Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (22 page)

“What the hell is your problem, huh?” The anger boils under my skin, the heat looking for an outlet. “You didn’t marry me for love. You married me because I was ‘useful’ to you. What is it to you who I sleep with?”

He pushes up from his seat, stomping around the desk. “You want to know why I’m angry that you fucked him?”

“Please,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Enlighten me.”

I try to back away, but he’s faster and more agile than I am. His hand closes on my throat as he yells, “I’m angry at your lack of respect, Elena. No, I don’t love you. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you, to be honest. But none of that changes the fact that this”—he slams his free hand between my legs—“belongs to me.” Carlos’s breath fans my face as he leans in close, his teeth bared like the predator he is.

“Fuck you,” I spit out. “You’re nothing but a coward who hides behind his violence.”

“Really?” His hand on my pussy shoves hard, and my body hits the wall behind me. “I’m a coward, huh?”

“Nobody fucking likes you, so you force them to. You’re searching for gratification, for acceptance, but you know what?”

“Why don’t you fucking tell me?” he growls, his hand restricting my air.

I gag, and force the words. “You’ll never get it.”

The pain in my knee is nothing compared to what he does next. With his hands positioned how they are, he’s got the perfect hold to lift me—and he does. My feet leave the floor, and he heaves me sideways with a growl. I crash-land into the sharp edge of his timber-framed filing cabinet. The impact point stings with a quick burst, and needles of pain shoot through my back in all directions. I crumple in a heap, curling in on myself and letting the tears flow. Tears of frustration.

Of despair.

And of remorse.

Remorse for how fucking stupid I was to think I could fight this man, let alone reason with him.
So stupid.

“I think it’s time I reminded you that you have no ownership over your body anymore, Elena.” He snickers and leans in to shove me hard in the shoulder. “This is
my
toy.” Shove. “
I
get to play with it, not him.” Shove. “
I
fucking own you.”.

I feel filthy, disgusted by my own flesh. The urge to vomit rises, and I swallow loudly, closing my eyes against the tears that want to flow free.

“But first,” Carlos says, backing up a step. “A little something for you to keep your mind off what I’m about to do.” He strides back to his desk and hesitates. “You want to know where your mama is?” he yells, his voice rebounding at me off every wall.

I manage to nod as I tentatively feel out the still-smarting area on my back. My ‘yes’ comes out as a warbled moan.

Carlos spins the laptop around after a few more taps and leans against the wall while I struggle to sit up and see.

“Here she is. Here’s
Mama.
”

I can’t move. I also can’t look away.
No.
The air in my lungs turns to lead, and my stomach switches places with my heart. “No . . .”

He grimaces, turning the image of her bloodied, disfigured, and very much dead body back toward himself. “That’s how they found her a month ago.”

A month?
He’s known this whole time? “You knew.” My voice is deep with my rage. A thick buzz builds in my limbs, the pain forgotten as my anger blinds me.

“Believe me, I’m not exactly happy, either.” He slams the lid of the computer closed. “It puts a rather large hole in my plans.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” Tears streak down my face. “Why keep it a secret?” What did he have to gain by holding back what he’d found?

“I thought I could fix things,” he growls, turning a stapler in circles where it sits on his desk. “I thought she may have left something behind, told somebody else—”

I eye the potential weapon under his hand and ask, “What do you mean? Tell them what?”

He stills the stapler under his palm, and runs the tip of his finger along its spine. “Do you know why your grandfather was killed?”

“They thought he was stealing. None of it was true though, just lies, and rumors.”

“They weren’t lies, Elena.”

“Pardon?”

“Your grandfather stole over a million pesos from his employer; not a lot of money to them, sure, but they didn’t need him fattening his pockets at their expense.”

“No, that’s wrong.” I shake my head. “Everything he had, he earned.”

“He didn’t.” Carlos lifts his gaze to mine. “He stole, got caught, and paid the price.”

I lean back where I sit on the floor and slump against the filing cabinet. “Even if it were true, it still doesn’t explain your interest in us.” A tremendous ache grows in my chest before I can whisper the next words. “In
me
.” There is no ‘us’ anymore. Mama’s gone. I’m alone.

Carlos cocks his head to the side, a bemused expression on his face as I duck my head to my knees and silently sob. He waits until I quiet, giving me time to pull myself together before he continues talking.

“I’m interested in the money, Elena. You’re a means to an end.”

“But we—
I
don’t have it. Grandpapa gave what he had to his siblings when he died.”

“You really don’t know much about your family, do you?” Carlos rounds his desk again to perch on the front corner, one leg raised off the floor. “He hid the money. Your great aunts and uncles got a share of twenty thousand pesos, Elena. Chump change. He hid over a million, and your mama knew where.”

He’s lying—there’s no other plausible truth. If Mama knew about that kind of money, then no way would she have let us struggle like we did.

“You’re lying.”

“Afraid not.”

Why would he go to the trouble of trapping me into marriage, just to bring Mama to the states over some fabled stash? He could have flown to her directly if he wanted to ask where the money is. “Why me? Why go through all of this if you could have just asked Mama yourself?”

“I needed her to come to me. You’re the way to get her here.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “
Were
the way to get her here.”

“You could have flown her in on a visitor visa,” I say leaning forward. “She could have come as a tourist. You didn’t need
me
.”

He chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If only. It would have saved so much time.”

“Why then? Why didn’t you just go to her in Cuba?” Was there really any better option for her? There or here—clearly both scenarios end up with her murdered.
Why didn’t I try harder to get her over earlier?
I should have forced Papa to help while he was alive. I should have done more . . .

“I’m wanted.” Carlos answers my previous question. “I try to fly to Cuba, I get arrested.”

“You married me, fucking blackmailed me into it, just to get my Mama here so you could force her to reveal some imaginary stash of money?” I scowl at the asshole, sitting there, smirking, and looking like a fucking pig in mud.
He’s enjoying this—enjoying my pain and anger.
“You’re pathetic.”

“Am I?” He pushes to his feet and takes a step toward me. Hands to his knees, he lowers himself to my level and and narrows his gaze. “How?”

“Because you stoop so low as to fucking steal from a thief.” I fight back my apprehension seeing the storm brew in his eyes.
He deserves to feel as bad as I do.
“You’re lazy, and a fraud. You’re a sad, lonely little man hiding behind a fucking mask.”

He lunges away, turning for his desk and, what I can only assume to be, his gun. Injured knee and aching back aside, I stand and reach for anything I can physically lift within close radius of me. One by one, I hurl them at him, creating a distraction and releasing my anger at the same time: a lamp, a bookend, a ring-binder, and two full bottles of whiskey. One by one they crash around him, knocking items from his desk and littering the floor as he holds his arms up in defense while he makes his way to me.

I’m boxed in where I stand—no way out.

I don’t care.

He lied. He used me for some cockamamie scheme to get easy money, and in turn fooled me into thinking he’d actually protect Mama.
As if that was ever going to happen.
More fool me
for believing him. I knew he didn’t give two shits about me, but I was stupid and naïve enough to think he would really help Mama.

Never again.

Papa’s promise of college, Carlos’s promise of bringing Mama to America—I’ve allowed myself to be fooled by selfish and heartless men one too many times. I won’t let it happen again. I can’t.

My arms ache, my stomach tight with grief, but I continue to throw things his way until he breaks through my swing and grips my head on both sides by my hair. I stare into his soulless eyes and realize I was wrong about him. This man doesn’t want acceptance; he wants
reverence
. He wants people to fear him, bow at his feet as he passes. He wants to make a name for himself that will last long after he’s gone.

He’s seeking immortality.

And he was going to use me to help achieve that.

“
El Diablo,
” I whisper as he whips my head to the left and crashes it down on the filing cabinet.

TWENTY-NINE

King

God, I miss her. Everything just feels so . . . pointless now. Tomorrow we set off on the second of the agreed three runs for Carlos, so tonight the brothers are having a pre-celebratory warm-up.

If only they knew we’re nowhere near the end of this.

But they don’t, and I’m hardly going to say anything. So they drink. And they fuck. And they drink while fucking. But it’s not my scene, not tonight, not without her.

I can’t decide if the four hours was not enough time together, or too much. Either way, it hurts. She’s back there with
him.
She didn’t have much choice, and I don’t carry enough weight to do a damn thing about it on my own.

I’ve never felt less of a man.

I should be able to help her, to get her out, to
keep
her. But instead, here I am, sitting on the sidelines like a fucking child. There’s too much at stake to go renegade, though. If I went after her now, I’d risk her life, my position with the club, and our future.

I might not like it, but this work we’ve been doing for Carlos is what’s paying for the land at Mom and Dad’s. Cold, hard cash for shit that leaves me questioning when it was I decided my morals should be as filthy as the rag I use to clean the engine on the bike. Apex is a good guy that way at least; he pays each brother who participates in these jobs well, saving the largest chunk for the club kitty. Or so he says. Who would really know? Looking at the way things haven’t changed much around here, I wonder if his pockets have been getting a little heavier. Makes me more determined to do as Dad said and be the change.

They’re good people, the Fallen Aces—most of them regular people with regular jobs outside of the club: grocers, bankers, plumbers, and painters. These people deserve better than the stigma they get. They deserve somewhere to come and relax, unwind, and forget their troubles—not be confronted with more. They’re all upstanding citizens . . . until they put on the patch. Then people look at them differently, and with one slip of leather, they lose four notches on the social ladder.

Once again, it’s all about appearances. Everything in life boils down to appearances.

I slip off the barstool I’d been sitting on and drag my gaze across the room in search of Judas. Our Forth Worth president is in second-in-charge of this run. The details I got from Apex were sketchy, and I can’t help but feel he was being an asshole on purpose just to fuck with me. I like to be prepared, and he knows that.

The music’s shifted from rock to some sort of dance track with a heavy beat. I don’t mind the stuff, but I know fuck-all about it. Couldn’t tell you the difference between house, trance, and whatever the fuck the rest is called if you paid me to. The resonance of the bass shakes me to the bone as I weave through the drinking, arguing, and fucking people to find Judas.

Pushing past a group to head toward the garage, I come face to face with his son, Hooch, caging some blonde thing against the wall.

“You seen your old man around?”

Hooch pins the woman in place by a hand to the base of her throat, and turns his head to face me. “Yeah. He just went out to the garage to look at some mods on Apex’s bike.”

“Thanks, brother.” I give him a slap on the shoulder as I walk past. “Leave you to it, huh?”

I don’t even need to make myself known before I step out. The door opens as I approach. Apex gives me a not-so-friendly fist to the shoulder as he passes by, leaving me with Judas, who’s busy pulling a disgusted face at Hooch. “Take that shit somewhere else, would you?” He thumbs out to the party in progress. “I know you ain’t the only one doin’ it, but I don’t want to see where my son sticks his fuckin’ dick.”

The blonde giggles as Hooch picks her up, tosses her into a fireman’s hold, and disappears toward the bedrooms.

“How can I help you, King?” Judas pinches his nose and sniffs hard. “Assume you’re after me, by the way you’re just standin’ there, gawkin’.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I was wonderin’ if you could go over tomorrow with me again.” He tips his head and studies me. “Just want to be sure not to fuck up, is all.”

“Sure.” He nods towards Apex’s office. “We’ll use that, eh? Probably the only room in the place without anyone in it already.”

He wouldn’t be half wrong there. My phone vibrates in my pocket as he walks ahead, and I steal a glance at it.

He knows about us. I’ll call later.

A flash of panic has my skin on fire, my feet rooted to the spot while I consider if I should turn back to the garage and just go.

“You coming?” Judas calls from near Apex’s office door.

“Yeah.” No sense in rushing at the problem like a bull at a gate. If she were hurt, she would have said. She can’t feel too threatened if she said she’d call later.
Calm your shit, King.

I pull up the wooden school chair beside Apex’s desk and give it grief as I lower my heavy frame onto it. I might have fit on one of these ten years ago, but the amount of red meat I consume and my healthy relationship with manual labor has somewhat increased my size.

“Before we start,” Judas announces, rounding the scratched desk to search out another drink from the stack of bottles in the drawer, “I have something to talk to you about as well.”

“Yeah?”

“Apex.”

“What about him?” I feel like the kid in between divorced parents. Talking about my president, in his office, to another president of our club feels wrong on way too many levels. For all I know this could be a set up, a trap to catch me out.

“He looking after you boys good?”

Leaning back on the seat, I cross my right ankle to my left knee. “I’m not sure I follow what you’re gettin’ at.”
Hope he doesn’t have this damn room wired for sound.
Judas grabs a half-drunk bottle of Jack and dusts the inside of a glass with his finger. “Heard a few things.”

“Like what?”

The amber liquid hits the bottom of the tumbler with a splash, sending droplets over the top of the desk. “That he’s been makin’ some questionable choices of late.” He mops up the spills with the sleeve of his shirt.

“With all due respect, even if I had anything to say, you’re askin’ the wrong man. I’ve only just got my patch. I’m not privy to that kind of business yet.”

“Yet.” He echoes my last word as he swirls his drink. “What do you think those boys would say if I asked another officer? Twig? Gunner? Jack?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“So you thought a man who’d just been patched would be a weaker target?” I can’t believe the audacity of this asshole. He’s certainly living up to his fucking name.

Judas swallows half the drink with a loud gulp and then chuckles. “Yeah, you’ve got me figured out.”

“You weren’t bein’ none too subtle about it,” I deadpan. “Can I ask what the concern is for you if Apex is doin’ his job right or not?” I swing the accusations of treachery back his way—see how he likes it.

Judas leans on the desk, both elbows taking his weight as he hangs his head between his shoulders, his eyes locked to mine. “Everything in life is relative, King—especially so between our chapters. He’s in control of the mother branch of the Aces, and what he decides trickles down to the rest of us.” He downs the last of his drink and sets about pouring another. “There’s at least two men at that table of yours better equipped to run the place than Apex. Two men who wouldn’t line us up to become fuckin’ drug mules.”

He’s got to be fucked out of his tree. Why the hell is he spouting this shit to me? “I could get done for treason just for fuckin’ listening to you.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I know. But there’s a reason I’m talkin’ to you, King. Apart from the fact I fuckin’ well know for sure you’re thinkin’ the same way.”

“What makes you say that?”

He chuckles, and leans back to take a slow sip of his drink. “Apex hasn’t told you fuck all about tomorrow, right?”

I nod.

“He’s doing it on purpose, which shows he doesn’t trust you. Yet here you are, patched in, and all the other brothers can do is talk about how the sun shines out your ass.”

I snort at his comment. If they do it’s the first I’ve heard about it.

“You know what that tells me?” Judas downs the last of his whiskey. “Tells me that you do your job well, and that you’re so fuckin’ squeaky clean that if I squeezed you hard enough you’d shit bars of Sunlight.”

I laugh, shaking my head.

“I’m dead fuckin’ serious, King. You’re a man of the club, and the only reason Apex would have to feel put out by that is because he ain’t.”

The smile fades from my face. He’s got it fucking nailed.

“What’s the point to this?” I ask. “What are you offerin’?”

“A place at
my
table.”

Refusal sits on the tip of my tongue. He’s trying to poach me from Lincoln, effectively shitting in his own backyard. He’s echoed the very thing I’ve talked to Dad about these past weeks. I’m a man of the club—I’d be good for the club. I’ve got ideas on what could be done to make our chapter better, safer, and more welcoming for new members. A
family
place. Like it was supposed to be when the founding members got together for their first ride.

Maybe being the change isn’t such a pipedream after all? I certainly seem to have the backing of some pretty influential members: Twig, and now Judas.

“I’ll think on it.” Still no point in refusing him; I may as well keep him on side.

He nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. Now about tomorrow—take what ammo you think you’ll need, and then double it.”