Fiasco (Dirty Aces MC Book 6), Lane Hart [most interesting books to read txt] 📗

the Dirty Aces. The boy doesn’t cause me trouble and pays his rent on time. He’s even helped me run off the assholes who think they can live here for free.” Removing his cigar to blow out the smoke from his mouth, he comes closer and takes in every inch of me from my ponytail to my white shoes. “You don’t look like the usual type of girl he has visiting.”

Since I’m not sure what he means by that, I don’t respond.

“Still, no pets allowed, especially loud ass barking dogs.”

Well, crap. Did Phillip know that? I think he would’ve mentioned it since he was so adamant about taking care of Ace.

I look down at the dog on the end of the leash lying in the grass, staring up at me, and know that I’m already a goner. I’ll be taking him home with me even though I’m hardly ever there.

“Can I bring the dog to visit Phillip once in a while?” I ask the man, who I’m guessing is the owner or super.

“There’s no Phillip who lives here, woman,” he starts and then says, “Oh, you mean Fiasco?”

“Yes, Fiasco,” I agree even though I hate that everyone calls him the name meant to be an insult.

“Ah, I guess so, long as you clean up after it,” he agrees.

“Thank you,” I tell him with a smile.

“He should be home soon. I could let you in his place so you can wait there in case the rain comes early.”

“That would be great, thanks,” I say when I pick up Ace in my arms.

“I’m Ray, Ray Bullins,” he tells me as he shuffles his feet toward the stairs. “I own these apartments.”

“Nice to meet you, Ray.” I follow behind him slowly up the steps, which is fine since Ace is no lightweight. Thankfully, he stops at the second door on the second floor and doesn’t go up to the third.

Pulling out a huge keyring that’s attached to his belt, he finds the right one and turns it in the lock. “There you go.”

“I appreciate your help.”

“No skin off my back,” he replies with a shrug. “Not like the idiot has anything worth stealing even if you weren’t a nice woman.”

“He’s not an idiot,” I tell him firmly. “And his name is Phillip, not Fiasco. So, stop calling him that.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he says with a smile as he backs away and I step into the apartment.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. From the exterior of the building, I knew these were not brand new, luxury apartments by any stretch of the imagination. But there’s no furniture in the place at all. There’s a mattress on the floor with sheets pulled up over it neatly and a few upside-down cardboard boxes that serve as a table for a lamp and a bigger one as a stand for an old tube television, the kind my parents had but I haven’t seen in fifteen or so years since I bought them a new one for Christmas the first year I had a job.

In the kitchen is an old cream-colored refrigerator, and I don’t have to open it to guess there’s not much inside. There’s a small stove and microwave, and that’s it. That’s all the contents of the open room.

Poor Phillip. No wonder he was in such a hurry to get back to work, even though he needed weeks to recover from the bullet wounds. He must barely be able to get by as it is, living paycheck to paycheck.

I know from experience what it feels like to be poor, and lately I haven’t been able to pay all of my bills on time since I got a divorce and started living on my own. But my situation is nothing compared to this.

Ace’s panting reminds me that he’s in my arms and getting heavier. I lower him to the worn beige carpeted floor that looks like it was installed twenty or more years ago and then go to the kitchen to find something to put some water in for him. The cabinets are nearly bare, and I know because some are missing doors. But I do find a stack of colorful bowls. The water coming out of the faucet is sort of a reddish-brown color at first, so I let it run until it turns clear, or at least only a little cloudy before I fill up the bowl.

“Here you go, boy,” I say to Ace as I put the bowl down on the other side of the fridge. When I straighten, a pair of photos taped to the refrigerator catch my eye. One is of a smiling girl who looks maybe three or four. Beside her is a picture of a boy maybe a year or two older. The two have nearly identical blonde curls, along with big brown eyes that are the same color and shape as Phillip’s.

Are they his son and daughter? No, he would’ve mentioned if he had children, wouldn’t he? Maybe they’re his niece and nephew.

The apartment door suddenly opens, making me gasp as I spin around toward it. I’m not the only one caught off -guard. In the blink of an eye, Phillip has a gun out and pointed at me.

“Jesus, Joanna!” he exclaims as he lowers the weapon to his side and closes his eyes like he’s taking a deep, calming breath. When he opens his dark brown eyes again, they look angry instead of startled. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“I’m sorry we scared you. Ray just let us in to wait,” I say and then squat down next to Ace to rub his head.

“Fuck!” he says, shoving the gun into the back of his pants, which I guess is where it was before. “I thought Ray was psychic or some shit. He saw me coming in and told me no dogs allowed, and I thought he was just reading my mind. He could’ve mentioned he let you up here!”

“Sorry,” I say again.

“How