Chapter 20 Ace
Ace
With a pep in my step, I round the corner and duck under the chain-link fence before tossing a few twenties at Eddie.
“Yer in a good mood today.” His voice is slurred, making me pause.
“Eddie, did you have something to drink?” With a tilted head, I assess him. He’s nothing more than a crumpled mess on the pavement. His jaw is slack, and his eyes are glassy.
Shit.
“Just a bit, Ace. Just a bit.”
“Where’d you get it from, Eddie?” Squatting down, I gently press on his shoulder in hopes of encouraging him to lay down. Thankfully, he obliges, resting his head against an old backpack with his personal stuff tucked inside of it.
Eddie gives me a grin, showcasing his stained teeth. “The liquor store, Ace. The man at the counter said they were overstocked, so he gived me a discount. Ain’t that so great of him?”
I see three giant bottles of alcohol nestled between his things as if they’re his most prized possessions, and the sight makes me want to cry.
I’m always careful to give him just enough cash to buy him a burger here or there, but not enough to give him the opportunity to save it for a rainy day because I always knew how he’d prefer to spend it.
Looking down at the bottles of alcohol, it confirms my theory.
Stupid discounts. Stupid addictions. Stupid vices.
“Ya look sad, Ace. Here, have a drink. It’ll turn that frown upside down in no time.” Raising his arm, he offers a nearly empty bottle, and I take it before setting it back onto the asphalt.
“Oh, Eddie.” The defeat weighs heavily on my shoulders as I grab his threadbare blanket and toss it over him. “Get some rest, okay?”
“Okay, Ace. Night, Ace. That really is a weird name, Ace.”
A strangled chuckle slips past my defenses as I watch him drift off to sleep.
Wiping a tear from beneath my eye, I release a sigh then search his things for any more alcohol. When I find two bottles of bourbon and one of whiskey, I confiscate them with a heavy heart.
My body feels like I’ve gained an extra fifty pounds as I carry the bottles up to my apartment.
Dammit, Eddie! Why do you have to ruin your life like this?
My grip tightens around the bottles, my feet pounding up the stairs until I reach my floor.
After I enter my tiny apartment, I head straight for the sink and pour the liquor down the drain.
The potent stench of alcohol burns my nostrils as I watch it disappear.
When I’m done, it takes me a second to notice the cold, disconnected presence behind me.
“Finished?” a harsh voice barks, making me flinch.
Spinning around, my mouth open in shock, I clutch the empty bottle to my chest when I find a scrutinizing Kingston staring daggers at me.
“Shit, Kingston. You scared the crap out of me!”
“Didn’t take you for an alcoholic.” He turns his glare to the bottle in my hand before bringing it back to my puzzled expression.
“I’m not. If I were, do you think I’d be pouring it down the drain?”
“Maybe you found a moment of strength,” he offers, pushing himself up from the worn couch in the corner and stalking closer.
“I have many weaknesses, but alcohol isn’t one of them,” I reply bitterly.
“Truth,” he acknowledges with a lift of his chin before clenching it in frustration and crowding me against the wall. “In a way, I was hoping you were inebriated tonight. That was the only possible explanation I could come up with to explain why you did what you did.”
I pull back, my spine straightening. “Excuse me? Did what exactly?”
I’m not in the mood for this right now. Not after I found Eddie wasted when I was so sure he was getting better. I don’t think I can handle a lecture, and I really don’t think I can handle having a mob boss mad at me, either.
His eyes heat with fire, showing me he’s beyond pissed right now. In the blink of an eye, he puts one hand on each side of my face, caging me in before slamming his palm against the wall behind me. “I gave you one fucking rule, Ace. One rule.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, losing a bit of my earlier frustration and replacing it with defeat. Apparently, I failed again, though I don’t even know how.
As I peek up at Kingston, a tremble races down my spine because the beast in front of me is terrifying.
He’s nothing short of a nightmare. But the part that really freaks me out is that I don’t want to wake up from this particular dream.
If I focus on Kingston, I’m able to put my own issues on the back burner and forget about all of my problems. Seeing him like this makes me want to understand and soothe the monster in front of me who’s clawing to get out, though the fact that I’m not scared out of my mind makes me question my own sanity.
It’s obvious he’s pissed, and that rage is completely centered on me and my mistake.
“I told you to stay under the radar. I told you to keep your head down. And what do you do?” he growls. “You sign up for the fucking tournament.” His anger is palpable. I can touch it. Taste it. Feel it seeping into my pores.
My lower lip trembles. “You don’t understand—”
“You’re wrong,” he spits, cutting me off.
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ace.
You don’t know what he does to random women on the street, let alone someone who pisses him off.
He kidnaps. He rapes. He beats. He maims. He twists them up like a dirty dishrag, squeezing whatever the fuck he wants from them before tossing them aside, usually to another asshole who buys them from him and does the exact same thing.
And that’s if you cooperate. If you don’t?
He shoots heroin into your veins to make you more compliant, but only after he’s beaten you within an inch of your life. ”
A breath catches in my lungs, making me feel like I can’t breathe. Like he’s sucked all the air from the room, keeping it hostage until he sees fit to gift me with some.
“Is that what you want, Ace?” He leans forward until I can feel his cool, minty breath on my cheeks.
“Do you want that kind of future? Do you want to be on his fucking radar? Because, if you participate in that tournament, you will be.” His jaw tightens until I’m sure he’ll crack a molar as he grits his teeth. “I think you already are.”
Panic blossoms in my chest, taking over any rational thought. “What do you mean I’m already on his radar?”
“You think he doesn’t check the roster for the tournament whenever someone signs up? That he doesn’t do background checks on every motherfucker who shows interest? You screwed up, Ace. You screwed up big time.”
“I’m being careful,” I start.
He scoffs. “Not careful enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What the hell do you think it’s supposed to mean?” His brows pinch in frustration, trying to understand why I would put myself in this position. With staggered breathing, he tries to get ahold of himself.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I admit, “I wanted to have a chance to make him hurt.” My voice is nothing but a whisper, nearly getting lost in the heavy silence that follows it.
“And how exactly were you planning on doing that?”
In a daze, my fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, rolling the starched fabric back and forth between the tips of my fingers until I realize what I’m doing.
Eyes widening, I look down to see my hands playing with the material.
The action catches his attention. With flared nostrils, a mesmerized Kingston watches my fidgeting hands before bringing his gaze back to mine, shocking us both by allowing my inappropriate touch.
“Tell me, Ace.” His tone surprises me. If I didn’t know any better, I might even consider it to be gentle.
But that can’t be right. This is Kingston Romano.
He’s never looked more the part of a badass mob boss than he does right now.
There’s a fire in his eyes and a crisp suit covering his muscular frame.
The combination screams power, making me feel like an insignificant little blip on his radar.
“Tell me,” he repeats, reminding me of his request.
Breathing deep, I push forward. “If you know my history like you say you do, then you know he took my mom. That he likely did all those things you just explicitly mentioned to her. And that he left me alone and without a mom for my teenage years, only to be raised by a bunch of assholes in the foster care system who only cared about their monthly paycheck.” I swallow, dropping my gaze to his mouth because I’m a coward and don’t have the courage to hold his stare as I finish.
“The only way I could figure out how to exact an ounce of revenge on that sonofabitch was to wound his pride before I stole some of his pocket change and disappeared into thin air. That was my plan.”
Kingston’s arms drop to his sides, releasing me from my prison.
But he doesn’t step back, and his menacing presence is still enough to cage me against the wall behind me.
“You’re brave, Ace, but it won’t work. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.
Burlone has never lost a game of poker. Sure, a hand here and there, but that’s it. He always comes back.”
If only he knew that I’ve done my research. That I know every tiny detail about the guy. I’m not stupid, and I’ve taken every precaution I can to succeed.
“No offense, Kingston, but I know exactly who I’m dealing with. He’s never played against me.”
“Truth,” Kingston admits. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you just put a big ass target on your back.
And that’s the last thing you want with a guy like him.
The alias you gave the concierge was shit.
My guy was able to see through it in about five minutes.
He created something a little more solid for Macey Johnson’s background, but you need to be careful. ”