Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ACE
THREE MONTHS LATER
The low glow from the illuminated computer screen casts eerie shadows against the walls surrounding me. Darkness and scattered light writhe and flicker around the room in an intricate dance, enveloping me in a comfort that only the abyss of nothingness has ever provided. The shadows taunt and tease the edges of my vision, beckoning me to look and find my place among them once again. Yet, my eyes remain fixed on the screen before me, searching.
I click the mouse, bringing up a new view on the monitor for my hungry eyes to scour. My gaze is pinned on the screen depicting four different angles of a dark, empty parking lot. Each of the new cameras mounted outside the compound, pointed in the general direction of the MC shop, or better yet, the studios located just above. Searching the one window I know she lurks behind.
I’ve lost track of how many hours I’ve spent here, staring after a woman who barely knows I exist. All I know is that I’ve come to see the passage of time through the view of her window on my screen. It’s no longer filled with artificial light, as night has fully descended. Now her room appears just as thoroughly shrouded in darkness as the place I call home. But earlier, I was able to see as she moved about her studio. Or better yet, I was able to see how the man she continues to allow into her bed moved her.
How he had her on her knees for him before she sucked his thick cock behind her pouty lips. How he picked her up as if she weighed nothing before bringing her juicy pussy to his mouth. The way her fingers entwined within his long reddish-blond hair as he ate her like a starved man, making me want to grow my hair out just to feel the addicting attention myself. And when he bent her over her bed and finally slid himself so deeply into her soaked cunt with the look of pure bliss slackening his jaw, the sight nearly unmanned me on the spot.
Every shift of their backlit silhouettes, every fleeting glance, becomes yet another maddening puzzle piece in the ultimate obsession that consumes me.
Even as I sit here now, my dick swells at the memory of watching them. Making me want to wrap my tattooed hand around myself once more, just to experience a fraction of the same euphoria depicted across her delicate features.
But I resist.
It’s bad enough that I’ve jacked my own cock while watching them without their consent almost as often as he sneaks into her room. My own twisted way of being involved in a relationship that I have no right to desire. A dynamic that I’m obviously not needed in.
I shake my head, halting my thoughts from leading me down that dark road again, and refocus on the screen in front of me. I’m not watching that window for fleeting glimpses of naked flesh or loud reminders of my unrelenting fixation. Unlike most nights I find myself in front of this computer, my purpose this time is not driven by infatuated thoughts about the couple inside, but rather a mission to uncover something traitorous I fear may be happening under the MC’s roof.
She didn’t realize I saw her the last time she was sneaking back home under the cover of night. She obviously thought everyone was still asleep in the early hours of the morning as she carefully slinked out of the old abandoned building across the street—the very building from which an unknown shooter had tried to take us all out just over three months ago.
She didn’t anticipate me lingering in the shadows, still keeping a watchful eye on her, even though it's no longer my responsibility.
I simply can’t shake this ominous feeling. Even though Matteo is dead and everyone believes he was responsible for the attack on our women, the tickle at the back of my neck—a warning I developed at a shockingly young age—has only intensified with each day that’s passed.
Something is on the rise, and I have an overwhelming sense that she may be at the center of it all. So I’ve made it my personal mission to discover her secrets.
My phone buzzes on the desk next to my keyboard, and a familiar jolt of exhilaration floods my veins as I reach for the device. Turning the screen toward me, a sly grin spreads across my lips as I read the notification. I place the phone back on the desk and grab the mouse. Hovering it over the security feed view, I click with certainty. The screen fills with my preferred view, and I hone in all my focus.
It’s been nearly a week since I first witnessed her sneaking out in the dead of night, and I have done nothing but monitor from afar since then. Even going so far as to install a small device within the baseboard of her doorway that alerts me the moment her door opens. Each time it triggers, my phone receives a notification, and just as quickly, all my attention shifts to the monitor in front of me. I wait for her, each passing moment a cruel reminder of my fixation's unrelenting grip
I see her now—the petite female who has done nothing but fill my thoughts with carnal desires since the very first day she showed up here. The day she marched up to a complete stranger, locked lips with him, and then deftly stole his gun right from his waistband. After pulling away, she held him at gunpoint, all in an effort to save her best friend, believing she had fallen into the hands of the enemy. Proving from day one, despite her small stature and perceived naivety, she possesses more courage and heart than most.
I watch her as she tentatively opens the heavy metal door leading to the parking lot, swiveling her gaze around in search of anyone who might be watching her. Another grin tugs at my lips. If only she knew how closely she was being monitored at this very moment.
Once she determines that the coast is clear, she stealthily slips past the door and gently closes it behind her. Granting me an unhindered view of her small body cloaked in black. So at odds with her usual bright and cheerful neon attire. Her short, dark hair is concealed beneath the oversized hoodie she wears, which envelops her entire torso. Swimming in the garment, she glances both ways once more before setting off at a brisk pace across the parking lot.
I shove away from the computer monitor, rolling my desk chair toward the small window that overlooks the parking lot, eager to catch the live-action version of this show. Standing from my chair, I retreat into the shadows of my room and peer out the window.
Her feet carry her swiftly across the asphalt, bringing her to the edge of the road. With her back turned to me, she glances both ways before sprinting across and heading directly toward the vacant building opposite us.
Smirking to myself, I push away from the window and rush toward the door. My adrenaline spikes as I grab my leathers from the bed and quickly slide my arms into it while slipping past my door. Taking the stairs in a rush, I pull my Insidious mask from my pocket and slide it over my mouth and nose, minding the small, black hoop in my nostril. In no time at all, I quietly open the main entrance and slip into the looming darkness outside while pulling my dark hood over my head.
I remain close to the side of the building, concealed in the shadows as I have been for most of my life. Keeping my eyes fixed on her small figure as she crosses the deserted road, I match her pace with light, silent steps. Staying far enough behind, she never sees me following after her like a silent predator stalking its prey. By the time I allow her to see me, it will be too late.
I mastered this art a long time ago. The art of blending into the shadows and silently observing people when they have no fucking clue they’re being watched. What was once my sole survival tactic is now simply a way of life for me.
Stopping at the edge of the clubhouse, I pause as she does. She’s just reached the boarded-up side entrance of the abandoned building and she pauses to glance around once more. The nearest streetlight is broken, allowing her to remain mostly hidden within the darkness but I see her nonetheless.
The thing about spending most of your life in the shadows is that you eventually become adept at seeing in the dark. Even though she’s hard to see from this distance, I can still make out her high cheekbones and the prominent curve of her lips. I sense the trepidation in her expression as if she is uncertain about her actions.
But even so, she turns back toward the barricaded door and grabs one of the boards preventing it from opening. She tugs it, and it easily pops loose before she places it on the ground at her feet and grabs another. Once she has removed three boards she easily slides through the gap she created and disappears inside the building.
Then, I move.
Pushing away from the clubhouse, I walk across the road with my hands tucked into my vest pockets and my gaze on the pavement. Although my mask and hood conceal my face, the instinct to keep my features hidden comes naturally.
As soon as I cross the road, I hide once more within the shadows. Staying close to the crumbling brick along the exterior of the building, I use the gloom to shield me before reaching the same door through which she disappeared. And I waste no time bending and squeezing through the opening, becoming completely shrouded by the darkness that lurks within.
Crouching low and listening for any movement, I still myself as my feet come to rest on the dusty concrete floor. When I hear nothing, I follow the multiple footprints marring the settled dirt along the ground.
My feet are light in a way that most people could never fathom. The only sound emanating from me is the steady rhythm in my chest only I can hear. Completely and utterly calm, I hunt the little ghost who has become a good little sneak, herself.
The tracks lead to the base of some old wooden stairs before climbing them to the second floor. Then, I finally hear it. It’s faint, barely audible from the first floor where I stand—the sound of a hushed conversation that I can’t quite make out from my vantage point.
Eager to get to the bottom of this impromptu investigation, I ascend the stairs, keeping to the support beam before allowing my full weight to rest on each step. These stairs are ancient, and ancient things creak and groan. And seeing as I’m trying to remain hidden, stepping lightly on the edge of each stair reduces the likelihood of a squeak that would give me away.
The conversation grows louder the closer I approach.
“You know as well as I do that the others will refuse to work with you.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper as I step onto the top-floor landing. Glancing around, I get a quick lay of the land before seeking refuge within the shadows once more.
Though it’s large up here, the clutter throughout the area detracts from its openness. The old wooden floors, composed of raw, untreated wood, have seen better days, and judging by their condition, I’ll have to watch where I step to avoid falling through to the first floor. Dense cobwebs, covered in thick layers of dust, clog every nook and cranny. Stacks of old newspapers and decrepit, empty pallets are scattered throughout the space, serving as a reminder that this place was once an old printery. It appears that the employees abandoned ship years ago, leaving the place to fall into disarray.
“I hear there’s a club you can join with all the people who refuse to work with me now; perhaps The Insidious can join.” Bells of recognition ring in the back of my mind as the deep, masculine voice resonates throughout the room. His voice transports me back to a day not so long ago—a single day that changed everything.
My gaze drifts to the back of the room, where a faint yellow glow casts vague silhouettes against the dilapidated floor. Curiosity propels my feet to move quickly toward the sound, eager to put a face to the voice.
“Besides, I thought you were branching out on your own. Why else would I have stumbled upon you in that illegal chatroom?” he asks, causing my interest to peek past the point of mild curiosity.
I remain close to the wall in a crouched position. Spotting a small alcove formed by moldy stacks of papers I can hide within, I sneak inside. Just as quickly, I find a small gap in the stacks, allowing me to come closer to the object of my maddening obsession without revealing myself.
“How can I trust you after the shit you’ve pulled? Or that this is even legit?” she asks, her voice clear now as I glance between the stacks of paper. I can barely see her from here, the old, small lantern between them casting just enough light to reveal the rigidity in her shoulders and the stubborn line of her jaw as she faces the unknown man.
“I never said you should. In fact, I recommend that you never trust me. You should only trust the fact that there are worse people than me out to take you down, and this is your way of killing two birds with one well-placed bullet,” he says as I study his broad back, clothed in a crisp white button-down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, showcasing his smooth, unmarred arms.
“If you want to take this to Scooby and the Gang, then by all means, scurry home, Scrappy-Doo,” he taunts her with a condescending tone, making an unholy surge of anger vibrate from my core as I focus on his discreetly styled, shit-brown hair. Envisioning what the handle of my knife would look like protruding from the back of his head. I have no idea what information he has for her, but I intend to find out very soon.
Secrets have a way of spilling once I get involved.
“But if you want this to end, you’ll take what’s in that file and be the one who ends it,” he says with finality, thrusting a manila folder into her small hands before stepping out of my view.
I press myself against the brick wall beside me and face the room. Crossing my hands together in front of me, I stand at my full height and become one with my surroundings as he approaches. I concentrate on his movements, eager to discover the identity of the man who so ominously sought her attention tonight. His footsteps are heavy as he strides away from my little ghost and directly into my line of sight. Recognition sends my pulse racing and my fingers itching for my blade. His shiny black loafers thud against the floor as he walks right past me, oblivious to my hiding spot, which is in plain sight.
I learned long ago that people only see what they want to see.
And Agent Bryce Verango doesn’t want to see me watching him descend the stairs right now. Because the next time I allow him to see me will be his last.
As soon as it’s clear he’s left the building, I step away from the wall. It’s time for this game to end. I followed her to uncover what she was hiding, and now it’s clear I was onto something. I allow my anger to course through my bloodstream as I contemplate the repercussions this night will have on all of us.
Removing my sharp blade from my boot, I come to the entrance of my little hidey-hole as her light footsteps echo, heading toward the stairs my enemy just descended. Cloaked in darkness, I remain utterly still—a skill I have honed over the years—as she walks right past me, oblivious to my presence. As soon as she’s a few steps away, I grip my black hunting knife tightly and rush toward the object of my fervent desire.
She gasps as I wrap my arms around her waist and press myself against her back. Before the thought of fighting me off has a chance to go through her beautiful mind, it’s already too late. I pull her close, holding her tightly and leaving no space for her to wiggle away from me. Then, I press my razor-sharp blade against her delicate throat.
She proves that she remembers our very first meeting the moment she growls and attempts to kick back, not afraid of the weapon at her throat. But just like last time, I easily avoid the kick and hold her tighter before turning us and slamming her into the thick stack of musty papers, leaving no opportunity for her to try again. Her pulse jumps in her throat, begging for the sharp bite of my teeth. Lowering my head, I nudge her dark hood to the side with my nose. Inhaling deeply, I press my lips to her ear.
“Hello, Maxine,” I rasp, grinning as I rake my sharp teeth against the shell of her ear. A shiver wracks her body as my breath fans over her, delighting me more than it should. I slide the edge of my blade ever so slightly against her throat, watching with perverse fascination as the blood bubbles to the surface. “Let’s see if your secrets spill before your blood.”
Ace and the rest of The Insidious Seven MC will return in my next book.