by Huss, JA
He leans down into my neck and lets out a steamy breath of desire. "It feels good to give in, doesn't it?"
"This feels good." I can feel his smile against my skin and I smile too. "But maybe next time I can blindfold you?"
"You wanna be on top, Gidge?"
He likes me on top and I like it too. "Yes, please."
He growls against my neck again. "You have nice manners, Miss Walsh. Now let go of the headboard." I do and before I know what's happening he flips us over and I'm straddling his waist. My hand goes up to the blindfold. "No," he says, stopping me with a firm grasp. "Leave it."
I obey, then lift up and wrap my palm around his thickness. We are both very ready. I guide him inside me and then let myself dip down. His hands are on my hips, encouraging me to move back and forth instead of up and down. This drives me crazy and he knows it.
"Come here, Gidge." He gently grabs my shoulders and pulls my upper body down on top of his muscular chest. "Stay right here." And then he takes over, alternating between thrusting and sliding me against him in just the right way so that my clit is throbbing with the friction. I draw my knees up a little so I can push myself against him.
"God, you feel so good, Rook." His hands are on my ass now, squeezing, and then he lifts up and gives me a small smack. Not enough to hurt but definitely enough to make me want more. The next time he does it I moan and increase my movement, lifting up and then slamming down on him. "Yeah, that's nice," he says and when the hand smacks down for the third time I explode.
I come so hard I can't stop the scream.
Chapter Twenty-Five - Rook
Fort Collins, or FoCo as Ronin likes to call it, is a about an hour's drive north of Denver. Spencer's shop is just northwest of the city outside a tiny town called Bellvue. It sits on a large piece of land that bucks up against the Cache La Pouder River and the shop is really a large barn behind a massive white farmhouse.
This place is totally cute.
Ford, being the asshole that he is, put a car cam in Ronin's truck for the ride up so we dutifully said next to nothing the entire time just to piss Ford off. Now that the crew is back I'm less enthusiastic about being chatty, so I let Ronin do all the talking. He's discussing things with Spencer and Team Rook is messing with the microphone when Ford walks over to me.
I do my best to ignore him, but it's not easy because he just stands there and waits out my silence.
"What?" I finally ask as I turn to look up at him.
He shakes his head at me. "Don't let him talk for you, Rook. Stop moping about the cameras and make decisions. This is your life they're discussing." And then he walks off.
He's right, I have to admit that. I should be over there talking about this. I walk over to Ronin and Spence and Ronin puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close as he continues talking. "Two places," Ronin says to Spencer. "That's it."
"Two places, what?" I ask.
"Four, Ronin. I need her to meet everyone on this trip so we get a good rapport going with the locals. I get that you don't want her doing the whole season, but she already signed a contract for the pilot, and the purpose of the pilot is to generate good footage so we get the whole season."
"What places?" I ask again.
"Spencer, she was contracted to do modeling, not be your errand girl. She's a model, not your bitch."
"What's going on?"
"Yeah, but the modeling included the reality show, so technically she is my bitch."
"Spencer—"
"Rook," Ronin says, a little exasperated. "Please, just let me manage the contractual stuff, OK?" He kisses me on the head and points over to the far end of the shop. "There's your bike, go check it out."
Hmph. I walk off. Should I be mad at that exchange? He's my manager, he's just doing his job. I look back for Team Rook to see if they've sorted the microphone yet, but they are still busy setting things up. I stop and check out the bike I chose last month when I was at Spencer's showroom and he painted my back up. It was just a plain bike back then, reminiscent of a classic Triumph with a flashy turquoise tank. Now it's all turquoise. The frame, the fenders, and even the long classic leather seat.
But the thing that really makes this bike stand out now is the logo. Every bike gets its own logo and my bike is called the Shrike Rook. It's so perfect I can hardly contain my glee! It's got a cool swirly feathered blackbird in the middle of a blood red circle and the letters are in a font most heavy metal bands could appreciate. The girly feathers repeat on the fenders and are embroidered on the seat.
"It's nice, huh?" Ford asks.
"God, yes! He said he'd customize it a bit, but I never imagined he'd go to all this trouble. It's… stunning." I laugh a little and look over at him.
He's not even smiling.
"What?"
"That was underwhelming, Rook. You didn't even get them to look at you."
I let out a long breath. "Ford, he's my manager, that's his job. Now leave me alone."
"Rook!" Ronin barks at me from across the room. I can see Ford give me a look out of the corner of my eye but I ignore him.
"Yeah," I reply, turning to walk back over to Ronin.
He meets me halfway, throwing a pissed-off look at Ford who is still back by the bike. "OK, we've agreed to three stops at the different vendors. They're putting the cameras in the truck right now. You drive to three places around town. The painter, the chrome guy, and the upholsterer. Just drop off some bullshit parts, it's all fake, so don't worry about that. Chat the people up, flirt a little maybe, then come back. Ford and your crew will follow in the van. When you get to the shops, let the crew do everything first so they can get shots of you pulling in the parking lot, entering the building. Got it?"
"Yeah, sure. Are you coming with me?"
"Ah…" He hesitates. "No, Elise called, they need me up in Steamboat again, so I'm just gonna drive up there real fast and I'll be back soon. Tonight, probably, tomorrow at the latest."
"What? But it's far, right? You'll never be back that fast!"
"It's only three hours from here, Gidge. I swear, this is the last time, OK? She's just being a freak. I'll be right back. You'll be working anyway, you'll never miss me." And then he does it again. He leans down, kisses me on the cheek and walks off, calling out some last-minute bullshit to Spencer as he goes.
I look back at Ford and he's frowning. He walks over to me. "I'll ride with you, Rook."
"No," I say. "I can drive myself, thanks."
The parts truck is a big-ass mother, red, with a huge ol' Shrike Bikes logo on it. It's like a twin to the one Spencer drives. It's even got flashy chrome exhaust pipes and rims. When I get in, I feel powerful.
I laugh. I have a thingy in my ear so I can hear Ford and a necklace with a microphone on it. They're worried about me getting lost even though they've punched all the addresses into the GPS, so he's talking in my ear as I get situated.
"What so funny?" he asks.
"I love this truck. I might have to buy me one. Ask Spencer if I can have it."
Ford repeats what I said and I can tell he's laughing. I barely make out Spencer's retort, but Ford repeats it for me. "He said if you help him get the full season, this will be one of the many signing bonuses he offers up for the contract."
I buckle myself in, then turn the ignition. The beast rumbles to life and I let out a little squeal. "OK, I'll do my best, Spence." Thankfully this thing is an automatic, so I put it in gear and gun it out of the parking lot, Ford and Spencer following along in the van with the crew, yelling in my ear to slow down.
But my foot has other ideas. I haven't driven in a while and I've never driven a truck. My lead foot is getting even heavier now, so the beast lurches forward with power. I roll my window down and pump my fist back at them as I whoop it up.
And promptly get flashing red and blue lights for my trouble.
"Oh, shit! The po-nine's here!"
"Rook," Ford says very seriously in my earpiece, "do you have a license?"
I pull off to the side of the totally abandoned road. How the hell did the cops even see me out here? We're like ten miles out of town. "Yes, but it's still Illinois."
The cop pulls in behind me and then the van pulls in behind the cop. Spencer jumps out and tries to run interference. He shakes hands with the cop and they walk up to my window together.
"Ma'am—" I'm suddenly having flashbacks of Ronin checking me for drugs and a laugh bursts out.
Spencer and the cop look at me funny.
"I'm not drinking, I swear."
"What?" the cop asks.
"I'm just saying, I'm not drunk or anything, officer. It's just I've never driven a truck like this before and it was so much fun, I got a little carried away." I stop to bat my eyelashes at him. "I'm sorry, I'll tone it down, OK?"
"License and registration."
Fucktard. I reach into my pocket and pull out my license and hand it over. Spencer's already on the other side of the truck fishing through the glove box for the insurance card and registration. When he finds them he hands the papers to me and I pass them along.
The cop takes them, eyeballing Spencer as he shuffles through the glove box, trying to hide a gun under some Dairy Queen napkins. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."
"It's permitted, Scott. You wanna see my concealed carry card?"
"Only if it has her name on it, Spencer. She's the one driving the truck."
I glance over at Spencer and raise my eyebrows. He just shakes his head until the cop walks back to his car and gets inside.
"Goddamn it, Rook! You're on the road thirty seconds and you get pulled over!"
"Am I gonna get busted for that gun in the glove box?"
"I'm not sure. He could be a dick about that, but it's not technically illegal—we could fight it. I forgot it was in here to be honest, I have guns stashed everywhere. And you driving like Danica Patrick isn't fucking helping the situation. This might be the Wild West, but you can't piss off the locals like that, Rook!"
"That's not fair, Spencer! It's the middle of nowhere!" I look around trying to figure out where the cop came from but all I see is a little dirt road that leads up a hill and some cows munching on grass across the way.
"Well, if you'd listened to me when you were busy gunnin' it, I would've told you that a cop lives right up that road and that's where he eats his lunch every day."
"Oh."
Ford walks up and leans in my window. "This is good TV, Rook. Nice going."
"It wasn't a plan, you dickbitch," Spencer growls at him. "This guy hates my guts and he just saw my fucking piece in the glove box, so let's not piss him off, OK?"
We wait there in silence for what seems like eternity and then the cop finally comes back, writing something down on a pad of paper.
"Scott," Spencer says, trying to begin the negotiations that are surely coming. "Don't be an asshole. You know my trucks are legal, you know that gun is mine. She's new, she was having a little fun, she's—"
"She's got a missing person's report out on her in Illinois. Some guy who says he's her husband, Jon Walsh."
I lean out the window and puke right on Ford's shoes.
Chapter Twenty-Six - Rook
"Rook?" Spencer and Ford are saying my name together but all I can do is try to remember how to breathe. "Rook? Stop, Rook. Look at me!"
"Get her out of the truck. Take her out!" The cop is pushing Ford to get out of the way and trying to open the door but I'm grasping onto the window and pulling in the opposite direction because I feel like I'm dying.
I'm dying.
He's found me.
I grab at Ford's shirt, pulling him towards me as I gasp for breath. "Help me! I can't—"
"She's just hyperventilating. Rook, look at me." I look up at the cop and he's pointing to his eyes. "Look at me, OK? Can you look at me?"
I nod, my breathing becoming harder and harder.
"Do you have any breathing conditions? Do I need to call an ambulance?"
I shake my head as I continue to sob and gasp for air.
"OK. Listen, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to put my hand over your mouth and pinch one nostril closed. Then you can only breathe through one side of your nose. This will help you calm down, OK?"
I nod and he does what he described. I struggle at first because it reminds me of being suffocated by Jon, but he keeps a firm hold over my mouth and talks to me in soft, soothing words. "Slow down, OK?" He looks me in the eyes. "Slow."
I try, but it's very hard to stop the chain reaction inside my body. I shake all over as I try my hardest to get my breathing under control. And then slowly, after many minutes, he removes his hand and I am not gasping.
And then I just cry. "He's gonna find me!"
I just cry.
"Rook," the cop says. "Don't cry, OK? No one's gonna find you. You're OK. If you start crying, you'll have another attack. Just calm down."
I stop the sobbing but the tears still come. They pour out in rivers and roll down my cheeks. "He's gonna find me. He's gonna know where I am!"
"Who, Rook?" Ford pushes the cop out of the way and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Who's gonna find you?"
"My ex, Jon. He's gonna know." I look over at the cop. "You ran my name and it triggered the report, right?"
"Yeah, but he won't have access to that, you don't—"
"He's a computer forensics specialist for the Chicago PD!"
The cop is stunned silent because I'm sure he's seen this scene play out a hundred times. There's only one reason for a girl to act this way about a man from her past.
"Scott, can we just take her home?" Spencer asks from the passenger seat. "If you're gonna write a ticket, do it fast, OK?"
"No, you're good." He looks past me, over to Spencer. "Sorry, dude. I had no idea. It was just a stupid traffic stop."
"Get in, Rook," Ford says, taking my arm. He opens the door to the back cab and pushes me in, then follows me. "Drive, Spencer."
Spencer climbs over the console and plops down in the driver's seat and starts up the truck. He turns around and takes us back to the shop. When we get there, Ford talks into his little microphone and tells the crew to turn off the cameras. Then he and Spencer take me into the house and sit me down on the couch.
"OK, I'm not gonna fight with you about this, Rook," Ford says with a hard edge to his voice. "I'm only gonna ask you once. Is this man dangerous?"
I nod and the tears start again.
"How dangerous? Does he fight men? Or just women?"
"Just women, I think."
Both Ford and Spencer exchange a sort of conspiratorial look.
"Is he really your husband?"
I cry harder as I look up at Ford and nod. "He is. He made me!"
"OK, that's enough, Ford. She's had enough now. I'm calling Ronin. He's probably not even halfway yet." Spencer pulls out his phone and messes with the screen. We listen together as it dials Ronin on speaker.
It goes straight to voicemail.
"Shit, no service in the mountains. I'm not leaving this kind of message on voicemail, Rook. So we'll just have to wait until he gets back in range near Steamboat and I'll try again later."
I am suddenly exhausted and I just nod and lie down on the couch, my face buried in the pillow.
Ford sits down on the coffee table as Spencer goes outside to run interference with the camera crew coming up the front steps. "You're safe here, you know that right? You're totally safe here."
"I don't feel safe, Ford. I feel the opposite of safe."
"This is your damage, isn't it? You ran from him, didn't you?"
I nod my head into the pillow.
"And somehow you found Ronin, and he figured it out. Because I know you didn't tell him. You're not a teller, are you, Rook? You keep secrets, don't you?"
"Just stop, Ford. I'm not in the mood."
He hesitates for a second, then takes a deep breath. "I have to confess, I've never seen someone have a panic attack
like that. I thought you were dying."
I turn over a little so I can look up at his face. I'm not sure what I expect, but it isn't sympathy like I get. "I felt like I was dying, too. I thought you were a mental psychosis prodigy, Ford? How could you never've seen a panic attack?"
He laughs out a little bit of air. "I'm an armchair therapist—"
I watch him struggle for words for a few seconds and his eyes dart back and forth as he looks me in one eye, then the other. His expression becomes very serious. "What?" I ask.
"You really scared me."
"Sorry."
"You need to get a divorce."
"I can't see him again, Ford. I can't. I'm not just not capable of handling that. I'm not."
He looks away and looks off into the distance. "Just leave it to us, Rook. We'll handle it."
"What's that mean?"
Ford shrugs, like this is nothing. "I'm sure Ronin's going to ask for favors when he gets back."
"I don't understand."
"Just relax, OK? He won't hurt you again. You should just stop worrying about that right now."
"The hurt's inside, Ford. He doesn't need to be here to hurt me." I watch his expression carefully as he absorbs my words. This uncharacteristic version of Ford. The one who says he's scared and who talks soft and reassures me. I'm not sure who this guy is and it's making me nervous.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
I nod yes because my chest hurts with each hiccup of air left over from crying and hyperventilating and my eyes are burning so bad I can't keep them open anymore. "I just want to close my eyes, OK? Just for a minute."
"We'll be right outside if you need anything."
I turn away and face the back of the couch, running through all the bad days of my previous life. The psychological torture Jon put me through, the verbal lashings, the physical punishment. My head is throbbing so bad I almost want to throw up again.
But I think of Ronin instead. Of all the ways he's treated me nice since I met him. Even Ford, who is still a very weird guy who probably has some not-so-innocent intentions with me. But he's nice too, and he seems to care.