me miss Sunday dinners when Ma was alive, back when I was a little kid, before my Pops started bringing me around his business deals. Back when I'd eat fucking spaghetti and veal parmigiana around a big wooden table and listen to the adults argue over carafes of wine while I teased my sisters mercilessly.

  I take a deep breath, knowing those memories get me nowhere. And right now I need to bury the past like I never have before.

  But not entirely, because I need to tell my friends the motherfucking truth.

  “So what's the deal, Ace,” Jack asks, grabbing a beer and helping himself to a pulled pork sandwich from the tray of food I haven’t touched.

  “It's complicated.” I take another drink of beer. All morning I tossed and turned about how to explain this to them without them walking out of here—out on me.

  “Try me,” Landon says. “It can't be worse than my situation at the moment. My father is threatening to cut me off if I don't rally and marry some British lady, and start working.”

  “Would he really do that?” McQueen asks. The idea of Landon sitting in an office taking business calls is laughable. That man only knows how to take poker chips and women. Both across a table.

  “Apparently,” Landon says, shrugging. “Like I said, Ace, can't be worse than that.”

  “It's worse,” I say, still not explaining myself.

  “Fuck, Ace, out with it,” Jack says, not as patient. “Why does Grotto want you gone?”

  “He says he has shit on my family.”

  Landon frowns. “I thought you were an orphan. A child straight out of a Charles Dickens novel, only—you know—with a shit-ton of money.”

  “Who the fuck are you, Landon?” McQueen laughs. “You read fucking Dickens?”

  “There’s a lot about me you don't know,” Landon says. “Depth that you wouldn't understand.”

  “Yeah, and there’s a lot about me that neither of you know.” I straighten my shoulders, knowing my closest friends might turn and leave the moment they hear the truth. “My name isn't Ace Royalle. It’s Adrian Genova the fourth.”

  The three of them cock their heads as they try to process this information.

  “Like the mafia Genova?” Jack asks.

  “That’s the one. But after my sisters and Ma were killed I swore I’d never be initiated into the family circle. Obviously, that didn’t go over real well. My dear old Pops was the King.”

  “You fucking kidding me right now?” McQueen asks.

  “I came to Vegas after my Pops was murdered. I took the family money, split town. People think I died when he did. But I didn't. Obviously. That piece of shit Grotto says he has dirt on me. And if it’s what I think it is, I’m over.”

  “This is some joke right?” Jack asks. “I've had your back for five fucking years. You slept on my couch for six months when you moved to this town, trying to get your shit togeth
er. And all that time you were the fucking son of the most infamous mafia boss in New York?”

  “It's not like that,” I explain. “That family is dead to me. I left that place and I’ve never looked back. I hated the violent shit my Pops was a part of. I wanted to leave that behind me and start over.”

  I run my hands through my hair, knowing I am in too deep—but also knowing I need these guys on my side or I’ll have nothing to fall back on when the shit really hits the fan.

  “Look, Grotto fucking killed a man yesterday as a threat to me.”

  “Why, though?” Landon asks. “Why does Grotto want to screw you over?”

  “Because we both want the same piece of fucking property.”

  At this, McQueen shoves away, hands in the air. “Fuck this. You're dragging us into a life-or-death situation over a fucking building?”

  “It's not a building. It's the building. I want it to stake my claim on this town.”

  “You already have a fucking hotel named after you, Ace,” Jack says, aggression dripping from his voice. “What more do you need to prove?”

  “Everything. I need to prove to myself that I can dominate with clean money, prove that my fucking piece of shit father went about it the wrong way. He gained his power by threats and killing anyone who got in his motherfucking way. That isn't me. I want an empire, but I want to build it the right way.”

  “That's golden, Ace,” McQueen says, laughing sarcastically. “You used your own capital to get this hotel—you telling me that cash was clean? Bullshit. We’re standing on dirty money right now.”

  I throw my beer bottle against the wall and swipe at the food on the counter; it crashes to the floor.

  “You think I don't know that?” I yell. “You think I don't carry that with me everywhere I go? Why do you think I want this property so bad? I want to build something good. Something decent. Something I can be motherfucking proud of.”

  Landon comes up to me, pushes me against the wall. “Fucking cool it, Ace.”

  When I raise my hands in surrender, he steps back, lets go of me. I've never seen him so pissed off.

  Jack shakes his head. “I know what it fucking means to want to prove something. I know what it means to want something you can be proud of. But don't fucking play around with this guy Grotto.”

  “Then what do you want me to do? “I ask. “Back off? Let him get the property on his own? Let him win?”

  “Is that what this is about? Not wanting him to win?” Landon asks.

  “It's about not wanting to lose everything to him. Once my investors find out about whatever dirt Grotto has, I'll be toast in this town. No one will want to touch me.”

  The room is quiet for a moment, everyone tense. I’m still scared my best friends are gonna walk out on me.

  But then Jack shrugs, and says, “Then back off the investors.” He raises an eyebrow at Landon and McQueen and they all nod in agreement. “Let us invest in you. In this property.”

  “Hell yeah,” Landon agrees. “I don’t want that guy to win. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “Fuck,” McQueen says. “We can build this motherfucking town on our own. That's what we came here to do, isn't it?”

  Landon, Jack, and McQueen raise their beers, all of us grinning. I join in, clinking our bottles in unison.

  I don't know what's wrong with me. Ever since I met Emmy Rose, my emotions are screwing me over. These guys having my back like this makes me wanna cry like a fucking baby.

  “You guys can’t do that. There are too many risks involved. Grotto wants to tear me down, and I don’t want him coming after you.”

  “Hell, no—we’re your family now,” McQueen says. “Fuck Grotto.”

  I clench my jaw, not knowing how to respond to this support. The last person who treated me so well was my mother.

  “You have to let us help you,” Jack says. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t help a friend?”

  “Besides,” Landon adds. “My father will piss himself when he learns I want to do something in the business sector.”

  “You guys are fucking nuts,” I say. “And I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “You’re the fucker who got us the gigs we have here at Spades,” Jack says. “You’re the reason my career, and McQueen’s career, have taken off. And our boy Landon would be playing at the fucking Tropicana if you hadn’t saved his ass from that scene. We’re good, bro.”

  “Okay,” I tell them. “Let’s do this.”

  EMMY

  The next morning I wake up on the couch. Errr, the next day. It's like two in the afternoon. I genuinely can't think of the last time I slept in so late, but considering we didn't get home until five this morning, I guess we didn't sleep an obscene about of time.

  Claire and Tess are sprawled out in my bed. They fell asleep there last night while I was in the shower and I didn't have the heart to wake them.

  Now I pull open the blinds, squinting in the afternoon sun. Walking a few steps into the kitchen, I begin making a pot of coffee.

  As it brews, I turn on my phone and see I've missed several calls and texts.

  Text 1: This is Denise, Ace Royalle's personal assistant. We met yesterday at the buffet. Please call back ASAP.

  Text 2: Hello, Denise again. Please return message.

  Then there are three voice mails saying the same sort of thing.

  The final voicemail, however, is a bit more worrisome: This is Denise, calling on behalf of Ace Royalle. Shall I have someone come to your listed address to check on you?

  I so do not want anyone connected with Ace showing up here.

  Claire and Tess inch out of my bedroom, both wearing tee-shirts of mine.

  “Must. Have. Coffee,” Claire mutters as she does a zombie walk toward the pot. Pouring herself a cup, she literally guzzles it.

  “Did you just burn your throat?” Tess asks warily.

  “It was totally worth it.” Claire smiles a bit manically, as if the caffeine has already shot through her blood stream.

  “You are so weird,” I say, grabbing the creamer from the fridge and adding it to my own steaming mug.

  “I'm not the weird one,” Claire says. “You, sweetie, are the one who screwed the most eligible bachelor in Vegas, then ran out all tears and confusion and cried yourself to sleep. Without explaining anything.”

  “True.” I sigh, feeling defeated. “Look, I just don't want you to judge me. And, now that I know the truth about Ace, what I actually need to do is go speak with my detective.”

  “The detective on your sister’s case?” Tess asks, scrunching up her nose. “What does he have to do with Ace?”

  “I think Ace was driving the car the night of the accident.”

  “No shit!” Claire gasps, nearly spitting out her coffee.

  “I know. It is fifty shades of crazy.” I explain the conversation with the detective from the day before, and then fill them in on what Grotto said last night.

  “Wow. I guess it makes sense now why you freaked out,” Claire says.

  “Yeah, and here I was thinking you got all weird because Ace was bad in bed,” Tess adds.

  “Well, they technically didn't screw in a bed—they were in a hallway at the club or something, right, Emmy?”

  Oh. My friends weren't privy to my previous evening’s post-poker game sex-capades.

  “We actually hooked up after the poker game—”

  “I knew it!” Tess shrieks.

  Claire shoots Tess dagger-eyes. “No screeching this early in the morning.”

  “It's not the morning anymore,” I say. “Also, there's nothing to get hyper about. Ace is a creep, remember? What kind of man leaves a woman alone after a car crash? He's a monster.”

  “You may be jumping to conclusions,” Tess says. “I mean you don't have actual proof.”

  “Are you seriously defending him right now?” I ask. “Because tell me, Tess, how many people have you ever met who go by the name Bu
llet?”

  “None, I guess. I just. I don't know … he seemed so nice. So generous.”

  “You just like the fact that I hooked up with a guy who is loaded and comes with a fancy entourage.”

  “Let's not get catty, ladies,” Claire says, pouring herself another cup of joe. “Look, Emmy, no judgment, but did you actually like Ace, or was it just sex?”

  I feel the burn on my cheeks with that question. The reason it hurt so bad to hear him called Bullet last night was because I actually did like him. But more than that … because like sounds flat and feel superficial.

  Ace and I had a connection that was real. I just wish I could have explored that more … really gotten to know him before the carpet got pulled out from under me.

  “I … he … it was….” I can't finish my sentence, because I don't want to feel the way I feel. So completely torn.

  It doesn't matter what I felt before I learned the truth. Now I can't go back. If I do, what does that make me? A monster too?

  “Okay then….” Claire pulls her words out exaggeratedly. “But honey, the fact that you can’t answer says something. Maybe you should get the facts straight before you dismiss him all together. Maybe he isn't what you think. Maybe he’s what you need.”

  Just then my doorbell rings.

  “Who's that? I don't know anyone in Vegas besides you two.”

  Tess heads to the door and looks through the peephole.

  “Oh, shit,” she says pulling back and looking at me with shock written on her face.

  “Who is it?” Claire walks over and takes a look herself as another knock hits the door. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

  “Emmy,” a voice calls through the door. “Emmy, are you there?”

  My stomach drops. Whatever red flush filled my cheeks a minute ago, with Claire's questioning, has drained.

  Ace is here. For me.

  “Ohmigod, I can't deal with this,” I hiss at my friends. “Say I'm not here. Say I'm … at work.”

  “Ugh, that won't fly. He owns the casino you work at dummy,” Tess whispers back.