“I should have brought flowers,” Ace muttered as he drove his motorcycle the two and a half blocks from his new apartment he had rented from Goose. “Or maybe she doesn’t like flowers. She’s probably a jewelry kind of girl.” They had a lot to learn about each other, with and without clothes.
He had planned to simply spend some time with Sailor before work. Whether it led to sex or not, he didn’t care, but of course he wouldn’t turn it down. Harper had told him he’d know he was in love if he enjoyed spending time with a woman, even if it meant a lazy night of lounging on the couch watching TV. He didn’t know how much he could trust his young cousin’s advice, but it seemed to fit what he felt for Sailor. Just the thought of being with her made him happy as a redneck in a Moon Pie factory.
On the corner of the block before he reached the townhouse, two of the bikers he'd met a while back were at the same hot dog stand. They motioned him over. He pulled up and shut off the engine then flipped up his helmet visor.
"Hey, Jeff, Skip. What are you up to? Sorry I haven't made it to a meeting yet."
Jeff waved the apology away. "No problem there. Listen, remember that guy Dick we told you about?"
"Yeah?" Something was wrong. He could feel in his gut the tight ball of unease he’d felt many times before. He was a policeman no more, but the instincts didn’t leave with the uniform.
"We saw him getting out of a white van with some dark-haired chick in the alley near your lady's apartment building. Could be they're helping someone move, but they were acting real fidgety. Just thought it was odd."
"Thanks, I gotta go."
"Need any help?"
"Probably not." He pulled back his jacket to reveal part of his holster.
Jeff and Skip nodded in understanding. "We'll hang out around the corner store across the street in case you need us."
"Appreciate it." He flipped down his visor, fired up the engine and headed for the townhouse. No one was stirring out front. But as soon as he turned into the alley, he saw a nondescript van sitting there, engine running, with the side door open and no one inside as though waiting to load something. Or someone.
He shut off the engine, took off his helmet, and unzipped his jacket. The weight of his Glock pressed snug against his ribs in its concealed holster. He didn’t pull it, not yet, since his intuition could be wrong. It had been a while since he’d needed to use a gun, much less carry one, but now he was glad he got that Carry Guard License so he could pack some heat legally here in the city.
The door to Sailor’s back deck slid open suddenly, glass jarring in the doorframe from the impact. A man with a brown leather jacket backed out of the door, hunched over like he was moving furniture. Ace sidestepped, concealing himself behind a trellis of morning glories near the path that led to the deck. Sailor was probably having something replaced. Surely not the mattress – he wanted to keep sharing the pleasures of that particular piece of furniture with her for a long time to come. But then he saw the woman pictured on that book coming out, holding the other end of whatever the guy was carrying. Instant dread turned his mouth to cotton. He swallowed hard and got a better look when they turned to the side to navigate the stairs. That wasn’t furniture they carried.
“Sailor,” he whispered. “Shit.” If they had hurt her or worse, he’d make sure they would never see the light of another day.
She flopped and fought, screamed through her gag. Thank God. Relief flooded through his veins so he could breathe again, even as Ariela cursed at her.
“Be still, you stupid bitch. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”
So they meant to kidnap her. For what? Ransom? Or worse? His memory sent images of a swinging light bulb, a pair of tear-stained eyes belonging to the teenage girl who hunkered naked in a corner. Sold and passed around from one sicko to another for months before he finally found her and the drugged-up traffickers who had her locked away. He’d paid for her freedom with nearly dying from stab wounds. All in vain. She had committed suicide a few months after being returned home. He’d never forgive himself for not reaching her sooner, but he wasn’t about to let that happen to Sailor.
They reached the top of the stairs, and that’s when Ace made his move, drawing his gun and turning off the safety in one swift movement. He aimed right at the man’s head. “Put her down!”
The kidnappers jerked, startled.
“Fuck!” the guy screamed and dropped Sailor’s upper half on the stairs. Her head banged against the second step. She cried out under the gag. The momentum of her fall made Ariela lose her grip. She dropped Sailor’s legs. Still tied and gagged, Sailor bounced down the stairs until she landed at the bottom on the concrete path. She didn’t move.
Ace rushed forward, scared that she’d broken her neck or suffered a traumatic head injury. The guy put his hands up in surrender. Ace recognized him as that biker that had stirred up shit in the bar and then filed a lawsuit.
Ariela grabbed his arm. “Idiot! Come on!” She dragged him, running, back into the apartment. Ace didn’t follow them yet. He had to make sure Sailor was okay.
He holstered his gun, ran to her and squatted down. Her face was scraped and bruised, eyes closed. He shook her gently. “Sailor?”
Her eyes popped open, blinking slowly until she finally focused on him. Then they widened, and she yelled through her gag. He pulled the thing off her. She turned her head and spit, then looked at him again, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let them get away.”
“I’m not worried about them right now.” He quickly untied her hands and feet as she sat up.
She rubbed her wrists. “You’re still my security guard – now go get Dick Handler and his scheming bitch of a girlfriend!”
If she was this feisty, she must be fine, he reasoned. He helped her stand, pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it to her. “Stay here, call the cops.” Then he added, “Seriously? Dick Handler?”
“Dead fucking serious. Go!”
He ran up the stairs and through the open sliding door. The apartment was dark – too dark for this time of day. He noticed some of the blinds and curtains in the kitchen and living area were closed. They were probably waiting to ambush him, knowing that they’d never get away if there were witnesses. He glanced around, saw the knife block near the stove and an empty spot where one of the bigger knives should be. The kitchen island was in front of him. To his left, a walk-in pantry, the door wide open. Someone could be in there, waiting.
The familiar anxiety returned, sending his heart into a pounding rhythm. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His sides and back – both the fresh and old wounds – ached, remembering the shock of a sudden impact, the hot flowing blood followed by the searing pain of torn flesh and muscle.
No! Not now. He forced the feelings into submission, focusing instead on Sailor. The woman he loved had been hurt and could have been killed. She needed him. All of him. He drew his gun.
A jar of something flew out of the pantry and crashed at his feet. He glanced down to see salsa splashed all over his jeans and boots. Big mistake. Dick sprang up from behind the island with a butcher knife and rushed him. Ace scooted around the island, keeping it between him and Dick. Ace aimed his gun at him.
“Drop the knife, Dick Handler.” God, that sounded ridiculous, but the demented look in the guy’s eyes told him that even a guy with a stupid name could be a cold-blooded killer.
“Oh, I’ll drop it all right. Right between your ribs. Or was it your kidney? Or spleen? Which vital organs did they miss last time?”
Ace swallowed hard, staring him down.
Dick smiled and kept circling the island. “Axl and me, we’re tight, man. He told me all about you. Looked up your story. You couldn’t save that little girl, could you?”
“Shut up.” Ace kept circling, too, keeping his breathing and his aim steady.
“Then a meth head put a few holes in you. How did that feel? I’d love to know.”
“Not today.” Ace aimed and fired. Dick’s hand jerked back, dropped the knife, then, as he stared at it, began to fountain blood.
Dick shrieked like a howler monkey. He buckled over, cradling his hand against his belly. Ace had circled all the way around the island. He realized his back faced the pantry when Sailor yelled, “Hey!”
He spun around in time to see Sailor deliver a spin kick to Ariela’s face. Ariela stumbled back, dropping the wine bottle she’d meant to smash over Ace’s head, and fell against a cupboard. Then she slid down it until she hit the floor, limp as a dishrag. Sailor bent and picked up the wine bottle that had rolled across the floor.
Glaring at Ariela, she added, “Thank God she didn’t waste my wine. I was saving that one for us. You okay, Ace?”
“Yeah,” he said, still in awe over his kick ass new girlfriend. “Damn, I hope I never piss you off.”
The wail of sirens drawing near signaled the NYPD’s arrival.
Dick stopped howling long enough to try to creep away. Ace pointed his gun at him. He froze. “No you don’t. Sit down by your girlfriend. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be granted conjugal visits. Then again, with a name like Dick Handler, you shouldn't have any problem with that.”
Dick slumped to the floor beside Ariela, his jaw trembling. He drew in his knees, dropped his forehead on them and bawled.
Sailor rushed over to Ace and hugged him tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay. You were amazing.”
“So was I worth the money?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll even give you a bonus.”
“Just a quiet night with you, me and that bottle of wine is bonus enough for me.” He kept his gun on Dick until he heard the cops running up the back steps. Then he put it down on the island and held her close, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head softly. Tears burned the back of his eyes as he thought about how much he could have lost.
****
Two weeks later…
The Hole’s one-year anniversary kicked off with a round of drinks on the house. The crowd cheered. But no glass broke, no fights broke out. These folks were classy. They were there to relax and have a good time, not to make trouble for Sailor. They were exactly the kind of crowd she’d meant to attract since she opened this place. Ace stood by the door, taking over for the new bouncer – an actual, experienced and serious guy named Mike, who was on his dinner break. Poor Mike hadn’t gotten to toss any drunks out on their asses since he started, much to his disappointment. He’d heard about The Hole’s prior reputation and had looked forward to some action. But the pay was enough to keep him around, despite the boredom, now that business was booming and the stupid lawsuits had been dropped. Ariela and her idiot boyfriend were in jail awaiting sentencing, which Ace guessed would be substantial. Plenty of time for Dick Handler to make some good ‘friends’ in prison.
Life was good.
Pieter played a subdued version of Eye of the Tiger, accompanied by Erik, one of his fellow Amsterdam-born musicians, a drummer with blond dreads and a long blond beard. Pippi the bartender was on her game, pouring drinks like a liquor maestro. Gabby smiled more than Ace had ever seen her smile before.
He caught her between orders as she passed by. “Hey, how’s Uncle Mitch?”
“He’s doing great. His nurse is fantastic. She plays rummy with him and brought him a whole set of Three Stooges DVDs they watch together while I’m gone.”
“That’s awesome.”
“So, when are you and Sailor going to hook up?”
Ace looked over at the person in question. She was behind the bar chatting it up with some Broadway actors who’d just come in after a great opening night of Kinky Boots. She noticed him, smiled and winked. He grinned and turned back to Gabby.
She put her hand on her hip, mouth agape as she looked between her boss and Ace. “Oh my God, seriously? How do I miss this stuff?”
Ace laughed. “You’re young, and you have a life. I think you have an order up.” He nodded toward the bar, where Pippi had just set up a row of Cosmopolitans. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled at Gabby.
“Okay! Coming!” She turned back to Ace and gave him a quick hug. “I sure hope you’ll stay. The place wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“We’ll see.”
Sailor brought the actors the food they’d ordered from the kitchen and came over to Ace. She looked good enough to eat in her designer biker-inspired outfit with black skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, red t-shirt and black lacy fingerless gloves. She wore red high heels and matching lipstick, her platinum blonde hair pulled high into its usual ponytail.
She kissed his cheek, then laughed. “Oops, got a little lipstick there.”
“I’ll let you leave it on other parts of me later tonight.”
“Promise?” She looked him up and down with a hungry look in her eyes. “You look amazing. That blazer, the slacks, the shoes – people might think you’re from Fifth Avenue instead of Kentucky.”
“And then they’ll hear my accent, and the jig is up.”
“True. Anyway, I have something for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
He chuckled but obliged his lady’s wishes. “I hope it’s something lacy. For you, not me.” She placed something light in his hands.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
He looked at the two pieces of paper in his hands. “Two plane tickets to Vegas?”
She pressed up against him, whispering in his ear, “Don’t you ever just want to let go and do what feels right?”
“Yeah, I guess, but what…” Then he realized what she meant and grinned from ear to ear. “Oh hell yeah, baby, we’re heading to Vegas!”
“Maybe we’ll hit a few casinos after the wedding.”
“I’m terrible at gambling.”
“Who cares? I’ve got my Ace in the Hole.”
He grabbed her. She gave a little yelp and a laugh as he dipped her. He smiled down at his future wife’s gorgeous face and kissed her luscious red lips. “You’re right. I’m the luckiest damn man on Earth.”
THE END
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From historical to fantasy, from super sweet to scandalously spicy, Mysti Parker has .
City Meets Country Series (with co-author MJ Post)
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The Beach Pointe Romantic Comedy Series
All Jacked Up (June 2018)
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The Magic Massage Erotic Series
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MJ Post is the pseudonym of a writer, teacher, and comic book fan who works in Brooklyn, NY. Watch for MJ’s first romance novel in 2018!
Mysti Parker is an award-winning author and shameless chocoholic. She writes romance for every reader's taste from super sweet to scandalously spicy. When she's not writing the next best-story-ever or tackling the endless mountain of laundry, she works as a freelance copywriter and editor. Mysti resides in Louisville, Kentucky with her husband, three children and too many pets.