Ace of Spades; A Dark Romance (18+)

FOUR

Ace

This is torture, and I have to believe it's more so for me than for her.

I sit at the table, a beer in hand, with a cigarette burning between my fingers, as I trace the cracks on the hardwood with my eyes. My mask sits before me, and I glare at it with hatred brewing in my stomach.

When did it come to this?

I knew that answer already; it was exactly two years ago today, but it still felt like yesterday.

Missy's face flashes behind my eyes, and I take another angry drag from my cigarette and wash it down with a swig of beer, hissing through my teeth.

"Boss?" My head jerks up to Slash, who stands beside me, maskless, his dark eyebrows furrowed together. "You good?"

"Yeah," I snap, proving my answer a lie.

I'm anything but good.

I've become soft, and it's because of that feisty fucking brunette in the back room. I will have to pull myself together if I'm going to put on a show for Alek.

I have to prove to him I'm still that ruthless marine with malice in his blood he hired two years ago.

"Whatever you say," He mutters as he sits on the chair beside me, taking a swig from his beer. "When's Pakhan supposed to be here?"

"Any minute," I mutter, checking my watch. Alek said he'd be here at four, and that man never lies about his arrival time. If he says four, he'll be here at four and expects the same from everyone else. If you're late, he'll shoot you for each minute over. I have a scar on my shoulder for that very reason.

I watch the time change to 3:59, and my stomach tightens.

Why do I feel so nervous? It feels like I'm a teenage kid expecting a first date. The nerves dance in my veins like fire, and I can't help but bounce my feet with raw energy.

Just as I recheck my watch to see 4:00, the door swings open, and the energy in the room shifts instantly. I stand without thought, taking one last drag from my cigarette before putting it out on the table. I face Alek and his henchmen and look down since he's well over a few inches shorter than I am. He's stocky, has an overgrown five o'clock shadow, and large bags beneath his eyes. If seen on the street, you wouldn't expect him to be a ruthless killer, maybe a creep at the least, but not the Pakhan of the Russian bratva—but looks are deceiving. He extends his hand to me, his large gold ring with a dragon embossed on the flat surface gleaming in the light. I grab his hand, shaking firmly.

"Ace, how the hell have you been, kid?"

Kid.

I fucking hate it when he calls me that.