The Aces MC Complete Collection

  I was braced against my knees and bent completely in half in that small bathtub, and there was virtually no room to move, but we made it work. We rocked gently, kissing faces and necks and shoulders and arms until it was over and I was completely exhausted.

  ***

  We spent the rest of the day together with Peg, watching old movies and cuddling. It was exactly what I needed after the long week we’d had. It had gone by too fast, though, and a part of me wished we could do it all over again. I dreaded Patrick leaving in the morning.

  Peg was considerate of us, and spent a lot of time puttering around the kitchen and her small garden to give us a little time to ourselves, but I knew that she was dreading Patrick’s departure almost as much as I was. There was something happening behind the scenes, something they weren’t telling me, and it was making her more anxious than normal.

  We slept naked and curled around each other that night, but my poor body was at its limit, so we didn’t do anything else. It was nice to just feel our skin touching in various places as we lay in the small bed. Patrick made comments about finding a bigger mattress, but I hoped he wouldn’t. I loved that we had so little room—it meant that we were always touching, no matter how we moved around in our sleep.

  When he left the next day, I put on a brave face and refused to cry. It’s temporary, I told myself. He’s making a better life for us. He’s working hard toward our future.

  None of my affirmations gave me any sort of peace.

  I missed him the minute he left the house.

  Chapter 24

  Patrick

  Life fell back into a familiar rhythm, but everything felt off kilter.

  I wanted to be home.

  I ached constantly for Amy, which made me feel like the biggest fool who’d ever lived. I knew she was back home waiting on me, but our marriage seemed to have caused a new and stronger sort of possessiveness to take hold. I was jealous of anyone who came in contact with her when I couldn’t. I found myself calling home more often than I could afford just to hear about her day and to listen for any mention of other men. I knew it was completely asinine for me to do so, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

  I was driving myself crazy. That must have been why I hadn’t seen the writing on the wall. I’d been so caught up in my wife that I’d let my guard down. Nothing had changed just because I’d gotten married, even though it felt that way for me.

  “Patrick Gallagher,” a man called out behind me as I started to open the door to the building I lived in. His voice sounded friendly enough, but the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and I braced as I slowly let the door fall shut and turned to face him.

  I recognized Malcolm first. He was standing just slightly behind the man who’d called my name, and as I took in the four men before me, my stomach clenched in fear. They must have found out about the girl.

  “Found yer Da,” Malcolm told me with a nod. My stomach sunk. Not the girl.

  “An interestin’ man, yer fadder,” the short man mused, looking me over. “Loyal as a bloodhound and about as smart as one. Odd dat his son spends his days inside a classroom.”

  My fists clenched at my sides, but I knew there was no way I could hit him the way I wanted to. I was outnumbered and unarmed. It would be suicide.

  “What can I help ye wit’?” I asked calmly.

  “We have some t’ings we’d like to discuss wit’ ye.”

  “I’m not interested.” I glanced at Malcolm, but his stoic expression didn’t move.

  “Ye haven’t heard what I’d like to discuss.”

  “I know exactly what ye’d like to discuss. I’m not interested.”

  “Yer fadder will be…disappointed.” The inflection in his words made my back break out in a cool sweat.

  “Where is he?” I asked, even though I knew that was exactly what he wanted.

  “He’d like to see ye,” the man replied jovially.

  He hadn’t answered my question.

  They began to move away, as if it was a foregone conclusion that I’d follow them. They’d cast the bait, and I bit. When I reached the sidewalk, Malcolm fell into step beside me.

  “I heard ye’ve married.”

  “Yes.” I absolutely was not going to talk about Amy with these men.

  “Kevie says she’s beautiful.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I’ll have to introduce meself next time I’m home,” he prodded.

  “Stay away from me wife,” I replied sharply.

  “No time for an old friend, den?”

  “We were never friends.”

  We climbed into a small truck, Malcolm staying by my side in the back, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they killed me. Would Mum know to take Amy and leave? Malcolm’s interest in my wife made me so livid I envisioned killing every one of them before we reached our destination.

  The man driving would be easy to take out, just a quick snap of the neck and he’d be gone. Malcolm’s pistol was in his jacket on the side closest to me, and I wondered if I’d have enough time to pull it and kill him and the short man before they retaliated. I clenched the hand resting on my thigh twice, trying to calm my breathing. It wouldn’t work. If I killed the driver, we’d crash. And even if the plan worked, more would come. They were like rats in a sewer, kill a few and the rest followed in a huge wave until you were overwhelmed.

  I sat silent until we reached an older building across town. From the outside it looked like a bakery, but I knew we weren’t there for pastries.

  Inside the store, the men didn’t stop to speak to the man behind the counter. With a quick nod in passing, we strode straight by him into the back, where a stairwell led us into a finished basement with a steel door.

  My Da was sitting at a table with a couple other men, and he stood in surprise the minute I cleared the door.

  “Patrick?”

  “I told ye I’d bring him,” the short man said. His tone was cheerful, but it was an eerie sort of glee.

  “What’s dis about Da?”

  He shook his head slightly at me.

  “Well, now. I only believed dat two men are better den one. And who better to work wit’ ye den yer son?”

  “He’s made his own choices, Michael.”

  “He’s made no choice,” the short man replied. “Yer eider wit’ us or against us.”

  My heart began to pound at his words. It was exactly what I’d been running from, and I should have known that eventually they would catch up to me. My Da had made this choice for me before I’d been able to wipe my own ass, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Christ, if Mum hadn’t kicked him out, he probably would have filled my head with propaganda and I would have been eager to take my place in the ranks. No matter the course that got us to that point, it was always going to happen.

  My life—the dreams that I’d followed and worked for—flashed before my eyes, and I knew. I’d never live in a small cottage with Amy, filling her belly with babies before I trudged off to teach excited new students about the importance of classic literature. I’d been a fool, and it was finally time to face reality.

  My hand began to clench at my side and I consciously relaxed it, loosening my body until none of my tension was apparent. Any sign of weakness would be seen by these men, and I couldn’t afford it.

  The short man made it sound as if I had a choice, but there was really no choice at all. I was their puppet or I was a dead man. And they’d effectively cut me off at the knees, because with one word about Amy, Malcolm had known that I’d never take my chances against them. She was a weakness they were willing to exploit.

  “What’s de job?” I asked quietly.

  My da looked surprised and short Michael was smug.

  “I hear yer good wit’ a knife.”

  I glanced at Malcolm to see a small, weasely smile on his face.

  “I’m fair.”

  “Dat’ll do.” Michael tipped his head then stepped forward to the table
and laid his hands flat on the surface. “De police commissioner has been makin’ t’ings… hard for me lads,” he said, spreading photos of a house and a man out on the table. “We need to do somet’in’ about it...”

  My need to protect my mum while my da was gone had led me down a shady path for a few years as a teenager. I’d come to the conclusion that those who weren’t feared were those who became the preyed upon. Our neighborhood had never been one of the worst, but it wasn’t the greatest either, and I’d realized that even my da’s reputation would not protect my mother and I. So, I’d become one of those who were feared.

  I’d never carried a gun, I couldn’t make myself go so far, but believing that fists alone would make my point would have been foolish. Instead, I’d carried a switchblade. I’d practiced and I was good with it. Almost as if it was a natural extension of my hand, I’d made my stand over and over with the local thugs who thought they could intimidate me. My reputation with a blade had eventually made it so that even if I wasn’t in town, my mother and now Amy were safe under my protection. I hadn’t had to pull my knife in over four years.

  But I still carried it.

  The implication behind Michael’s words was clear. He wanted the man dead, and he wanted me to do it. We spent the day going over the police commissioner’s habits and memorizing his address and by the time I left late that night, my future was set in stone.

  Perhaps it had always been set in stone and I’d been too blind to see it.

  When the time came, my Da tried to talk me into letting him take the kill, but I knew that was suicide. Da was on the outskirts already. If he took the job I was given instead of being a look out like he’d been ordered, we were both dead men. I had to prove myself… incriminate myself.

  The idea was brilliant, really. With one job, they’d successfully assured both my Da’s loyalty and my own. I became a murderer, and Da would do anything to protect his only son.

  The police commissioner was the first man I killed. He was a drunk who lived alone. It was easy.

  I vomited afterward.

  I also vomited the next time.

  And the next time.

  And the next time.

  But eventually it got easier.

  And then I became numb to it all.

  I’d successfully brought my father back into the fold. It was unfortunate that I’d had to follow him back in.

  Chapter 25

  Amy

  Going back to high school—or secondary, as it was called in Ireland—was so weird. The conversations I’d listened to so intently before about boys and how far so and so had gone the weekend before suddenly sounded petty and immature. The girls all seemed like such babies.

  A part of me wanted to speak up when a girl across the lunch table talked excitedly about how her boyfriend had wanted her to touch his ‘you know’ when they’d been out that weekend. The girls had made disgusted faces and it took everything I had to not tell them that eventually they’d be putting ‘you know’ in their mouths. I forced myself not to giggle into the sandwich I’d brought with me for lunch. Oh, the things I could tell them.

  Life was just different for me, I had to remember that. Not better or worse, just different.

  While those girls were kissing frogs and touching random ‘you knows’ looking for their happily ever after, I’d already found mine. Well, it wasn’t exactly a happily ever after, but it would be. For a while, I’d been talking to Patrick nearly every day, but we’d resorted to letters after a while.

  I wasn’t surprised by it; phone calls were expensive and I knew he was busy…but it made the time pass slower when I no longer had his voice to look forward to at the end of the day. The longer I went without seeing him, the more disjointed my life felt. I wasn’t a wife, but I wasn’t only a high school student, either. I was someplace in the middle. I missed him so much that sometimes I had a stomach ache all day long, but it helped a little to know what we were working toward something. All I had to do was picture a small house on a quiet street and Patrick in a suit and tie getting ready for work, and it made things just a little more bearable.

  I told myself I just had to be patient. It would all work out in the end.

  ***

  “Peg, I’m home!” I called out wearily, dropping my bag onto the sofa. God, I couldn’t wait to be done with school. Patrick had been gone for a month and I was sick and tired of living like a child when I was actually a married woman. I was ready to move on from that stage of my life. I was so ready, in fact, that I’d stopped by the local pub on my way home asking for a job. I knew I had to finish school, quitting wasn’t an option, but I only had another month left before I graduated. I needed something else to do and a way to contribute somehow.

  Thankfully, the owner of Dillon’s was more than happy to hire me on. I think Casey Dillon had been friends with Patrick’s dad at some point because I’d met him at the wedding reception, and I was pretty sure that’s the only reason he gave me the job. The pub was practically empty when I’d walked in—there was no way he needed the extra help. I didn’t start for another week, but after that I’d be stocking and serving alcohol from five to midnight Friday and Saturday nights. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  I was so excited to tell Peg about my new job that I pretty much danced into the kitchen then came to a comically abrupt stop. My husband was there in the middle of the room, with a small smile on his face and his hands pressed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. I was stunned at first, and then racing to him. Within seconds, I was wrapped in his strong arms. I felt tears hit my eyes as I inhaled deeply and gripped the back of his sweatshirt. He smelled exactly the same, and I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to burrow inside his clothes so I could touch him skin to skin.

  “Dat’s a good welcome home,” he whispered huskily into my ear.

  His hands were shaking against my back.

  “I missed you so much,” I said into his neck.

  He shuffled me backward, never letting me go as we made our way out of the kitchen and finally through the door to our bedroom. I knew we were being rude. I hadn’t even said hello to the people at the table—but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

  My husband was home. I wouldn’t have cared if the pope himself was sitting at our kitchen table. I didn’t have eyes for anyone but Patrick.

  We fell onto our little bed in a tangled heap before I wrapped my legs around Patrick’s hips as tightly as I could.

  “Hello, wife,” he said quietly, pulling away just far enough to meet my eyes.

  “Hello, husband.”

  “Christ, I’ve missed ye.”

  I’m not sure which of us moved first, but soon, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing over my lips and teeth as if to familiarize himself with it once again. My entire body relaxed into the bed as his hands moved over me, never sliding beneath my clothes, but sweeping over me with reverence.

  It reminded me of before we were married, when we were dying for each other, but unable to take the final steps. We murmured nonsense against each other’s mouths for long minutes, my hands sliding through his hair and gripping the back of his neck, but eventually reality intruded.

  “Tea!” Peg yelled through the house. I could tell that she hadn’t come to the door, but had called from far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear what we were doing. Smart woman.

  Patrick pulled away slowly, coming back for soft kisses over and over again as he stood up and pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed.

  I couldn’t stop staring.

  He was exactly the same, but different. I recognized his face as clearly as my own; however, it seemed as if there were new lines around his eyes and his cheekbones had become a bit sharper. His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, and it flopped over his forehead messily. He looked wonderful and extremely tired.

  “We’d better go out dere,” he said, glancing toward the door for only a moment before meeting my eyes again.

  ??
?Why are you home? How long are you staying?” It seemed as if the shock had finally worn off and now my mind raced with questions. He hadn’t told me he was coming home.

  “I came to see me beautiful wife for a few days, is dat all right wit’ ye?”

  His words were mild, but there was an underlying defensiveness to his tone that raised my hackles. What the hell? I immediately thought back to my questions, but couldn’t find anything in my tone or words that would warrant a defensive reaction. If anything, my exuberance should have been a bit funny.

  “What?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Dere a reason ye don’t want me home?”

  My brows furrowed in confusion as he watched me closely. What was he talking about?

  “Of course I want you home!” I jumped from the bed, but stopped short when he took a step back. “What the fuck, Patrick?”

  I watched him take a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair, pulling the long strands back away from his face. He looked like he was trying to calm himself down, but I couldn’t understand why he would act like that in the first place. Where was my charming husband? Why was he so angry?

  He took a step toward me, and that time it was me stepping back.

  “I’m sorry, love,” he said, stepping forward again to reach me. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to fight.”

  I let him pull me into his arms, but my body remained rigid. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so badly, but I was terrified he’d pull away again. I didn’t understand how I’d made him mad in the first place, and the anxiety made my heart race.

  I didn’t want to fight with him, either. I’d missed him so much that I was past the point of jumping up and down with excitement that he was there—no, I didn’t want to jump, I wanted to cry with relief that I could finally feel him against me. The overwhelming emotion of it all went beyond anything I’d ever felt in my entire life. He was finally there, in my arms, and it felt like he didn’t even want to be there.

  Patrick pulled me to the kitchen by my hand, as I tried valiantly to straighten my hair with the other. I didn’t need to broadcast the make-out session we’d just had. When I finally sat down at my place at the table, I realized who exactly I’d seen out of the corner of my eye when I’d been too focused on Patrick to pay attention.