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Ace
I down a mouthful of my drink and glance around the club room. There are people everywhere who’ve come to support Axel, even though it was his own damn fault he got arrested. I told the kid a hundred times you don’t want to be messing with a cop’s daughter, but of course he didn’t listen, claiming he was in love with the chick.
Daddy found out one of our brothers was banging his sweet little angel and went psycho, actually planting drugs on the kid. Not that he needed to—Axel had plenty of his own. So now he’s sitting in county, because he can’t afford the hundred-grand bail that’s been put on his head.
He doesn’t need to worry, though, because we’ve got his back. The patch he wears makes sure of it, no matter how fucking stupid he is.
“Hey, Ace, long time, huh?”
I spin my stool around and see Marx standing a few feet away from me, apprehensive, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Awkwardly shifting his weight around, like he doesn’t know how I’m going to react to seeing him. His stance indicates he’s ready to split at the first sign of trouble. I stand up, at which he takes a step back. Before he has a chance to bolt, I rush him and throw my arms around his small frame. He breaths a sigh of relief, reciprocating the gesture, pounding my back with his fist.
“Marx, holy shit, I didn’t expect to see you here, man. How’ve you been?” I ask, releasing my grip and ushering him to the stool next to mine.
“Yeah, good. You know how it is. Trying to stay out of trouble. Cruz asked us to come, so we did, you know? It’s good to see you.”
My jaw tenses at the mention of Cruz’s name.
Long before I put on this patch, well before I was Ace and he was Cruz, at a time when we were just Nikolas and Ryder—we were best friends. Nik was my brother long before we had bikes—shit, before we had pubes. Our dads, founding members of the Devils MC, didn’t give us a choice when we hit eighteen, and patched us in immediately. I can’t prove it, but when my pops died, in my gut I knew Cruz had something to do with it. Needless to say, when he was promoted to president, I was fucking pissed. Everybody knew it, probably because I didn’t try to hide it, which caused some riffs in the brotherhood, to the point that I almost left.
But this is my life. My family. It’s the only life I’d ever known.
r /> “Your dad here?” I ask casually, glancing around for Dom, Cruz and Marx’s Dad. Spotting him in the corner, surrounded by some old-timers, I nod in respect, and he follows suit.
“Yeah, you know he wouldn’t miss this.”
I did know that. Not even being paralyzed from the waist down could stop Dom from being involved in the club. I watch him laughing with a few of the older members, amazed at how he can still command attention so easily. Dom should have been president. It was his spot to take after my pops died. But the bylaws state if you can’t ride, you can’t lead.
A pretty young brunette strolls up to him, handing him a drink. She’s a stunner, with her long, wavy hair and deep green eyes. She looks up, her gaze meeting mine for a second, and she smiles, blushes, then looks away. Everything about her seems so familiar, yet I can’t place her for the life of me. She’s definitely not a club rat—too damn pretty.
“You good, Daddy?” I hear her ask Dom. He nods and goes back to his conversation.
Holy shit. That’s Annika.
“You mind not gawking at my sister with your mouth hanging open like that? Cruz sees you looking at her like that he’ll kill you,” Marx says and chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement, taking a swig of his beer.
I quickly shut my mouth, unsure of the feelings that are stirring. A few years away living with their mom and going to school really shows. She sure as shit isn’t little Annie anymore.
“Nah, I’m just shocked at how much she’s grown up. Last time I saw her was when she was this scrawny little teenager,” I mumble. “When did she get back?”
“Last week.” He shrugs. “I think she felt bad about not being around to help out with Dad. Speaking of which, I should probably get over there. Good to see you again, man.”
“Yeah, you, too. Stop by one night and we’ll catch up properly. You in town for a while?” I ask.
“A few days, but I’ll be back over the holidays. If I don’t see ya this visit I’ll catch you then.”
I watch him walk off, then turn my attention back to Annika. She’s watching Cruz as he jumps on a chair and calls for everyone’s attention. He starts his speech to thank everyone for coming. Annika whispers something to her dad and then walks over to the exit. It takes me all of five seconds to decide I’m going to follow her. The rolled joint behind my ear’s calling my name, anyway.
Scanning through the stragglers outside having their own sort of party, laughing and drinking, I kick the gravel along the ground, disappointed. Reaching into my pocket for a lighter, I park my ass on a tree stump and pull out my half-smoked joint, rolling it between my fingers. With a flick of the flame, the joint blazes to life. I take a long drag, inhaling deeply, and try to focus on the conversations going on around me to drown out the sound of Cruz’s voice inside.
I’m probably the only guy in the whole club who has no respect for Cruz, but I don’t give a shit. I go out of my way to piss him off because I can, because I know his dad won’t let him touch me. Shit, even if he tried, I’d lay his ass out.
When the cops showed up at the clubhouse the night Pops died, the whole club went into shock. He had just been there drinking with us a few hours earlier and ended up leaving with one of the club rats. We all had a few days or so to try to put the pieces together, and the only thing that made sense was it had to have been the Sinners, a rival MC. Every brother was called in from every charter. The plan of attack was clear, all of us having a job, well, except for me. Cruz wanted me to hang back, worried I was so hopped up with anger and grief that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself in action. I couldn’t argue with him; it was the truth. I would have shot the first damn person I saw.
A few of the girls stayed at the clubhouse that night with me—a few wives, some rats, and even a few kids. I drank myself stupid that evening, waking up in a pile of my own vomit. Carla, one of the wives, helped clean me up before the guys got back. But when everyone pulled into the lot, I was most shocked to find out that the problem wasn’t taken care of—Cruz let those fuckers walk away. It didn’t make sense. I tried to fight for my dad’s honor, but with Cruz taking the gavel until an official vote was done, there wasn’t anything I could do.
Then shit got real fishy. Cruz started acting funny, calling orders like he had a plan for the club long before Pops ate gravel. Two and two started adding up, and I knew, just fucking knew, that Cruz had something to do with his death. I looked for a while, trying to find out anything I could, but every end was a dead one. So, my logic, until I could prove that Cruz didn’t kill my old man, he was prime suspect number one until I wrote him off. Respect went out the window. He might be my president, but that fucker isn’t my brother.
“You going to share that with me?” a sweet voice purrs behind me.
