Ace Of Spades (Complete Raw First Draft, Unedited)

Ten: Trust

I stayed down, pressing myself as flat as I could, holding as still as possible.  Even once the black car had driven off and was no longer in sight, I didn't move.  Not until Ace was back, after what felt like an eternity.

"Your dad's gone," I heard someone call, only it didn't sound like Ace, and I recognised that scar faced man, Clyde, the cruel one.

"Shut up, dude," Ace growled.  "But, yeah, those guys are gone, you can come out now."

I really didn't want to, especially not with the two of them there.  I was out numbered, it would be simple for them now to hold me down.  I couldn't fight off both of them.

"Come on, darlin'," Ace said softly, and made his way toward me, but instinct took over, and I leaped to my feet and fled.

At least, I tried to.  I got about five steps before I caught my leg on a piece of metal and tripped, landing hard, banging my shoulder on the way down.

I yelped, then groaned, fighting back the tears that pricked my eyes, my shoulder aching and my leg exploding with pain as I picked myself up from the ground.

I tested my leg, putting some of my weight on it, biting my lip as I noticed the blood beginning to seep though the denim of my jeans.  

"Shit, are you okay?"

I swung around, nearly falling over again when I realised that Ace was right behind me.  I would have fallen, too, if he hadn't caught my arm, swinging me up into his.

"Put me down," I cried out, squirming in his grip.

"Come on, stop moving," he said, tightening his hold on me.  "Let's go inside, I'll take a look at that."

He carried me inside the shop, despite my protests and attempts to break away, and took me into a small back room with some chairs, a small bar fridge, and a desk with a computer on it, surrounded by piles of paper.

Carefully, he sat me down in one of the chairs and crouched in front of me.  His hands were surprisingly gentle as he rolled up the cuff of my jeans, exposing the gash across my ankle where that piece of metal had caught me.

"It doesn't look bad," he reassured me.  "It won't need stitches, but I've got some stuff to clean it up with."

"No," I protested, jumping up from the chair as he stood and went to one of the drawers in the desk.  "It's fine.  I need to leave."

He came back and gently pushed me down into the chair again, and this time, I didn't protest.  I didn't dare.  He began cleaning away the blood with something that smelt strongly like alcohol, then taped some gauze over it before rolling my jeans back down.  
I expected him to get up then, and walk away, as though I didn't exist, or worse, lock the doors and throw me across the desk, or on the floor, or up against the wall, but he didn't.  He stayed crouching in front of me, staring into my eyes.

His were hazel, like my mother's had been, only hers had been empty, lifeless and defeated. His were bright and alive and full of something I'd never known before; kindness. 

I didn't trust freely.  Trust wasn't something I could easily give.  The last person I'd trusted had let that bastard take me.  Yet, despite myself, I felt a tiny, dark seed of trust growing as something unspoken passed between us; I didn't try to run, and he wouldn't force me to stay.

"Who were those men looking for you?"

He was so tall, that, even crouching, he was at eye level with me.  It was impossible to tear my gaze away from his.

"What did he tell you?"  I asked after a moment's hesitation.

"He said that you're his daughter," he told me, without once breaking eye contact.

I shook my head.

"It's safer if I don't tell you," I insisted.  "If I do, he might hurt you, or..."

I shrugged.

"Amelia-"

Whatever connection there was between us, whatever tiny amount of trust there was, it immediately broke, the minute he used that name.  I stood, stumbling slightly as my leg protested against the sudden weight on it.

"That isn't my name," I cried out, trying to get around him.

"Jenna-"

"Let me go!"  He moved to block my escape, and I backed up, away from him.

"Not until you tell me what's going on," he insisted.  "I have friends at that clubhouse you're staying at, if they're in danger, too, then I want to know."

"They're not in any danger," I promised, though I couldn't even be certain of that.  I wasn't sure of anything, right now.  I only told him because it meant he might let me go, but he stood firmly, baring down on me.

"And I'm not staying with them, either," I blurted out, taking a step back.

"Where are you staying?" He wondered, narrowing those deep hazel eyes at me.

"Nowhere," I said, beginning to fidget, a nervous habit of mine, one I was often punished for, but one I couldn't break.  "I'm leaving."

"Leaving where?"

"I'm going away," I said firmly.  "Forever."

"It's late," he told me.  "It'll be dark soon.  Where are you going to stay tonight?"

Why did he care where I was staying?  Why was it any of his business?  I was trying to look out for him, by preventing him from getting involved, yet, it seemed he was doing everything in his power to ensure that he got himself tangled in the mess I was in, anyway.  Why could he not just believe me and stay away like I warned him to?

"I'm staying with the Specter's tonight," I said firmly, wrapping my arms around myself.

I hated doing it.  I told myself when I escaped from Lucas that that would be it, I'd be completely in control of my body, of my life.

But, I reasoned, this was a perfect opportunity to earn some more cash, and I really needed all the help I could get.  I'd never been given money before, for doing the things I'd been forced to do, and I'd never had the choice about who I had to spend the night with.  Now, I had both.

The men at that club didn't try to hurt me, or force me to do anything too fast, I could take things at my own pace.  And, when they were done with me, there was always somewhere for me to stay and hide.  They didn't just kick me out onto the street to make my own way, or return me to Lucas when they were finished with me

I liked being in control of these things.  I'd been given a taste of what freedom could be like, of the freedom I could have, and I wanted more.

"You just said you weren't staying with them," Ace said suspitiously.

"I changed my mind," I said, licking my dry lips, looking away to avoid his scrutiny.

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"  He laughed, but I knew he wasn't laughing at my expense, more at himself than anything.

He groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he was trying to talk himself out of something.  Then he shrugged.

"Fuck it, you can stay with me."

I was about to protest, but he held up his hand.

"I'm not taking no for an answer."