Lacey's Night of Sinn

by Alexandria Ashcroft

  “Honesty? This is a Valentine’s day event and you don’t even believe in Valentine’s Day.”

  “‘Course I do.” He said, watching her reaction. “I believe that Valentine’s Day is the most lucrative fucking scam on the market. But hell, what better way to meet women that have already drank the Kool-Aid.”

  She frowned and looked away from him as if she were bored with the conversation. “Your cynicism is so predictable.”

  “Then why do you keep coming back, Lacey?”

  She looked at him, shock evident on her pretty face, but she recovered quickly. She smirked, crossed her arms over her chest, and straightened up. “If someone doesn’t keep an eye on you, you’ll stir up even more trouble.”

  Excuses. He smiled inside. Whatever she needed to tell herself. “By all means, keep both eyes on me.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he imagined her keeping two hands, both of those shapely legs, and her pair of pretty lips on him, wrapped up and pressed against him.

  A LEXANDRIA ASHCROFT

  LACEY’S NIGHT OF SINN

  Black Quill Publishing LLC

  Lacey’s Night of Sinn by Alexandria Ashcroft

  Published by Black Quill Publishing LLC Madison, WI USA

  www.blackquillpublishingllc.com

  © 2020 Alexandria Ashcroft

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  contact@blackquillpublishingllc.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover by Alexandria Ashcroft.

  Author bio Pic by: Glimpse in Time Photography

  Editing by: Black Quill Publishing LLC

  Electronic Book ISBN: 978-1-949294-17-0

  This sexy short story is dedicated to beginnings.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  |1| EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL |:|

  “Not there!” Lacey Diaz grabbed the young man’s shoulders, startling him as he was setting up the hors d'oeuvres. She guided him to an adjacent table. “They go here, on the table labeled hors d'oeuvres. You see that? All the tables are labeled.”

  The man nodded and set the trays down.

  “Over to the right a little. A little more. Yes, that's good, perfect. Where’s the mock-up that was sent over to Margie last week?”

  The man shrugged, making heat flow through Lacey’s body. She made a fist at her side for a moment, then let it go and exhaled. “Let me explain something to you. Everyone is working diligently to complete their task, as laid out in my specific instructions. The food display is the center ornament of the event, which is why I spent time to create a mock-up with visuals that outline to the “T” exactly how I want everything to look. Please, consult that instructional packet before you come out here again to place another item on the tables. Do we have an understanding?”

  He nodded, his eyes the size of saucers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned around so he could go and complete his task.

  “We need raffle tickets over here. Daria!” Lacey pointed to a young woman hanging streamers. “Put the ice breaker cards on each table and don't forget the table clothes.” She frowned. “Daria? Where’s Dari—”

  “Hey Lace.” Lacey’s best friend, Rita, slung her coat over the bar stool at the small bistro table as Lacey leaned into a cheek kiss from her friend.

  “Ah-ah, Ree. Coat goes in the coat closet.”

  Rita curled her upper lip and threw her coat over her forearm. “Has anyone ever told you that you're bossy?”

  “Every day, and I call them team members. You're late, by the way. I need someone to finish lighting the candles.”

  “This is what you get for free labor lady, okay? 'Sides, I had to get ready. All of this doesn’t just happen. And you, mami? You need to loosen up." Rita looked around. "People are starting to show up already? Is the thirst real or am I just being critical?”

  “Rita Hernandez, stop judging my fellow lonesome, hopeful souls and help me finish setting up. Daria! Gosh, where is that woman?”

  Rita shrugged. “Who would have thought this little singles thing would gain so much momentum?”

  A bolt of excitement ran through Lacey. She couldn’t believe it either. “Rumor has it that Claire Grier will stop by to write about it for the Hot in Town section of Chic City magazine. So everything has to be perfect.”

  Rita rolled her eyes. “Claire or no Claire, you'd want everything to be perfect anyway.” She smirked. “Since things are taking off, it sounds like somebody's paying my rent this month.”

  “Do you have a new sugar daddy I didn't know about?” Lacey fixed a streamer that was a little off center.

  “A new sugar mama, and her name starts with an 'L' and ends with an 'acey'.” Rita laughed, bumping Lacey with her hip, then strolled to the closet to hang her coat.

  “Ms. Diaz, I heard you were looking for me. I was coordinating floral locations with the florist.” The woman was out of breath, her blond hair tousled on top of her head. Lacey would have felt bad if she didn’t pay the woman so well. It’s why she had hired her this year, because otherwise she’d be the one completely stressed.

  “Very good. The bouquets look great!”

  “Wasn’t for a lack of trying. The florist was trying to pull some crap about not having what you ordered, when we put the order in last year.”

  Lacey nodded. “Mhm, see what I have to deal with?”

  “Yeah.” She forced out a little laugh and pushed the glasses up on her slender nose. So what was it?”

  “Raffle tickets.”

  She looked at her clipboard. “Yep, it’s two down on the list. Connie already has the front table ready for check-in and instructions on how to direct the band when they get here. Which should be…” She checked her watch. “Shortly.”

  “Great. Make sure they’re rotating these trays too. I can’t have anyone getting sick on my clock.”

  “Of course.”

  “Where do you want me, boss lady?” Rita strolled up to them with a saucy smirk on her smooth bronzed skin. Her father was Puerto Rican and her mother African American. She was a beauty and made sure to use all her God-given assets.

  “Greeting the guests would be helpful. I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Don’t worry, sis. I got this. Handle your bladder. I get free drinks for volunteering, right?”

  Lacey rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight a smirk. “For you? I suppose.”

  Over twenty minutes later, Lacey tossed her paper towel in the garbage can upon leaving the ladies room. Everything looked tidy in there.

  She swanned around, greeting her guests, straightening bows on tables and reorganizing table decorations.

  She was excited and nervous. Everything was turning out so well. Claire would be there any minute, she had heard from a reputable source. Everything had to be perfect. She snapped her fingers, catching a server’s attention.

  “You can’t leave these out. You have to rotate the trays every twenty minutes. We don’t want anyone getting food poisoning, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young boy said, and took the tray back to do her bidding.

  A chill started at the back of her head, but she couldn’t place the specific source. Something was happening, had happened or was about to happen.

  She frowned, looking around the space. Have I forgotten something?

  Everything seemed to be okay. Rather remarkable if she had to toot her own ho
rn.

  “I'll do you one better!” someone shouted near the entrance. “I'll have you towed!”

  Lacey grumbled, as she already knew who that voice belonged to. It was Helen, the lady who owned the organic soaps store next to the art gallery where Lacey’s Valentine’s Day event was being held.

  The first year of the meet and greet, Helen had a terrible experience with some guy who had robbed her after they were … intimate.

  She’d been giving Lacey hell ever since.

  “You can try.”

  The chill, which had disappeared when the pending conflict revealed itself, returned when that voice assaulted her auditory senses. She still had her back to the door. As much as she did, she also didn't want to see who that voice belonged to, because she was sure her panties would dissolve if she did.

  She scolded herself. That was not something she would think. That was something Rita would think, say, and then put into action.

  She placed her hand on her chest and took a deep breath, noticing she hadn't been breathing. She got her mind right before turning toward the problem. She brushed her hands down her skirt and cleared her throat.

  Her mouth went dry at the sight of the creature standing next to Helen, or rather towering over Helen. He had to be well over six feet, with dark short cropped hair, and eyes shielded by his dark eyebrows. A five o'clock shadow brushed over his strong jawline and a smirk pulled up the corner of his lips. Or was that a scowl? Black leather hugged every part of his lean form.

  She made her way to the pair, throwing a confident smile to her uneasy guests. Before Lacey got to the door, she turned to the room.

  “Please, everyone, carry on. Just a little misunderstanding.” She smiled at everyone hoping they would believe her.

  “I’ve got it all under control,” she whispered under her breath, not feeling as confident as she had to be to pull this off.

  |2| DEVIL ON THE HUNT |:|

  Devlin looked at his face in the bathroom mirror.

  Handsome as a goddamn devil . He smirked at his reflection.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  He caught Stitch’s image in the reflective surface. The man was leaning on the door frame to Devlin’s bathroom.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

  “Your dad wants to talk to you, uh,” the other man frowned. “Before you go.”

  Devlin paused before he looked at his friend over his shoulder. He frowned. “Now you’re a messenger boy?”

  “Or the voice of reason.”

  Devlin scoffed. “He doesn’t give a fuck. He’s gonna do whatever he wants anyway.”

  “He’s our Pres. That should be enough—”

  “NO! He’s just Luscious Sinn! Bastard thinks that means more than it does.” Devlin walked past the other man into his bedroom.

  “Stop being a hard-headed prick like your old man and just stop by his office, okay?”

  Devlin grumbled but didn’t commit either way.

  “Hmm,” Stitch said, leaning on the door frame to the bathroom but facing into Devlin’s bedroom.

  “What the fuck is it now?”

  “Trying to figure out where the hell you’re going when the party’s going to be here.”

  Devlin waved him off, grabbing his leather jacket with his brotherhood’s logo on the back from where it was hanging on the back of a chair. “Going to some Valentine’s Day thing. Perfect hunting grounds.”

  Stitch laughed. “There will be plenty for the hunting here.”

  Devlin turned his nose up in disgust. “If you’re calling that hunting, you, brother, have fallen very far from grace.”

  “Ah, fresh meat, eh?” He could imagine the other man’s smirk.

  Devlin ignored his friend and headed toward the door. “Probably won’t be back tonight.”

  “You sure you’re not meeting someone special?”

  “Someone?” He laughed. “Have fun, man.”

  “What should I tell your father?”

  Devlin shrugged. “I’m too goddamn old to give two fucks.”

  His friend laughed. “Do you know who your dad is?”

  “Same bastard I’ve had my whole life, I’m guessing. Don’t wait up.” He slapped the other man on the shoulder and strolled out of their clubhouse. He didn’t make it far.

  “Son.”

  Devlin stopped in his tracks at the rusty sound of his father’s familiar baritone. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

  He wasn’t in the mood.

  The older man tossed his joint on the ground and squished it under his steel-toed boots.

  “If the party’s inside, what the hell you doin’ out here?” Devlin asked after a pause.

  “You’re too much like me, boy. Knew you wouldn’t go to the office, so here I am.”

  Devlin adjusted his stance. “If you have something to say, say it. I’m already late.”

  “I’m not mad that you’re not backing the Hyann Brother’s job, you know. You’re the only one who questions me anymore. It’s fitting, right?” The man stuffed his hand in his pockets and looked up to the sky with the failing sun setting on the horizon. “Fitting for the future leader of this club.”

  Devlin grumbled. He was tired of people telling him that. “Is that all?”

  “When I’m gone…” he started, then looked at his boots, kicking them in the dirt a bit. “When I'm gone, take care of your brother and sister.”

  “Dad, I—”

  “Nah. I won’t hear it. I don’t give a rat’s ass about all the bullshit surrounding it. You take care of them, you hear?”

  Devlin exhaled and focused on his boots before nodding his head. Anything to get this over with quick.

  “Wish you were stayin’, but there’s nothin’ wrong with new pussy.”

  Devlin lifted his upper lip before turning toward his bike. “Everyone knows you can’t keep your dick dry.”

  The man’s laughter behind him accompanied him on his walk to his bike.

  Straddling his motorcycle, he looked back at the contemporary metal and glass structure that had been the club house for the past two decades. He put on his helmet and started his ride. The machine coming alive under him gave him a peace that he only found when he was on the open road, on his bike.

  He took off, heading to the thing in the city. Parties at the club house were wild, nearing reckless. Usually he’d have had fun, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the debauchery. He was more interested in being the worst thing walking. Well-bred women usually attended things like this mixer party and some, if not most, were interested in a little bit of trouble.

  Valentine’s Day was one of his favorite holidays. Second only to Thanksgiving, when he could gorge on food the entire day without a sideways glance. Why did he enjoy Valentine’s Day? Well, it was rather simple. Chicks, lots of horny chicks who wanted someone to fuck them into forgetting the misery that was the other 364 days of the year.

  The ride, as always, was liberating. A little cool, as was customary for February, but he lived for it.

  He pulled his bike onto the sidewalk in front of the art gallery where the event was being held and cut the engine. He looked up at the sign, quickly reading some French word he didn’t care about pronouncing.

  He placed his helmet and jacket in the compartment on the back of his bike and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. Music was coming out of the building, or at least the low tones of it. He smiled, more inside than out. Three well-dressed women walked into the building, and one's eyes lingered on him longer than was casual. His blood started to warm because he knew he was in the right place tonight.

  Before he stepped into the establishment, a plump woman dressed in a flower muumuu marched up to him with irate eyes and furrowed brows.

  “You can't park your bike on the sidewalk!” she barked.

  “Who are you, the fucking parking police?” Her hostility was fucking with his good mood.

  The woman gawked at him. />
  Hell yeah, he had the goddamn audacity. If you come up to the Devil spouting fire, you better be ready.

  “There are laws that clearly state no motorized vehicles are to be on the pedestrian sidewalk. Perhaps you’ll need me to define what a pedestrian is. A person.” She stretched out the word like he had been born a few brain cells short of an average Joe. “Your hunk of metal is not a person, which makes parking it on the sidewalk illegal!”

  She stopped short when he turned on her. He saw the glint of fear that flashed in her eyes. The primitive animal side of her told her to flee. But the dumb side that thought her laws and rules were going to protect her made her hold onto her angry glare. “Give me a fucking ticket then,” he retorted, seeing his response rustle the woman’s feathers.

  He could have sworn she growled.

  Turning away from her, he opened the door to the art gallery where the swanky little party was in full swing.

  “I'll do you one better.” The woman followed him inside, standing as straight as she could. “I'll have you towed!”

  He had to give her credit, she had a pair to not be intimidated by his six feet - three inches, tattooed arms and the permanent scowl he wore for good measure. That was something he had picked up from his father. Even still, he wouldn’t let this woman get the better of him. He stood over her, forcing her to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. “You can try.”

  Someone cleared their throat behind him, making him shift his attention.

  |3| DELICATE DISTRACTION |:|

  Conversation started buzzing around the room again, but Lacey could tell everyone's attention was still on the conflict at the door. Or should she say, the devil at the door. She tried to ignore how God-awfully handsome the man was. When his dark eyes settled on her, a hot ball traced every inch of her skin, leaving her feeling tingly all over. Tingly, jittery, and not to mention out of control. She shook herself but it didn’t change anything.

  She frowned, loathing the tantalizing reaction that seemed to stay with her, ride her every thought, and confuse her mind.