Ace Of Spades

VALENTINA’S POV

“Can I have two shots of tequila?” I asked, my voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping in.

The bartender nodded, pulling out a vintage gold-tipped tumbler. He poured the golden liquid expertly into the glass and slid it over. “Here you go,” he said.

“Thank you,” I murmured, taking the glass.

Under the soft, golden light above the bar, the glass seemed to sparkle. I raised it to my lips and took a sip, letting the liquor roll across my tongue before swallowing. The smooth start gave way to a sharp burn at the back of my throat. The tequila was strong, leaving a bittersweet tang that lingered, enticing me to drink more.

I glanced at my wristwatch. It was seven minutes past two in the morning.

The streets would be deserted by now, and finding a cab would be almost impossible. Looks like I’ll be stuck here for a while, waiting until it’s safe enough to head out.

Great! Just Great! 

I tossed back my second shot and gestured for another. One after the other, the glasses emptied until I was on my fourth. The world around me began to blur, spinning gently as the alcohol took hold.

I wasn’t the type to get drunk easily. After our parents died, I turned to alcohol to drown my grief, starting at the early age of fifteen. Half of middle school was a blur, probably because I was drunk or high through most of it. Taylor didn’t discover my habit until after high school when she caught me chugging down a bottle of vodka after I learned I had to repeat a grade because I’d flunked all my classes. She was furious, of course, and I got an hour-long pep talk that night but it didn't change anything.

She was too busy trying to keep us afloat to notice how far I was sinking. At eighteen, Taylor became the breadwinner, the caretaker, and the mom. She begged me countless times to get a job, but who would hire someone a high school dropout with no college degree? And I didn’t want to scrape by like Taylor, serving tables just to make ends meet.

Taylor said I should’ve come to her instead of hiding behind a bottle. But what did she expect? None of this would’ve been her burden if I hadn’t begged for that stupid costume. If I’d just listened to Mom instead of throwing a fit, they wouldn’t have gone to the store. The explosion wouldn’t have been their business.

Sixty people died that night, including Mom and Dad. A gas leak at the store led to an explosion, a tragedy caused by the negligence of the owners. I remember sitting by the door, waiting for Dad to come home with the perfect costume. I knew he’d get the prettiest one for me, ignoring all of Mom’s practical protests, because that’s who he was. But instead of Dad, two cops showed up at our door.

Taylor was only eighteen when they told us the news. She dropped out of high school to take care of me, and gave up her future so I could have one. And I’ve never forgiven myself for it. Every year, the guilt gnaws at me, reminding me of the life Taylor lost and the one I ruined. It’s why I keep drinking, why I can’t stop. It numbs the pain, even if only for a little while.

A slight tap on my shoulder brought me out of my thoughts, but I ignored it, as I gulped the fifth drink. The tap was persistently intruding on my privacy which got me pissed. I turned sharply in the direction of where it was coming from. “What is—” I stopped when I saw a waiter holding a golden tray that had a tumbler on it. 

He nudged the tray slightly in my direction… not too close, but enough for me to see it held liquor. “The man over there,” he began, pointing to the far corner of the room where a man was sitting, “He bought you a drink and asked if you’d join him at his table.”

I looked the waiter up and down. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you tell him that if he wants to buy me a drink, he should be bold enough to approach me himself? Thank you.” I said with a tight smile… a sarcastic one that clearly showed my anger.

The waiter bowed and left, still holding the drink in his hand. After a few minutes, a strong, cool, lemony cologne hit my nose. Instinctively, my head turned toward the source of the scent. My eyes met the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Maybe the alcohol in my system made me exaggerate his attractiveness. I doubt it because he was undeniably stunning.

Though my vision was blurry from the tequila, his facial structure still stood out. A chiseled jawline dotted with stubble stretched from below his left earlobe to beneath the right. He has a Jet black shiny hair that shimmered under the golden light. 

“Hey,” his thick, sultry voice resonated as he turned to face me. “Sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to come off as rude. I thought that’s how it usually works,” he clarified.

My brows furrowed in confusion. “How does what work?” I asked, curious.

“Buying a drink for a lady, thus inviting her to your table,” He explained.

“Great, now I’m being mistaken for a hooker. Just perfect.”

I let out a small laugh, the alcohol loosening my nerves. “Sorry for laughing, I’m a bit tipsy,” I admitted. “You know, comments like that might work sometimes—mainly for hookers—but nine times out of ten, women find it disrespectful. Women like me.”

His eyes widened, and he quickly scratched the back of his head, looking flustered. “Oh, okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I promise I didn’t think you were a hooker—not that you couldn’t be one if you wanted to!” He groaned and shook his head, clearly regretting his choice of words. “What I mean is, this is actually my first time in a club.”

I raised an eyebrow, giggling at his nervous energy. “Your first time at a club? Seriously? How old are you?”

I found it hard to believe that someone who looked like him… a guy who could easily pass as a club regular, the type to charm a different girl every night… was a rookie at this. 

His face immediately shifted into a scowl. “What does that matter?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I apologized. Maybe he felt like I was invading his privacy.

“It’s fine,” he assured me. “It was rude of me to snap like that. I’m Christian Spade.”

“Valentina Hales.”

The scowl on his face melted into a soft smile. “What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “So, what finally brings you to the club today… Christain?” he asked, curious.

Christian sighed and placed his hands on his thighs, his black trousers creasing slightly. “Well, I followed my younger brother, but the idiot ditched me and let me all by myself”.

I shook my head gently, laughing. “And now you want to buy me a drink to keep you company?” I asked.

“No, certainly not,” he said quickly. “I’ve been watching you since you entered the club.”

He paused when he saw my eyes widen at his statement. “Shit! I know that came out weird and creepy, but I promise you, I mean you no harm. Fingers crossed.” He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, crossing his middle and index fingers together on both hands.

“A serial killer or a rapist would say that too,” I said, staring intently at him.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he admitted. “But I’m neither of those things. I’m just a guy who finds the lady in front of him attractive.” He met my gaze, his expression sincere. “Alright, how can I prove that I’m harmless?”

"Show me your ID," I demanded. He started to reach into his pocket, but I raised my hand. "Wait. A serial killer or rapist would have IDs too."

He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. I don’t usually do this, but you’ve left me no choice. I'm a Doctor. I work for a very famous hospital. You must have heard about them, or…” he hesitated briefly. “Do you have your phone with you?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Go on the web, and search for the Heart Spade Medical Institute. You should find a picture and a few articles about me there.”

I shook my head lazily. “Nah, my phone’s in my bag, and I’m too wasted to dig it out,” I admitted with a slight wave of my hand.

“So what about you, Valentina, why are you at the club today?’

“To forget, about the mess that is my life,” I said without sparing him a glance, 

‘Ok fair enough,” he said and kept mute, we fell into awkward silence and I was grateful, he did pry to know more.

His name sounded oddly familiar but I didn't want to stress myself thinking about where I had seen or heard the name from but then it clicked.

The club’s name was Ace of Spades.

Shit!