Ace (Syns of Desert Angels MC Book 1) Page 5

  I pull up to the garage and slowly back my bike into my slot. Looking over, I see someone brought Tank and Jolk’s bikes to the garage.

  Yelling erupts from the clubhouse as I walk in. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

  “Fuckin’ Chino’s, man. Should see the other guy. Pigs?” I grab a beer.

  “Did our duty as good citizens and answered their questions to the fullest of our abilities. We actually don’t know what happened, for once,” Brass mocks from behind his beer. “They’ll be back. More worried about that right now,” he nodded towards the rack against the wall.

  We weren’t trusted enough to dress ourselves on our own. So much to the point that Syn felt it was necessary to send us attire through a courier that showed up at the gates, demanding entry to deliver the suits; ranging in size, but all one color - black.

  We all gathered at the clubhouse, talking shit about how Syn can go fuck themselves for sending this bullshit to us.

  We debated setting the rack on fire and sending the ashes back, but we aren’t starting a war with a fucking criminal enterprise.

  Plucking the envelope attached to the front of the rack, I rip it open and skim the contents.

  The Board of Overseers

  request your presence at

  The Inauguration

  in honor of

  Brooke Wendell

  The Rogers Estate

  Saturday, the Second of December

  Two Thousand and Seventeen

  Eight O’clock

  Monochromatic Black Required

  National Dress

  The Rogers’ Estate caught my attention. I remember Mila and Milo explaining the inauguration. How it’s meant to welcome new members into the fold of their “empire”. Mila spoke of the Syndicate branding with reverence even though she was adamant she never wanted to be one of them. I wasn’t sure what the brand was because I never saw one on her mom or dad.

  “Monochromatic, guys,” I hold the paper to show them.

  “Those bitches got mono?” Rook hollers from across the room. Laughter fills the clubhouse.

  “Dumbass,” Brass snorts, sipping on his beer at the bar. “Means you can wear only one color.”

  “Enough,” Bodi calls our attention to him. “Gibbs, Ace, Brass, Dice and Rook - you guys are with me tonight. Behave. Especially you, Rook,” he levels a finger at him. Rook throws his hands up in a questioning gesture.

  “Pick a fuckin’ suit. I don’t give a shit if it fits. Tonight, we follow their fuckin’ rules,” Bodi yanks a random bag off the rack and the rest of us follow.

  I hang the bag up in my closet in my room and start to undress when the door crashes open.

  Should have locked it. Fuck.

  Asher struts in, her blonde hair dangling above her waist in the clothes she wore yesterday. Playing up every temptress attribute she thinks she has.

  “Baby,” she purred, sitting down on my bed, slowly spreading her legs to show me she’s not wearing underwear.

  “Goin’ somewhere?” Her breathy voice grates on my nerves.

  “Get out,” I seethe, pulling my shirt back over my head.

  “Why? We had fun the other night, didn’t we?” She stood, stalking towards me. “I was hoping for a repeat. No one ever made me squirt before. Oh my God, what happened to your face?” She stands before me, stroking a finger down my chest. I pull away from her when she reaches for my cheek.

  Grabbing her hand, I yank her to the door. “I’ve got shit to do,” I toss her ass out before slamming the door on her whining face.

  Deluded ass bitch has been a hang around for a few years now. No brother wants to lay claim on her.

  Shouldn't have fucked her.

  Locking the door, I strip and jump in the shower, practically boiling the scent of alcohol from my body as I think about tonight. Wondering if Mila will be there. It is at her dad’s estate.

  Seeing her triggered something in me. I felt guilty and compelled to explain, to fucking apologize for leaving her. For not being brave enough to see what my future would have looked like with her.

  For being a pussy.

  And she was having none of it.

  I shouldn’t have followed her or called her name. I should’ve just let her go and fucking forgot about it, but that’s precisely my problem. I never did let her go. She’s mine. And I was always a greedy bastard when it came to her.

  Ma always told me that if you love something to set it free, and if it comes back to you, it was meant to be. But what if what you love has come back, but not back to you? What do you do then? You fight for it.

  And that’s what I’m going to do.

  _____________________

  Mila

  Staring at myself in the full-length mirror, I nod my approval to Cara and Michelle. They gave me the perfect blend of dangerous and sexy for tonight. My makeup is complete with a dramatic smokey eye and burgundy lips. My hair, pulled up into a loose but formal top knot, and gives me goosebumps from the unknown feeling of not having my down.

  “Really, thank you,” I tell the ladies once more as they leave.

  Shutting the door, I stare at the dress before taking it from the hanger and slipping into it. It’s almost as if mom were here. If I close my eyes, I can imagine her beside me.

  Turning to face the mirror, I give myself a once over. The lace overlay of the sweetheart neckline in the front cups my breasts just the way I like with a low slit between them, and sleeves that stop just below my elbow. Turning around, I stare at the low plunging back-line, stopping just before my ass; exposing my favorite piece of body art. I quickly grab my heels and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Mila?” Maryse knocked on my door.

  “Come in,” I answer, sliding my foot into my heel.

  She opened the door slowly, gasping as she walked in. I look at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “You look every bit as much as your mother,” she said as she touched her lips. I smile and nod, silently accepting her gracious compliment as I switch my attention to my other foot.

  Clearing her throat, she sets a large black velvet box on my vanity. “Your father asked me to bring this to you after the ‘glam squad’ left. He said he wanted you to have it and to wear it tonight.”

  Finished clasping the strap of my heel, I stood and walked over to the box. Slowly running my fingers over the top. I knew what was inside, I just wasn’t ready for the weight that came with wearing it.

  “She’d want you to have it, you know,” Maryse placed a hand on my back in a comforting gesture. I nod and blink rapidly to hold back the tears.

  “I know,” I whisper.

  Rubbing small circles on my shoulder, Maryse turns me to her. “You deserve this. I think it will make your ensemble complete. You are very attractive. You remember my grandson, yes?”

  I throw my head back as I laugh. Even at the age of fifty-three, she’s trying to play matchmaker.

  “I’ve not heard about Mathias since we were kids.”

  Maryse crossed her arms with a smirk. “I can have him here in ten.”

  Chuckling, I pop the lid on the velvet box, revealing its contents. Carefully, I stroke my fingers over the black spikes of mom’s tiara. I smile lightly and gently lift it from the box, turning to Maryse, “Will you?” She accepts the tiara from me as I sit on my vanity chair, avoiding the mirror.

  Maryse unclasps the clip and carefully wraps the tiara around my top knot, slow and steadily, before clipping it together under the bun.

  Breathing in deeply, I drift my eyes to the mirror and stare at my reflection. Admiring my hair complete with mom’s tiara. Movement draws my attention to my brother leaning against the doorframe.

  Clad in his black tux, complete with a rich red tie. “You combed your beard,” I point out, turning to face him; taking in the full effect.

  “Got a fresh cut, too. Matches my shiners,” he slicks back his dark tresses, careful not to mess up the perfectly coiffed style.
I roll my eyes. My brother and his hair.

  “You, on the other hand,” he pushes off the door and comes to stand beside Maryse. “Look beautiful as ever. Swear mom picked this one just for you,” he gestures to the dress and tiara.

  Standing, I pull him into a hug. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “It needs something though. That ‘Mila’ touch. How about this?” He pulls a red rose that matches his tie from his back.

  I smile at my brother. “A rose?”

  “We’re twins. We have to match,” he shrugs, moving to pin the rose to my dress.

  “You two are adorable. Go. Go have fun,” Maryse shoos us towards the door. “It’s going to start soon, so you should go.”

  “Let’s go kick some ass,” Milo offers me his arm.

  “One second,” I hold up a finger as I walk into the bathroom. Quickly grabbing my thigh strap that holds my gun from the cabinet, I lace up and cover it with my dress.

  Returning, Milo offers me his arm again. “Thank you, Maryse.” We each give her cheek a quick kiss as we leave to join the fray.

  “You packing?” Milo questions as I grab my dress to descend the stairs.

  “Aren’t you?” I question.

  “In a room full of murderers; always,” he says as we watch the foyer fill with the most dangerous members of the Syndicate.

  _____________________

  Cole

  The minute the gates open to the Rogers Estate, I’m alert. Watching those getting out of their fancy cars in their best clothes, before walking inside the sprawling mansion that I once spent so much time in. Focusing on those filtering into the house, I eye a few of the known Syn leaders.

  Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself for the night and swing the door of the cage open as Bodi steps out, giving the keys to the valet. I watch the men walking in and mimic their actions. Buttoning my suit as we weave our way inside.

  Entering the foyer, we are pulled aside and checked for weapons. “I don’t see them doin’ this shit to anyone else,” Brass scoffs as he fixes his cuffs, following the line into the next room.

  “We are outsiders in this building. And Ace’s face is all fucked up,” Gibbs retorts. Most of the swelling has gone down, leaving my face in the various stages of bruising with purples and blues.

  The foyer is filled with soft classical music filtering through the speakers. The line splits off between the two bars that line each side of the room. I move to the closest bar on my right with Brass, Dice, and Rook tailing me.

  “Champagne?” The bartender asks when we approach.

  “Somethin’ stronger?” Brass winces as he moves his shoulder.

  “Absolutely. Whiskey or bourbon?”

  “Whiskey,” he requests.

  “Neat. Make that two,” I tell her before she grabs the glass.

  “Make that three,” Dice cuts in.

  “Neat?” Brass questions.

  I shrug and grin impishly. “Saw it on TV.” Brass chuckles, shaking his head.

  “God damn,” Rook mutters, staring across the room at a group of women. “I’d have no problem being Syn if my women looked like that.”

  “Watch it,” I growl at him, taking my whiskey and moving away from the line. He’s right though. DAMC women don’t look this fucking good.

  “Sorry, boss,” Rook grabs a flute of champagne and chugs it. “God, this taste like shit,” he sets the glass on the ground in the corner.

  “It’s not meant to be chugged, stupid,” Dice shakes his head.

  “Why did he get patched in?” Brass stares him down.

  “Needed members,” I sip my drink, staring around the room. Surveying the upper criminal echelon. The differences between our criminality staggeringly obvious.

  “I’d fuck her,” Brass mutters, tilting his head to a leggy blonde in the group of women Rook kept eyeing.

  “She looks like she’d want you to fuck her until your back breaks,” Rook nods eagerly.

  “I’m not bein’ associated with you,” Brass steps away from us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the Grand Hall,” a voice brings the speakers to life, interrupting the music as the lights flicker twice for everyone’s attention. We file in behind the crowd as they make their way to the room that used to be the dining hall, if I remember correctly.

  Walking in, I’m immediately assaulted by the ostentatious amount of decorations. The entire room has been transformed, decked out with extravagant blacks and golds.

  “They decked that place out tonight. Mom said it was an important event, but I’d rather be with you.” She told me one night after she snuck away from one.

  “Your dad is goin’ to be pissed,” I kissed her neck. Her eyes gleamed with wicked intents.

  “He’ll live.”

  The usher gives us a dirty look, clearly not wanting to deal with our kind before instructing us to sit anywhere except the table in the middle of the room. Bodi ambled around before claiming a table off the side, close to the exit, but not too close to the front. A five-piece orchestra sits on the stage, playing a hauntingly slow, almost sad song.

  Taking our seats, I remember the bit of etiquette Mila tried to teach me one summer.

  “No, sit like this and hold it like this.” I did as she instructed. “Yes, now act like you’re cutting into a nice steak.” She screeched as I drug the cutlery across the empty plate. “You are such a dick for doing that!” She yanked the utensils from my hand, glaring at me. “I should stab you.”

  “Holy shit,” Brass nudges my arm, dragging me from my memory. Titling his head towards two women that just walked in, their backs to us. I wouldn’t have paid any attention to them except my gaze is attracted to just one. More specifically, her exposed back in her dress that stops just before the curve of her plump ass. If the view of her ass didn’t already do me in, the dimples on her back at the bottom of her spine would.

  She has a pinkish mark on the nape of her neck, but it’s too small to see what it is. Her back, though, is host to one of the most beautiful pieces of body art I’ve ever seen.

  The angel of death and his sugar skulled lover are in the throes of an intimate embrace, gently caressing each other’s face as they share a forbidden kiss. The detail is so succinct that there is no mistaking the flames emanating from him and the roses in her hair, blown around them by the wind. The beauty and pain blend so well.

  “She’s not afraid of the needle,” Brass sips his drink. The artist within him appreciating the beauty of the piece.

  She turns as she laughs, careful not to spill her glass of champagne, and my eyes widen in shock. Me and every other man in this room are glued to what can’t possibly be Mila Rogers’ body in that fucking dress.

  I flick my gaze up and down again to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me, taking in the full effect of her. I now understood how a woman’s beauty could start a war. I’m ready to gouge out the eyes of every man here.

  Her hair is pulled up with some cute spiky shit and that dress cloaks her curves like a second skin. The curve of her tits leave much to be imagined, but that back view is a fucking teaser.

  My very own angel of death.

  Milo comes up beside her, offering her his arm. Linking hers through his, they start to walk. I notice her dress has a slit that stops just before her hip, giving you a glimpse of her toned legs every other step.

  God damn. Is she even wearin’ underwear?

  “That’s her,” Brass growls at me.

  “What?”

  “That’s the one that shot me,” Brass grunts loudly, catching the attention of a few guests. They throw dirty looks our way.

  “Sure it’s her?” Bodi asks. Brass nods once, making Bodi’s face split with an ugly smile. “Then it looks like we have somethin’ more to discuss tonight.” He eyes Mila as she walks across the room.

  “She looks familiar,” Gibbs stares at her.

  “Yeah, that’s Mila,” Bodi starts.

  “Who th
e fuck is she?” Brass’ nostrils flare with anger.

  “We gotta stand.” I interrupt him, wanting to keep Mila’s identity to myself a little while longer.

  Keeping my focus on her, I rise. She’s standing tall and proud as she keeps her gaze trained on the men entering the room. They come to stand behind their chairs at the long table, facing the stage.

  A paunchy old man with salt and pepper hair steps from behind the curtains and makes his way to the podium. “Good evening,” he clears his throat, adjusting the microphone for his height.

  “On behalf of The Board of Overseers,” he gestures to the men in front of him, “I welcome all of you to the inauguration of Brooke Wendell. I’ll try not to talk too long. They say it’s best to leave your audience before your audience leaves you. Or kills you, in this case.” Laughter erupts in the room.

  “That’s comfortin’,” Rook whispers anxiously.

  “Please, be seated,” he gestures with his hands. Some bastard pulls Mila’s chair out for her. She gives him the same soft smile she used to give me when I did something she thought was sweet. Taking the chair beside her, he tosses his arm over the back of hers, rubbing her shoulder. Her leaning into his embrace only fuels my anger.

  He’s dead.

  “Today,” my attention is drawn back to the stage, “we move to further the ranks of our empire by the addition of one. When a Member decides to join our empire, they do so for many reasons. But no matter the reason, there is one thing that unites each individual in this room in everything that they will do during their service with us.

  It is not unknown that when you enter our kingdom, you are bound to an oath. Your oath is a very serious thing. It is more than a promise, or a contract. It is your very word. To break your oath is to break faith with yourself, your brothers, and your sisters.

  The oath that every Member takes is to support and defend something transcendent, something larger, and dearer than any of us could ever imagine. It is an oath to support and defend each other, the foundation, and the very ideals of the empire that we all live by.