The Aces MC Complete Collection

  “Go clean up, Patrick,” she said gently as I stood there staring. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

  “Aye,” I mumbled, my gaze searching the room blankly.

  “Bathroom,” she reminded me. “Next time, I’ll help you… this time you can do it on your own.”

  I stumbled into the bathroom, and finally gave into the nausea that refused to calm. I’d been swallowing repeatedly for what felt like hours, able to control my body by refusing to acknowledge the churning in my gut. I could no longer do so.

  I heaved and heaved until nothing was left, and then I heaved some more, tears rolling down my cheeks.

  I’d been so confident when I’d left Ireland, so unbelievably arrogant in my assumption that my sins wouldn’t catch up to us. I’d assumed that we’d be safe, never imagining that in the few days between our departures, Amy would be the one paying for my mistakes… I hated myself for that.

  The details of Amy’s attack and the memory of Malcolm’s large frame in comparison to her small one made me livid, and before I was even done vomiting, I was tearing apart the room.

  My fist went through the mirror and shattered the shower door.

  I kicked through the flimsy cupboard doors between the sink.

  I ripped the seat off the toilet and threw it through the small window.

  “Poet!” Slider yelled through the door, breaking me out of my haze. “You stupid son of a bitch, you’re already busted all to hell. You’re gonna die of a heart attack if you don’t calm your shit, ya old fuck!”

  My chest was heaving as I threw open the door, and Slider’s eyes widened as he got a good look at the destruction I’d caused. “Needed to remodel, anyway,” he said calmly, reaching out to grab my arm and lead me toward his room. “You can use our shower. Vera’s out cold, she won’t even notice ya.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed, looking at the ground as we reached the door to their room.

  “Ya get a handle on your shit, and ya take care of your woman, ya stupid mick,” he replied sternly. “This ain’t about you. This is about Amy. So you make sure she’s got what she needs. The rest will sort itself out.”

  “How do I know what she needs, man? I fucked up so badly, I t’ink—”

  “Stop thinkin’, you’re actin’ like an asshole.” He shook his head and leaned against the wall. “Ya remember when Farrah’s ma came and took her away from us?”

  “Dat’s not—”

  “It sure as shit is not the fuckin’ same, you’re right about that.” He scratched his jaw and looked away from me. “My woman went through a different type of pain, but pain all the same. Poppin’ pills and drinkin’ until I’d find her passed out in the hallway… like she’d just hit her limit and hit the floor. Lockin’ herself in her room until I had to break the door down with a fuckin’ axe so she didn’t overdose in there alone. Fuck, I didn’t know what to do. I finally realized, though, they don’t need ya to do anything, man.”

  “I hadn’t known,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “Moira never said shite about Malcolm, not one fuckin’ word. All dese years and I hadn’t known dat he’d done dat to Amy because of me. He fuckin’ tortured her, Charlie.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, brother,” Slider said, pushing off the wall to stand in front of me. “Malcolm was a sick fuck. That’s not on you. You were the catalyst, and I know that eats ya up—and I understand it, I really do. But ya did what ya thought best at the time, and ya can’t go back and change it. It’s what ya do now that matters, understand?”

  “Yeah,” I answered with a nod, not agreeing with anything, but too tired to argue.

  “Now, brother, you need a fuckin’ shower and to get back in with your woman.” He slapped me on the back and I grimaced as it jostled my ribs. “Eyes off the bed, Vera’s naked.”

  I followed him into his bathroom and hopped in the shower, washing the blood out of my beard and hair. Thank God I had a high tolerance for pain or there was a good chance the last few hours would have gone very differently. It was a wonder that I was still awake and functioning.

  I had a small wound on the back of my head where I must have hit a table, my lips were swollen, there was a small cut on my cheek and one on the bridge of my nose, and I knew for certain that one of my ribs was bruised, if not broken.

  Phoenix had kicked my arse.

  Good boy.

  After I finished, I walked quietly back out of their room without seeing Vera’s or Slider’s bare asses, not that I hadn’t seen them both before on different occasions over the years. Living in such close quarters with people, especially drunk people, meant that you walked in pretty regularly on things you’d rather not see.

  When I finally reached the door to my room, I saw that Amy had scooted toward the wall, leaving me space on the outside of the bed. At least, I thought that’s what she had done. She was asleep, and the tension lines around her mouth and eyes had finally softened.

  I wanted to pick her up and hold her to me, reminding myself that she was there with me, that she was safe, but I didn’t.

  I knew how exhausted she was, and if she was able to sleep, I wouldn’t interfere. She’d relived the worst and best parts of her life all in a couple of hours. She deserved the relief.

  I pulled on a pair of sweatpants I hadn’t worn in fifteen years, and sat down on the floor with my back against the side of the bed. There was no way I’d be able to sleep that night.

  Instead, my mind drifted over thirty years of memories. It hadn’t been all bad, not at all, but I couldn’t see how good memories could ever overshadow the bad ones.

  I tipped my head back against the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

  Chapter 55

  Amy

  I woke up disoriented but warm, and was surprised to see nothing but Patrick’s head resting beside me on the bed.

  The past twenty-four hours had tested me in ways I didn’t understand. I’d watched as I destroyed Patrick with the same poison that had been pulsing through me for years, I’d had to tell my son the truth of his birth—something I’d planned to take to the grave—and then I’d watched as Patrick had told our children his part in all of the horrible things that had happened so long ago, knowing that they could hate him for it, but still not willing to make any excuses.

  It felt as if things had come full circle as we’d sat in the room with both of our children the night before—like that’s where we were always meant to end up.

  I wanted that to be our future with a fervency that I felt in my bones and a calm sense of acceptance. I was finally in the exact place I was supposed to be.

  I relaxed back into the pillow and reached out to run my fingers over his soft hair. It was so long now, and he hadn’t brushed it back into a ponytail before he’d fallen asleep, so it was pooled around his head on the quilt.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly, keeping his head where I could reach it.

  “Why are you on the floor?” I asked, equally as quiet.

  It was early, the sun barely shining through the sheet covering his window, and the rest of the club was still sleeping, making the morning silent around us.

  “Couldn’t sleep, didn’t know if ye wanted me in dere wit’ ye.”

  “I did.”

  His head nodded slightly. “Couldn’t lay beside ye last night. Too many demons to take into bed wit’ ye.”

  “You’ll have to get over that,” I reprimanded, scratching my nails over his scalp gently. “I won’t be sleeping alone again.”

  His body turned then, and I got a good look at his face. He’d never before looked old to me, but he did in that moment. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks and lips were still swollen, hidden partially by a wild beard that he must have been scrubbing at for most of the night. I noticed for the first time that the patch of hair just below his bottom lip had turned blonde, almost white, and it was a glaring reminder of just how much time we’d missed.

  “Yer sure?” he asked, s
earching my eyes. “De last time we… Amy, ye cried, me love.”

  “I was overwhelmed and exhausted, Patrick, I promise it wasn’t anything more than that. I’ve lived too long without you already,” I answered, grabbing his hand to pull him into bed with me. “I don’t want to go another day.”

  “T’ank God,” he said raggedly, pulling me against him and pressing his face into my throat.”

  “I’m sorry I covered my anchor,” I said after a few moments of silence. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I cried the entire time.”

  “Did ye see what he covered it wit’?” he asked, his voice full of suppressed amusement.

  “Not until he was done,” I confessed sheepishly, “I didn’t really care what he did as long as he covered it.”

  “Yer tattoo man had a sense of humor.”

  “Why?” I asked, lifting my hand up so I could look at the raw tattoo. I’d barely glanced at it once it was done, choosing instead to cover it with the ointment without looking.

  “He covered it wit’ a Claddagh ring, me love,” he answered with a snort. “May as well have kept de anchor.”

  “Motherfucker.”

  “Only ye would cover up a tattoo of love wit’ anot’er of de same,” he said with a smile, leaning up until our faces were level.

  “I can’t believe he did that. What a dick!”

  “Are ye really angry about it?” he asked in surprise.

  “No, not really.” My face heated in a blush at the way he was looking at me.

  Like I was the best thing he’d ever seen.

  “I don’t want to be apart from ye, not even for a moment,” he said seriously. “If ye feel de same, we need to make plans—”

  “I’ll move here,” I said instantly, making his head jerk back in surprise.

  “What?”

  “Nix is the only thing I have in Portland, and he comes here already to visit you. He can do the same for me.”

  “But yer shop.”

  “I’ll sell it. Shit, Patrick, people do yoga everywhere, not just Portland.”

  “Are ye sure?”

  “I don’t want to be apart from you, not even for a moment.” I echoed his words.

  “I love ye more den ye can possibly imagine,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to mine with a shuddering breath.

  “Kiss me, husband,” I whispered back, smiling against his lips as he groaned.

  Epilogue

  Amy

  Two months later

  “Yer arse is going to kill me,” Patrick groaned, squeezing my ass in his palms as he slid into me from behind. “Grab a hold of de headboard.”

  I moaned as I reached up and grabbed the headboard of the heavy oak bed we’d picked up the day before.

  Patrick had bought a house less than a week after I’d agreed to move to Eugene and had started working on making it a home as I’d packed up my old apartment and sold my yoga business to Kali. We took our time, spending our nights between both places, until the day before, when I’d finally handed over my keys to both the shop and my apartment.

  We hadn’t spent even one night apart, and I had no regrets.

  “Getting tired, old man?” I asked breathlessly as Patrick’s body bent and his hand hit the headboard above mine.

  “I’ll never be too tired to fuck ye,” he gasped, grabbing a hold of my hair to turn my face gently toward his. His hips thrust hard, and my back arched even further.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured against my lips before letting go and sliding his hand down my torso. “Goin’ to be more beautiful in just a moment…”

  His fingers found my clitoris gently, barely rubbing against the nerves that were so past the point of sensitive that it was almost painful. After a few thrusts, though, they fired back to life, and I was rolling my hips against his hand, almost unseating him with the movement.

  It didn’t take long before my body stiffened, then shuddered as I came around him wetly.

  “Lovely,” he whispered in my ear, running his hand back up my body until his first two fingers met my lips. “Suck.”

  He growled as I took the fingers into my mouth, and his hips began to jerk as he followed me over the edge.

  We collapsed onto the bed in a sweaty heap, and I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face. Even after all those years, we still had it.

  “I may not be too old to fuck ye, but yer gonna have to do all the work from now on,” he gasped and started laughing.

  “Good luck with that,” I retorted, smacking his chest with the back of my hand before dragging myself out of the bed.

  “Where are ye going?”

  “I need to clean up and get ready. Everyone’s going to be here in two hours.” I walked into the bathroom connected to our bedroom and caught sight of myself in the mirror.

  “Nix still planning on driving down?” he called cautiously.

  My heart clenched at his tone, and I took a deep breath against my irritation over my son. Even months later, Nix was still having a hard time with all that he’d learned. He visited me, and tried to act like everything was okay, but it wasn’t. He’d broken up with Mat for some ridiculous reason, he was working out so much that he looked like he was going to split every shirt he wore, and he still had a hard time being in the same room as Patrick.

  It killed me to see the way Patrick’s eyes lit up at the sight of my son, then slowly dimmed the longer they were together.

  I had to have faith it would get better. I had to.

  “He said he’ll be here,” I confirmed, looking at myself in the mirror.

  My dreadlocks had grown out and needed to be tightened, but the longer I looked at them, the less I wanted to go to the trouble. Patrick’s hands were always in my hair, and he didn’t seem to mind the fact that he couldn’t run his fingers through it, but all of a sudden I minded.

  “What are ye doin’ so quiet in here?” my husband asked, stepping in behind me.

  “Did you know that Leo put one of these,” I grabbed a lock and flicked it, “into his mouth the other day and I didn’t even realize it until it was soaking wet?”

  “Dat boy puts fuckin’ everyt’in’ in his mouth,” he replied with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around my waist

  “I want to cut them off,” I announced meeting his eyes in the mirror.

  “What?”

  “Do you have clippers?”

  “What?”

  “Patrick, pay attention!” He was looking at me like I had two heads.

  “Aye, I have clippers—not dat I’ve ever used dem.”

  “We’ll have to cut them first,” I said quietly, chewing the inside of my cheek.

  “I’ve got some brand new yard clippers for dose roses out front,” he informed me quietly. He knew about my aversion to scissors and had thrown out every pair he owned.

  “Get them.”

  I sat on the toilet while he got everything ready, trying to calm my nerves. It was just hair. It was just hair and I’d begun to hate how heavy it was. I wanted it gone. I did.

  “Are ye sure?” Patrick asked as he set the electric beard trimmers and the yard clippers on the counter.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I answered more confidently than I felt. “Can you do it?”

  “I don’t know dat—”

  “Please, Patrick.”

  He nodded, his jaw clenched, as he leaned down to kiss me.

  “I’ll just cut dem first, alright?” he asked nervously, ‘Den we’ll use the trimmers after.”

  His nervousness had the opposite effect on me, calming my own nerves. “Do it,” I ordered.

  I sat up straight as he clipped the dreadlocks, never brushing my head with the clippers. The fact that he was so very careful to not bring back any memories soothed me even more as he moved over my head.

  “All done, do ye want to take a look before I—”

  “No,” I interrupted, clasping my hands tightly on my lap. “No, just do it.”

  He leaned down and tipped my ch
in up with his fingers, kissing me with an intensity that had my heart racing in my chest. “Almost done, my love,” he murmured into my mouth.

  The beard trimmers made a buzzing noise as he turned them on, and I closed my eyes tightly as I felt the first drag catch on the short knot of hair. After that, the noise became almost soothing, and my body relaxed before he’d finished.

  “All done,” Patrick told me hoarsely, clearing his throat.

  I glanced up to see tears in his eyes, but I didn’t mention them. He was trying very hard to act unaffected, and if I said anything about it, I knew I’d make it worse.

  I stood from the toilet and stepped in front of the mirror. The sight that met my eyes made a sob bubble out of my throat.

  I remembered this.

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick said quietly.

  “I asked you to,” I replied, reaching up to feel the short stubble that covered my head. “I should have waited until after the barbeque… everyone is going to stare.”

  The trimmers started up again, and I turned in surprise as he ran them up his jaw, wincing as they caught in the long hair, but not stopping until he’d run it into the long hair above his temple.

  “What the fuck?” I asked, my jaw hanging.

  “Ye’ll have to do mine now, won’t ye?” he replied with a small grin.

  “You’re insane.”

  “Where ye go, I go,” he replied seriously.

  ***

  “Holy shit, Pop! What the hell did you do to your hair?” Brenna yelled as she ushered her family into the house.

  “Nan, too!” Trix screamed. “I wanna cut my hair!”

  “Not gonna happen,” Dragon said gruffly as he passed by Brenna to give me a hug. “Lookin’ good,” he murmured into my ear before letting go.

  “Whoa, you both did it,” Brenna said, looking back and forth between us.

  “Small mishap wit’ de trimmers,” Patrick said with a smirk, his innuendo making Brenna pretend to gag.

  “Nan, I wanna go in the pool,” Trix said, wrapping her arm around my leg. “Can we go in the pool?”