Ace Of Spades (Complete Raw First Draft, Unedited)

Book 3 sample coming soon

Jaquie The Ripper

The funny thing about life is, the minute you decide it can't get any worse, you've already tempted fate. Because my biggest problem today was about to come knocking on my front door. All six foot of him, clad head to toe in leather.

The first thing I noticed about him, when I answered the door, was the intensity of his deep, blue eyes, the way they seemed to stare right through me, and into my soul. They were the sort of eyes you could get lost in, if you didn't watch yourself, eyes you could trust. The kind that would screw you over.

"Can I help you?" I asked him, taking a sip from the mug I was holding.

Argh, too strong.

"I'm looking for someone," he answered, his voice low, eyes piercing into my own. "A chick called Jaquiline."

"Who's looking?" I queried, leaning against the doorframe, blocking the exit, though, if I thought I could stop him from barging through, if he wanted to, I was kidding myself. At five foot two, even in boots, I barely reached this guys shoulder.

"I'm Troy," he told me, eyeing me, then shook his head. "Fuck."

"Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow, clenching my hand around the coffee mug.

"You look just like him."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, scowling. I was not in the mood for this kind of cryptic bullshit.

"Your dad." He shrugged. "You look like him. Just more... girl like-"

"How do you know who my father is?"

It was no secret around town that my mother used to hang around with bikers, trying to score drugs or selling her body for whatever she could get. Plenty of chicks did, back then, and plenty still do, now, around here.

I never knew my dad. He and mum hooked up one night, I guess, he took off, and, nine months later, here I was. As far as I was concerned, he never even knew I existed, which is why he never bothered to contact me.

Well, that illusion was about to be shattered.

"He talked about you, sometimes," Troy said, gruffly. "When he got drunk, he had this photo he showed me once-"

"You got the wrong person," I snapped, cutting him off again. I stepped back in through the door, about to slam it in his face, but he moved too fast, blocking the door with his shoulder.

"Here." He reached into his jacket, handing me an old, tattered photo of eight year old me in all my awkward glory, dodgy haircut and goofy braces, the works. Argh, how embarassing.

I stared at the photo, the scrunched it up in my hand.

"Where did you get this?" I demanded, holding up my fist, with the photo still crinkled inside my clenched hand.

"He had it," Troy told me, nonchalantly.

"Yeah?" I challenged, "and, who is he, to you?"

Troy shrugged his broad shoulders in apathy, but I recognised a cool anger simmering beneath the surface, trying to play it off like he didn't give a crap, but, I could see that he really did.

"He was the guy who was fucking my mum. Nothing more."

"And you're here, because..." that was the part I still didn't understand. If my father wanted to meet me, then, why didn't he come himself? Why would he send his step son, or, whatever Troy was meant to be to him?

"I'm here because he's dead."

Just like that, another illusion was shattered, no warning, no preparation, no, 'I'm sorry, but you're never going to meet the guy who helped bring you into existence.'