Ace: Devil’s Nightmare MC

by Bourne, Lena

  Besides, the last thing I need is to make Horse jealous. That’d be like the cherry on top of the tall mountain of hatred he already feels for me.

  “I need three beers and five whiskeys,” Lisa, one of the snootier club girls, tells me in that haughty-bordering-on-aggressive voice they all use with me. Like I’m dirt. Like I’m less than dirt. Like they’re all better than me. They ain’t shit, just as I ain’t shit. “And don’t make me repeat myself,” she adds.

  Right now, I hate her with a fire I haven’t felt in so long it burns in my chest to the point of pain.

  “I ain’t your slave, sweetie,” I tell her venomously. “So you better watch you tone when you talk to me.”

  Her eyes widen, but the momentary shock in them is quickly concealed by mocking arrogance. “What are you gonna do about it if I don’t? I bet Horse would love to hear some more about your uselessness and laziness.”

  Her veiled threat does wash over me like a splash of ice water, but my anger is hotter. Back in the day, her words to me right now would be reason enough for me to punch her in the face, and I’m on the verge of doing exactly that. It’s time to start fighting back. Else I’ll wake up one day and be a real slave around here in all ways.

  “Here’s your order,” Brenda says, placing the five beer bottles onto Lisa’s tray.

  Lisa ignores her, gritting her teeth at me while I glare right back at her.

  “And the whiskeys,” Brenda adds, placing the glasses on the tray two at a time. “Don’t make them wait,” she adds once she’s done.

  I can tell Lisa wants to continue our argument, but she also knows that making the guys wait too long for their drinks will land her in a whole different argument—one she has no hope of winning. Not that she has a hope of winning a fight with me.

  “Whatever, bitch,” she tells me as she picks up the tray. “You ain’t worth my time.”

  Only Brenda’s tight, painful grip on my upper arm stops me from responding to that challenge. “Let her go, Stormi. She’s just a dumb bitch, and you don’t need any more problems.”

  This time the iciness of that logic works to clear my head. She couldn’t be more right. The last thing I need is more problems. But avoiding problems is part of the reason I’m turning into this spineless, cowering sheep that I hardly recognize as me.

  “I’m sick of letting them talk to me that way!” I round on Brenda. “It’s time I did something about it.”

  She draws her lips into a tight, angry line. ”What we should’ve done is not stolen that money from them. Everything after that was just about surviving and it still is.”

  “This surviving is not much better than death,” I snap, the cold shock of the truth of those words piercing me painfully. I shocked her too. Her lips are shaking now, but they’re still a tight angry line. She had only just met Josh about a month before he died, but I think she was falling in love with him. He was more than just a fling to her, and even though she refuses to talk about any of that, I know she’s still mourning. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with her.

  I take a breath to apologize, but she shakes her head at me and points at the trash can full of empty beer bottles. “Go dump that out and cool off, Stormi. Your temper’s only gonna bring more shit down on us. Despite everything, I’m happy to still be alive.”

  Those words are sobering, but I’m still fuming, so the sense of them is just a little cloud at the edge of my fiery anger.

  I grab the trashcan and start dragging it towards the side door that leads to the courtyard. The trashcan is too fucking heavy for me to lift it, and I bet my face is purple from the effort of dragging it before I’m even halfway to the door, but at least my anger’s fading. Brenda’s right. Starting a fight with Lisa will only make everything worse for me in the long run. Better by far to keep my head down and go along. But I was never good at doing that.

  “Here, let me get that for you,” a man says behind my back. It shocks me into complete stillness. It’s not just his voice that’s unfamiliar, it’s what he said—in all my time here, not a single Sinner has offered to help me out with anything.

  I turn and them I’m face to face with the new guy. He’s grinning at me, his eyes still full of the interest that woke the woman I used to be when he first set them on mine.

  My eyes flick to Horse. He’s standing to the new guys right, glaring at our exchange like I knew he would be. Well, let the bastard glare.

  I flash the stranger a smile, and let go of the trashcan. “I’d really appreciate that. It’s so heavy.”

  He picks up the trashcan like it weighs nothing, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging and swelling to an even more impressive display under his well-worn grey t-shirt. I bet the t-shirt is hiding a hard as wood six-pack. I can’t wait to see him take it off. Or better yet, until I take it off for him. I always loved looking at a well-built naked man, and there sure as hell aren’t many of those among the Sinners. I bet his faded, blue jeans are hiding another thing I haven’t seen in a long time. My fingers itch with the desire to unbuckle the wide, dark brown leather belt holding his jeans up. It’s so like me to think about that looking at this guy, yet so unlike the me I’ve become since I came here. The duality of that—of me—is making my head spin. Or is that just him too?

  “Lead the way,” he says and chuckles, drawing my eyes to his face. To his nicely formed lips and his eyes, which are a very light blue and filled with the sort of kindness I haven’t seen in a pair of eyes in a very long time. He smiles at me even wider, and much of the kindness I glimpsed gets displaced by stark, primal interest in his eyes. I’m having a very hard time finding a reason not to keep looking into his eyes.

  “Right, yeah,” I say and clear my throat, thankful that my face was already flushed from dragging the trash can, because I’m sure I’m blushing right now from the flood of emotions this guy is causing to erupt inside me.

  I shake my head to clear it, walk to the back door and hold it open for him, then lead the way across the dark, dusty courtyard to the dumpsters.

  “It’s this one,” I say, opening the lid for him.

  There’s a rickety old street lamp illuminating this part of the yard, the light yellow and subdued, and I love how the shadows play over the muscles of his arms, accentuating them as he lifts and overturns the trashcan into the dumpster. The soft light does wonders for his face, especially his chiseled, strong jaw.

  The sound of glass shattering rends the silence and puts an abrupt and final end to this dream I’ve been in since he spoke to me. What the fuck am I thinking? Horse will kill me before he’ll let me have any actual fun with another man.

  “I usually toss them in a few at a time,” I hear myself say sadly, because doing that with him would’ve been the only way to make this dream last a little longer. Now the task is done and I have to get back inside.

  “This way was faster, and now you can have a little break,” he says with a perfect little grin that makes happy ripples in his eyes. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and offers me one. I take it before logic and fear make me refuse.

  He lights it for me like a perfect gentleman. But by the time he’s puffing away on his own, my fear of Horse and what he’s gonna make of all this is flooding me with all the coldness of a glacier-fed river.

  “So, what’s a beauty like you doing hauling trash at a biker bar?” he asks, still grinning.

  There’s a lot to unpack in his question and he knows it, but my first reaction to it is a smile at being called a beauty by this hot-as-hell guy. There’s always a rush in something like that, even when it’s just a pickup line. Which I’m not sure this is. Not entirely. Either way, for the space of this cigarette I’m gonna relish it. Horse will warn him off me as soon as we get back inside, I’m sure of it, so this is as much fun and lightness and pleasure I’m ever gonna get from him.

  “Oh, you know, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do,” I say and flip my long hair back behind my shoulder. I tried, but I coul
dn’t quite keep the strain out of my voice even though I really wanted to sound light and flirty.

  His eyes narrow for a moment like he heard the strain and the unsaid, but the next moment he’s grinning at me again.

  “Yeah, well, where I’m from, heavy work like that wouldn’t be part of your job behind the bar,” he says.

  “Where’s that then?” I ask, and it’s not hard to keep my voice light and flirty anymore, because an image of him taking me with him to that dream place when he leaves is very vivid in my mind right now.

  But before he can tell me all about his home, the door to the bar opens and Brenda shouts, “Get back in here, Stormi!”

  I hear the same fear of Horse I’ve been denying in her voice, but he doesn’t.

  “She sounds like a wicked stepmother. Is she your boss?” he asks.

  “No, she’s a friend,” I tell him, and ignore Brenda who’s still glaring at us. “I better get back in and help her out behind the bar.”

  I toss the cigarette on the ground and step on it. “Thanks again for helping me out.”

  I think he heard my final goodbye in that.

  “Anytime, gorgeous,” he says. “I’m Ace, by the way. Stormi, is it?”

  I nod, and was going to say something more, but what’s the point?

  “Now, Stormi!” Brenda yells from the doorway.

  “I’ll see you around,” he calls after me as I rush to her.

  No point confirming that, no point turning to get one last good look at him, no point thinking about anything that might have been, or wishing for it. It won’t be after Horse tells him to stay away from me. No use trying for more than just that brief moment of connection we already shared. Horse would crush it. And him and the rest of the Sinners have already crushed so much of me, I don’t want to give them anything more to crush. This guy’s not from here, and he’ll most likely be gone by the morning. Then I’ll never see him again. One night of indulging in what I want is not worth months of renewed hatred from Horse over it.

  But I am grateful for the kindness he showed me tonight. I’m grateful he called me beautiful. I’m grateful that he saw me as more than just a piece of property that’s free for all the Sinners to use.

  It’s been so long since anyone saw me or treated me like anything other than that, I forgot how good it felt. And I’m grateful for the fire his interest woke in me. It reminded me that I’m still Stormi, still the strong, passionate woman I used to be. She’s hidden deep inside, but still as strong and unbroken as ever.

  * * *

  Ace

  I waited until the door closed behind her before picking up the trashcan she left behind and following her into the bar. She clean forgot to take it with her and there was definitely fear in her eyes when that other woman called her in. There was plenty of interest in her eyes too, before that, while we smoked our cigarettes, enough of it to make me sure she’s mine if I want her. I do.

  She’s not behind the counter when I return the trashcan, but I pass her on my way to the table where Horse and Piston are sitting alone. She acknowledges me with a glance, but then looks down right away and passes me like I’m just another stranger. I guess I am that.

  “I got you a beer,” Horse informs me as I join them at the table. “If that’s not cool, you can tell her to bring you whatever you want when she comes back.”

  There’s venom in his voice, especially when he said she, and with all I’ve already seen plus this, I decide right here and now that I don’t like Horse at all. I don’t need to get to know him any better to know that. My job here would be easier if I liked the guy at least a little, but then again, maybe not. They might all turn out to be snitches, which means none of them will live much longer.

  I tell him a beer’s fine, sit in an empty chair across from him then scan the room. The place is even more packed than it was before, the wall barely visible, because so many people are leaning against it. I count four guys in suits and ties among the leather cut wearing bikers. There’s also a bunch of younger, yuppie-types mingling with them too, mostly in khakis and polo shirts. Too many outsiders for my taste. And they all look like they’re having the time of their life instead of feeling out of place, which they should. Any one of these outsiders could be taking info back to the cops. It’s too soon to ask how and from where they know all these yuppies and who’s vouching for them, but I’m gonna have to find that out eventually.

  According to Ink, Griff was pretty tight with his girlfriend’s father who’s some big-shot construction company owner around these parts. So tight, the Sinners killed Ink’s father on his orders. That alone should be enough to get rid of them all and never mind first finding out, if they’re snitching too. Apart from the weeklong wondering if Ink is a snitch after he disappeared, the guy’s proven his worth to the MC many times over, and to me personally as well. I wouldn’t be sitting here today, if he hadn’t gotten involved in that fight I started one night with no hope of winning it on my own. I was drunk, I was pissed off, and a part of me wanted to lose the fight. But he was there and he prevented it, and after I sobered up I was grateful for that. I’d ride with him to get revenge for his father anytime, anywhere. But Cross has different plans, and he’s the boss.

  “You took your damn time,” Horse snaps at someone, and I turn back from scanning the room to see who.

  My new lady friend from the courtyard—Stormi—is standing at my side, holding a round tray with three beers on it, and she’s clearly the one Horse was addressing with his poisonous tone. There’s a story behind that, I can smell it, and I should probably not get in the middle of it. But I’ve never been the type of guy who does what he should over what he wants.

  “We’re pretty backed up at the bar,” she says, flashing him a storm-filled glare before turning her eyes back down to the tray, as she sets our beers on the table in front of us. I might as well be a piece of furniture for all the special notice she gives me.

  “Watch your mouth,” Horse warns her and she flashes him another angry glare. The guy’s face in growing dark red again. It’s the exact same shade as his father’s was while he chewed him out earlier.

  “I work as fast as I can,” she mutters and averts her eyes again.

  Their exchange makes no sense to me. On the one hand, she’s all feisty and talking back to him, but she’s acting like she’s fucking petrified of him at the same time. What the fuck is this all about?

  “I think you should quit waitressing. You’re no fucking good at it,” he hisses at her, grabbing her upper arm so hard her skin turns white around his fingers. He yanks her sideways and points at a group of polo-shirt-wearing yuppies by the jukebox. “Go make friends with them instead. And I mean very good friends.”

  Her face turns dull and lifeless as she looks where he’s pointing, all spark and emotion gone from it. It’s like she turned to stone right before my eyes.

  “Lisa and Amy are already with them,” she says, and it’s true, two other club girls are already keeping the yuppies company. That’s probably already more than those losers can handle.

  Horse jumps to his feet and upsets the bottles on the table, one of which narrowly misses my leg as it crashes to the ground.

  “What the fuck, man?” me and Piston say at pretty much the same time as we get up too.

  But he’s paying us no mind. Instead he’s now beet red in the face and towering over Stormi, who I think is trying to look at him defiantly, but is failing miserably.

  “Are you fucking disobeying me?” he asks harshly. “Is that what’s happening here?”

  She manages to fix him with an angry glare, but she’s not saying a damn thing and her bottom lip is shaking. I see in his eyes that he’s about to strike her a split second before he raises his arm to backhand her across the face.

  I shouldn’t get involved. I should let this play out. It’s none of my business how they treat their women here. Not my place to teach them manners.

  I grab Horse’s arm before he can land
the blow. Stormi’s eyes fix on me and there’s a mixture of gratefulness, surprise, shock and terror in her eyes. It’s better than the stony resignation.

  “What are you doing?” Horse snaps at me, and I’m glad Stormi’s gaze softened me up, because otherwise I’d show Horse just how much I dislike him right now.

  I shrug, but don’t loosen my grip on his arm. “I was thinking of claiming this one for myself tonight, and I kinda like her face. I’d prefer it stayed pretty.”

  I grin at him. The tension goes out of his arm, so I release him. He’s still glaring though, still red in the face, and I sincerely hope he doesn’t come against me for this slight, though a part of me would like nothing better than to show him I’m the top dog where the two of us are concerned.

  “Fine, you’re welcome to her,” he says and shoves her in my direction. She catches her balance by grabbing my arm, and I get the strongest deja-vu sensation from her touch. For the split second it lasts, I feel like we’ve known each other forever. “But don’t let that pretty face of hers fool you. She’s all snake underneath.”

  She smiles at me with her back turned to Horse, and I know he’s lying, just the radiance of her smile tells me that.

  “You ready?” I ask her and she nods.

  She takes my hand and leads me across the bar and back out to the lot. She doesn’t say anything, walks fast, doesn’t look back at me, and I’m not sure how to read that. I can’t say the same about the last look Horse gave me. He hated me when I stopped him hitting her. Hated me for claiming her.

  But that’s a problem for another day.

  We enter the rectangular clubhouse, which is just a long hallway with doors on either side. The floor creaks and the walls vibrate as I follow her into her bedroom. It’s a small room on the ground floor with a tiny window that overlooks the wall encircling the lot.

  There’s no way to change what I did to protect her from getting hit. Not that I would if I could. I’d prevent Horse from hitting her all over again if I got a do-over. And I’d claim her over all the other women in the bar any day of the week. She’s no snake, I’m pretty certain of that. She’s just a girl way down on her luck. But she could cost me the Sinners’ trust, and I’m very aware of that, despite how hard my dick is for her.