Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (21 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

King

I never want to have to do that again. Walking away from Elena was hard. I shouldn’t have looked back. I should have walked out of that fucking mall, ridden down the street and focused on the road ahead. But I’m a love-struck fool. A fucking idiot. And I looked.

And of course, there she was. Beautiful and fucking perfect, walking in the opposite direction toward the elevator for the car park with her round ass swaying side-to-side.

And now I’m fucked. Because I want the wife of a drug lord for myself.

And I’ll do anything I can to have her.

Twig’s waiting for me when I pull my bike into the garage, his arms crossed as he leans a hip on the worktable. Fingers works on an engine behind him, the bike up on stands as he gives a socket some elbow grease.

“You left in a hurry,” Twig comments as soon as I’ve killed the motor. He wanders closer, out of earshot of Fingers. “Ready to tell me why I’m trackin’ some woman in Cuba?”

I messaged Twig first after Elena told me about her mother because he’s about the only guy I can trust, and let’s face it—a year with the club hasn’t earned me a lot of contacts yet. He’s been keeping me updated on what he’s been able to find out so far, which doesn’t sound good.

“All in good time, brother.”

He grunts a laugh, jerking his head back as he does. “Beefy wants to see you when you get in. He’s out on the deck eatin’ a foot-long.”

When is the guy not eating?
I give Twig a slap on the arm as thanks and leave him pulling out two smokes, one for him and one for Fingers.

Callum tips his chin as I walk in, a beer in his hand while he leans against the wall and watches a game of pool. “Beefy’s lookin’ for you,” he hollers across the room.

“I know. Save me a beer, would you?” I carry on out the back and stop beside the obese officer. “Beefy.”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and holds it up to indicate I should wait. His jowls wobble as he chews, and with some decent effort, he swallows the mouthful and gives me a stern look. “King. How goes it? We need to talk.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes after we’re done, yeah?”

He pushes off the railing he’d been leaning on and leads me inside, all elbows and hips. The guy’s named Beefy for a reason, and it’s not for his love of a good burger—although that’s probably half of what’s contributed to his size. He leads me into the spare room beside Apex’s office and shuts the door behind me. I wait patiently while he performs the three-stage act that is him lowering his enormous size onto a chair.

“You know why I need to talk to you, right?” He’s puffed from just crossing the room.

“Think so, yeah.” It should be about what I overheard Apex saying, but there’s that one percent of me which panics that he knows where I’ve been the last half a day. I didn’t tell a soul about meeting up with Elena. And for good reason.

“We need to talk about what you heard Apex organizing.” He pauses for breath. “You need to forget it.”

And there’s the good reason right there. You can’t trust anybody to do what’s right anymore. When I’m told to forget our president is making underhanded deals, how am I supposed to trust that my brothers won’t sell me out to Carlos if they know who I’m involved with?

Are we ‘involved?’
Maybe. Hardly.

“Can I ask why?”

“No.” Beefy braces a hand on one knee, looking as though he’s mentally preparing himself for the task of standing. I seriously have respect for the guy who built his bike—it can probably withstand a nuclear war if it can survive carrying Beefy around for as long as it has. “If I hear anything else about those deals goin’ around that hasn’t come from myself or Apex, it’s on you.”

“Understood.”

Be the change.
Dad’s voice echoes in my head as I watch Beefy leave the room. I hang behind, shake out a cigarette, and ponder where to from here while I suck it back to the filter in long, unfulfilled drags. Can I still make it through the ranks if this is how deep the dishonesty runs? Twig seems on side still. Who else can I count on, though? How deep does this secret society within our walls go? Is it even restricted to our chapter, or are other officers in on this thing Apex has going with Carlos?

On the flipside, what if more work turns out to be a good thing for our club? More money means more options, a bigger and better clubhouse, and more attraction for new members. Could Apex be doing us a solid by securing more cash? I want to say yes, but my gut’s going with no.

Nothing’s simple and uncomplicated with men like Carlos. The whole arrangement is bound to come back and bite us in the ass, but when? And how?

Once the dust settles, who’s going to be left wearing the crown?

I stub out the cigarette and pull my phone out. After punching a quick
miss you
—yeah, I know—to Elena, I dial up Mom and lift the phone to my ear.

“It’s only been a few hours,” she teases. “How’s my boy?”

“Well enough. Those sections—how much you sellin’ them for?”

“Hadn’t settled on that yet. The next available appraiser can’t get here until next week.” She hesitates, and I catch the clanging of dishes in the background. I’ve probably caught her in the after-dinner routine. “Why are you asking?”

“Thought I’d buy one.”

I’m met with a long silence.

“Is there a plot marked out next to the fishin’ pond?”

“There is.”

“Mark it for me, yeah?”

She sighs. “Lloyd. Are you sure?”

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Spending those few precious hours with Elena gave me time to think. While she talked beside me, I plotted out our future. “That spot’s special to me—you know that.” It’s where Garret and I used to play until the sun had long dipped below the horizon and Mom would yell for us from the dirt track.

“I know,” she says quietly. “It would be nice to know it would be looked after. You know how it is—somebody new comes in and tears out the trees. They fill in the pond and have a tennis court or something just as ridiculous.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll let your father know.” She huffs before continuing. “How can you afford it, honey?”

“Don’t ask me questions you won’t like the answer to, Mom.”

“I thought as much. Your father wants a word.”

She muffles the phone and the warble of their voices fills the line before Dad cuts in. “Hey. How’s the great dictatorship coming along?”

“Funny. It’s meant to be a democracy, and that’s all you’ll get out of me.”

“I forget it’s all Agent 99 and Chaos with you lot.” He chuckles. “Your mother says you want the west section.”

“That’s right.”

“Do we need to launder the cash before we take it to the bank?”

“Fuck, Dad.” I run a hand over my face. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Good. Now make sure you stop by again next week and see your mother. You’ve started something here, and I can’t be bothered with the grief if you leave it another few months before you show up.” He complains as Mom probably socks him one.

“I know. I’ll make sure I come over more often.”

I end the call with Dad and pull out another cigarette. I barely had any when I was with Elena, but being here is doing jack-shit to calm my mood. Using the heel of my boot, I drag over the chair Beefy was on and prop my feet up, leaning into the back of mine.

Elections are up in three years. All positions will be vacated and the floor will be open to nominations and votes. In a perfect world, if this stint of Apex’s screws us over, he’ll be not only out of an officer’s role, but he’ll be out the door without his patch. Keep my nose clean and I should be a shoe in.

But this ain’t a perfect world, and people aren’t as straightforward as they should be. If half the officers are clearly on side with him, how many members will also back him up in a fight? How many will vote him back in against their better judgment?

In a world where loyalty comes before honor, I don’t think I’ll ever really know until it happens.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Elena

“How was your shopping?” Carlos meets me at the door as Sully retrieves my bags from the back of the Escalade. With his hands in his slacks pockets, he rocks on his heels, grinning down at me as I climb the steps to his level.
Game face on, Elena.

“Relaxing.” I smile, as I come to a stop on the top step.

He hits me so hard that I stumble back and miss my footing. Only by the grace of Sully’s quick moves do I avoid cracking my head open on the bottom step.

“Relaxing, huh?” Carlos marches down the steps, standing over me and grabbing hold of my hair to yank me forward, out of Sully’s arms.

Thousands of needles prick at my scalp. I scream at the pain and grapple to get his hands off me.

“Steady on, boss,” Sully speaks up from behind me.

Huh?

“Stay out of it,” Carlos growls at the big guy. He slides his hand from my hair to the back of my neck, and wraps his fingers either side of my throat. “I have something to show you, my
love
.” He spits the last word at me through gritted teeth and shoves me forward, steering me into the house by my neck.

I stumble over the threshold, my flip-flops slapping the marble floor as he marches me across to his office. My elbow catches the edge of the chair he shoves me roughly into, and I rub to appease the sting.

“What is this about?” Yep, I’m playing dumb.
Like that’s going to help now.

“What is it about?” He laughs, picking up a large silver handgun from the desk. The clip drops into his hand and he shoves the bullets in with the same tenacity as his words. “You tell me. Does a married woman fuck around?” He hesitates long enough to spin his laptop around, showing me an array of pictures of King and I on his bike, King at the office for the cabins, of me kissing him goodbye.

I’m so stupid. Did I really think I could get away with it?

“You said you wouldn’t be watching me,” I snap. “You fucking lied.”

“Of course I did,” he roars. “But you didn’t answer my question—does a married woman fuck around?” He slams the full clip back in the gun.

“No,” I whisper.

“Speak up!”

“No.” I lift my chin to him. If he wants a fight, he’ll get a fight.

Carlos palms the loaded gun, switching it between hands like a magician would a pack of cards. “Should a married woman be wearing her ring at all times?” He points to my barren finger with the gun.

Damn.
How could I have forgotten?
“Yes.”

“Yes, she should,” he yells, throwing his arms wide. “So where the fuck is it, Elena?”

“I left it at the cabin,” I murmur.

“I can’t hear you,” Carlos sing-songs, one hand cupped to his ear.

“I said I left it at the cabin.”

He waggles the handgun toward the door. “So go and get it.”

I hesitate. It’s a trick, surely.

“Now!”

I leap to my feet and head for the door. I need to find Sully so he can drive me back to the—

“Elena?”

“Yes?” I spin around, my heart pounding against the restriction of my ribcage.

“I told you the only way you’d ever leave me was with a bullet to the back of your head, and I meant it.
This
was your test of loyalty, and you failed.” He lifts the gun and for a fleeting moment I feel nothing, only peace with what’s to come. It could never end any other way.

He frowns, looking away briefly before reopening his eyes and staring straight at me. The crack of the pistol ricochets off every wall, the fire in my flesh immediate. Yelling out, I look down at my leg, at the tear above my knee.

“Next time,” Carlos shouts, tossing the gun on to the desk behind him, “It’ll be your head exactly as I promised, and I won’t fucking miss.”

***

“He could have done a lot worse,” Maria says, squeezing my hand.

I nod, watching the doctor pack up her supplies. Carlos left me sitting in the foyer with blood running from the chasm he’d put in my leg for five agonizing minutes before he let anybody know I needed help. When you have a path torn out of your flesh, five minutes is a long fucking time. He’d watched me from his desk as the printer whirred behind him, collected the freshly inked pages, and then walked out to casually toss an array of the photos of King around me. The asshole hummed a tune as he did it, adjusting the odd sheet here and there so I was left the center of one twisted flower-shaped photo mosaic.

“It’s still so sore.”

“
Sí.
The medicine takes a little while to work, remember?”

I close my eyes and let my head drop onto the back of the chair in my bedroom. Maria had tried to get me to lie down on the bed, but it didn’t feel right being in such a relaxed position.

A few quiet moments pass with Maria fidgeting beside me. She straightens the corners of the bed sheets, tucks my shoes away in the walk-in, and generally does anything she can to keep her hands busy.

The doctor gives me a run-down of aftercare, and then leaves a bottle of painkillers on the bedside. She checks the dressing on my wound and then with a sigh, pats me on the arm. “I’m not here to tell you how to suck eggs, but I’ve seen him deal out a lot worse. This really was just a warning. I’d take heed if I were you and change my behavior so he doesn’t get angry again, otherwise next time I’ll be returning to zip up a body bag.”

“Duly noted,” I say, my eyes still closed.

Her neatly pressed clothes make a swishy sound as she moves, and from it I can track her leaving the room without having to crack an eye.

“
Señora.
”

I open my eyes begrudgingly at Maria’s urgent tone. “What is it?”

“I saved this when everybody was distracted.” She reaches into the pocket of her pinafore and pulls out my phone.

My self-pity-induced fatigue vanishes. With a great deal of effort, I push myself up straighter in the chair and reach out for it. “Oh my God, Maria . . .”

She perches herself on the arm of the chair and points to the screen with a smug smile. “You have a message.”

I swipe the phone open and read.

Miss you.

Maria watches me with barely restrained excitement. Her lips are wide with a big toothy grin as she nods. “You’ll reply, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

She stays balanced beside me and watches the screen as I type out my response.

He knows about us. I’ll call later.

Blacking the screen, I stuff the phone down the side of my seat cushion.

“Call him now,” Maria urges.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to be mid-call if Carlos decides to come up and rub this in my face.” I gesture to the wide bandage wrapped over my knee. It’s really only there as a precaution, to keep the area clean while the glue holding the split together sets. The wound wasn’t quite bad enough for real stitches, apparently. Still didn’t stop it bleeding like a motherfucker.

“If you need anything . . .”

“I’ll let you know.” I place my hand over Maria’s and squeeze.

She’s my only slip of sanity in this madhouse. We’ve grown close over such a short time and I know if I ever left, I’d be doing everything I could to have her come too. I’ve not had many friends in life, and one as genuine as her I’d like to keep.

She collects an empty glass and the blood-covered towel we used until the doctor arrived, and leaves, pulling my bedroom door to behind her. From where I sit most of the front lawns are visible and I while away the next however long watching the sway of the tree branches in the gentle wind. For open green spaces, I haven’t seen a lot of wildlife. I haven’t seen a lot of
anything
living to be more precise.

But I guess that’s what you get when you’re the kind of person who has a habit of shooting your wife.

My eyes drift closed and I slip in and out of a semi-slumber, thinking of Carlos’s first wife and what she may have been like. Was she disappointed that her son turned out like his father? Did she even know that he had before she died? I don’t know how old their boy was when Carlos killed her.

My thoughts drift on haphazard segues from one thing to another, thin links bringing each random idea or image together with the next. As always, my dream-like state brings me to Mama, and the horrific images that my subconscious conjures up snap me wide awake.

A sheen of sweat covers my flesh, and I rub my arms on the sides of the chair to try and rid myself of the clammy sensation. I look across at the window as I do and realize I’ve lost more time than it feels, given the sky is now blacker than a coalmine. Pushing my hand down between the cushions, I snatch up my phone and clutch it in my fist as I lift my stiff body from the seat. My bladder’s fit to burst. I hobble to the bathroom, and after finishing what I’m in there for, try to call King.

His phone rings out, and I disconnect, setting my cell down on the counter to check out the bruising on my cheek from where Carlos hit me on the steps.

This is ridiculous. I’m creating so much work for them because the man who knows where she is and
how
she is won’t say anything out of spite. I hide the phone for later at the bottom of the basket of towels and stretch my leg out, testing my knee. The pain’s bearable when I stand still, but movement has fire surrounding the site, making it feel as though my thigh is hot and twice the size.

I sigh and fidget with a few wayward strands of my hair. If I want an answer about Mama, I need to confront him—I need to ask Carlos. The notion he’d tell me anything after shooting me for being unfaithful is outright ludicrous, but I have to try.

Unfaithful.
It’s hardly cheating when your marriage is nothing but a sham.

Twelve whole minutes it takes me to get downstairs. Walking is one thing; I’m not too bad once I get into the rhythm of my limp. But the stairs? I end up having to do a hop kind of thing sideways to get down each step without applying too much pressure to my bad leg. When I finally reach the bottom, I realize that Carlos has been watching me through his open office door for the last half.

“Entertaining?” I ask, hobbling over.

“Oh, my love. I’m going to get great satisfaction out of watching you struggle over the next few weeks.”

Asshole.
I limp across to the chair that sits facing his desk and lean my hands on the back to take my weight. Sitting, being comfortable in general around him, would feel so wrong.

“What do you want?” He gathers up something I’m not quick enough to see, and stuffs it in the top drawer.

“Where’s Mama?”

“Not this again.” He sighs and places his head in both hands, elbows on the table. His fingers push through the gray lengths in an orderly pattern.
Index finger, middle finger, ring finger, middle finger . . .

“If you refuse to tell me, I swear that I will find a way to take you down.’”

He arches a brow and says nothing, reclining in his leather office chair.

“We had a deal—I marry you, you help Mama. I’ve upheld my end. Now it’s your turn.”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

I narrow my eyes on him.
Is he fucking kidding?
“Do you see my mother anywhere around here?”

“Things are . . . complicated. That’s all you need to know.”

Bullshit it’s all I need to know. He’s denying me the basic right to information. “She’s my blood,” I say, thumping a closed fist to my chest. “And you know, don’t you. You know where she is.”

Carlos shrugs.

“Tell me!”

“Well, isn’t this a nice show of bravery.” He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat before erupting into a full-on laugh. “Let’s get something straight: I owe you nothing. We never made a deal, Elena.”

“We had a verbal contract.”

“Prove it.” He leans forward, pressing his fingers together against his mouth.

So not going how I’d planned.

“Where. Is. She?”

The chuckle starts low in his throat, rumbling as he turns away from me and lifts the lid on his laptop. “You want to know? Fuck it. Let’s show you.” He taps at the keys, frowning. “Let me see . . .”

I wait with bated breath.
What has he been hiding from me?

“Have you been to Colombia before?” he asks, out of the blue.

“No.” I frown, hating the fact that when he’s so relaxed he doesn’t actually look half bad. His eyes are a piercing blue, contrasting with his gray hair and goatee to give him an almost icy feel.
So fitting.

“It really is lovely. We should make sure to tour the jungle area one day. So lush, so green. It’s such a paradise.”

“Mama?” I shift on my feet, the ache in my knee spreading.

“You really should sit down, take the pressure off.”

“I wouldn’t have a problem if you hadn’t shot me.”

His eyes storm, turning navy as he looks up from the screen. “I wouldn’t have shot you if you’d kept your fucking legs closed.”