by Huss, JA
And Spencer, and Antoine, and Elise. Even Billy and Josie.
I have a whole new life filled with people who are nice. People who don't think it's OK to hurt me.
But what if Jon decides he needs to hurt them too?
I start crying again, because I can handle him hurting me, but I would never be able to live with myself if he hurt one of my new friends.
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ronin
Clare's sleeping when I finally make it to the treatment center just past two. Antoine and Elise are already back at their little apartment and I'm not even gonna bother stopping in there, I just want to make sure Clare knows I'm still around. I sit down next her and smile when she begins to wake up. She's so much better than she was last week. Not out of the woods yet, but definitely better.
"You're back," she mumbles, still very drowsy from the methadone treatment.
"I said I would be. You didn't need to panic, you're gonna give Elise a heart attack, making her call me and threatening to stop treatment if I don't come."
"I was afraid you'd ditch me for that girl."
"Well, I wouldn't ditch you. It's not an either-or choice, Clare. You'll like her, you'll see."
"Are you staying?" She's having a hard time keeping her eyes open now, it's only a matter of time before she dozes off again.
"No, sorry. I have to get back. But I'm rooting for you, you know that right?"
She's out. And it's a good thing, too. Because if she was at the tail end of her dose instead of at the onset, she'd be a lot harder to deal with. It sucks to say it, because it's all kinds of wrong, but she's so much nicer when she's sedated.
I go back out and tell the reception girl I'm leaving, then get back in my truck and start the three-hour drive all over again.
I've been trying not to think about Spencer's phone call, but it's hard not to, now that I'm heading back and there's nothing else to occupy my time. This makes the drive back to the Shrike Shop agonizing because all of the calm that came from seeing Clare asleep and getting better has been wiped away by Spencer's words. They just repeat over and over in my head. Panic attack. Missing person's report. Married.
That fucker married her.
The rage inside me as I picture her being legally tied to that violence is almost too much and by the time I pull the truck into the driveway, I'm ready to kick someone's ass.
Ford and Spence break from the crowd of crew members out near the shop and start walking towards me. I just stand still, trying to calm myself. Spencer recognizes the look on my face and jerks his head out towards the woods.
It's like deja vu as the three of us veer off the driveway and head north towards the little bend in the river. Even when we meet up, we say nothing, just continue walking until we are under the cover of the trees. Once there we follow the little footpath down to the river bank— the sound of rushing water just loud enough to layer over our words and make them unintelligible should anyone be listening.
Old habits.
I look at Ford, then Spence, and state matter-of-factly in a low voice, "This dude's gettin' wiped. Let's vote."
"I'm in," Spence says.
"I'm in," Ford says.
"I'll wait and talk to her, of course, but I don't see a way around it. It's done."
We walk back out, part ways in the middle of the yard, and I head to the house and they veer off back to the party.
I stand outside for a minute to calm myself, then reach down and pick a pink daisy from the front garden. It's just a weedy little thing, half wilted from the afternoon sun, but I want to brighten up her day and this is all I have.
I open the door quietly. Spence said she was asleep on the couch the last time I talked to him on the phone, so I make my way over to the living room and ease myself down in the large leather chair across the room.
When she told me what happened to her back in Chicago I processed it, then tucked it away. I've met lots of asshole guys who hit girls. I've met lots of girls who get hit. But I've only ever dated one besides Rook.
That's how I caught on to her erratic behavior so fast when she showed up. I knew the first moment I saw her crouching down in that stairwell outside the studio door that someone had mistreated her. But I had no idea how sick that fucker really was until she told me about the beating that finally convinced her to leave.
She made it clear that she wasn't interested in getting the guy back or putting him away. And I don't blame her one bit. But I should never have agreed to her request. And I have no excuse. Spencer was right there. Ford was on his way. It was almost too perfect.
But maybe a blessing in disguise. We know what we're up against now. Computer forensics specialist with the Chicago PD is nothing to dismiss and had we not known that little detail before making plans, we'd almost certainly be fucked.
But we are far from fucked now.
Rook inhales quickly several times, proof of her earlier panic attack betraying her resting body.
I'm shaking, that's how pissed off I am. I want to kill someone.
I rub my hands across my face and take out my phone to text the accountant. I instruct him to move all her money to her bank account, put it all in plain sight—to hell with the penalties, just move that shit now. I'll pay her back.
The secret to the perfect job is to keep it easy. Very predictable.
I've thought about this job all the way down the mountain. And I might not know him all that well, but if he's a hacker he's into two things. The thrill of penetrating security firewalls and money.
Rook's got a nice little stash of money right now. Only fifty grand or so, but still. If you could steal fifty grand in an afternoon and be guaranteed to get away with it, you would.
And he will.
Men who hit women are also easy to read, I know this from the very first job Spence, Ford and I pulled just before Mardee died. Those assholes think their women are property. This Jon guy sees Rook as something he owns.
In my opinion this is the perfect combination. Half money-lusting hacker, half misogynist woman-beater.
Because that makes him vulnerable to money and sex.
Two things I can most definitely dangle in front of him, then twist it around so bad, he'll never know what hit him.
This is what we used to do.
Your first impression of Spencer should be dumb. There's just no way around that, in high school he always looked the part of the big dumb jock. And now that he's all tatted up, he's just switched over to being the big dumb biker.
Your first impression of Ford should be well-dressed asshole, but maybe a little on the weak side. Not buff like Spence, but lean and fast. He plays that part well. Snooty, rich, privileged, soft hands, soft words, living off his name and his family's wealth.
Your first impression of me should be honest, trustworthy guy. Good-looking, charming, happy, and eager to help and please. A rule-follower who wants to forget where he came from.
Your first impressions would be dead-ass wrong in all three cases.
Because Spencer is a certifiable genius, Ford is as ruthless as they come, and I'm an accomplished liar.
Together we pulled off a series of con jobs in college that netted us tens of millions of dollars—in secret, untraceable bank accounts, of course.
And I have a plan for this Jon guy.
Oh, yes, I think to myself as I twirl the pink daisy by its stem between my fingers.
I most certainly do have a motherfucking plan for this guy.
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Rook
I wake suddenly, the rush of my earlier panic attack making me sit straight up before I realize where I am. The dying sunlight from outside filters through the sheer curtains but it's dusky inside as well. Ronin is sitting across the living room from me. I smile at him, trying my hardest not to cry as the words come out. "You came."
He gets up and walks over to the couch, then sits down and sets my head in his lap. "Of course I came, Gidget. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you." He drags a piec
e of hair off my forehead and then tucks it behind my ear with a little pink daisy.
My hand goes to the flower and I am overwhelmed with how much he means to me. "I'm sorry," I choke out between half-hidden sobs.
He lets out a soft chuckle and leans down to kiss my forehead. "What in the world do you have to be sorry for?"
"For not telling you I was legally married."
He sighs. "I won't pretend, it hurt a little to find that out from Spencer over the phone, but Rook, we barely know each other. It's not like you lied, it just never came up."
"So you're not mad at me?"
"No, Gidge. I'm not mad. We can talk about that stuff later. How are you feeling?"
I swallow down all my feelings and paint on a happy face. "I'm OK." He's staring down at me with a scowl. "What?"
"You don't look OK, Rook. Tell me the truth now."
The tears build up again and my whole face scrunches up as I try to stop them. "I'm scared, Ronin." He strokes my hair and waits for me to continue, so I take a deep breath. "Why can't he just go away? Why? How arrogant can he be? To put out a missing person's report on me after what he did? It's like he's still claiming me, you know?"
"He's not getting you. Ever. He's never coming near you again, Rook, so just put that thought out of your mind, OK?"
"But now he knows I'm here. There's a missing person's report, what does that mean? Will I have to go back?"
"No, Rook. The report has been cleared now, he knows it was cleared here in Larimer County, and that's it. Spencer and Ford already talked to the deputy who pulled you over and he said they have to file a report because they cleared the missing persons out of the database, but that's all they're required to do. They won't mention Spencer or the shop or anything."
I breathe out a little sigh of relief, but Ronin's not done talking yet. "But the problem is, you told everyone he's a computer forensics specialist?"
I nod up at him as my stomach roils with this 'but'.
"He has to know where you are. There's no way he doesn't know where you are. You've done nothing to hide yourself, your social's on record as working for us, you have a bank account…"
My whole face crumples under this news. "Oh, God."
"But look at it this way, Rook. He hasn't bothered you so he's probably given up."
I snort through my sobs. "He didn't give up. You don't understand. He threatened me! He tried to—"
I stop, because even though this is Ronin and I know he's one hundred percent on my side, admitting that I allowed this monster to do these things to me is so hard. It makes me feel so weak and stupid.
Ronin strokes my cheek. "He tried to what?" he asks softly. "Just tell me, Rook. I'm not gonna judge you and I know it must be hard to talk about, but we need to know what we're up against."
"I didn't want to marry him." I look up at Ronin, pleading with him to believe me. "I didn't. But he took me up to this island in the lake near Michigan, some stupid island where they have no cars. And he told me it was for my birthday, when I turned eighteen. Before that we sorta had to hide because he was already twenty-one when we started dating." I stop and meet Ronin's worried eyes. "I was only sixteen. But I was in a bad foster home and I ran away. I'm not even sure how it happened, but the next minute I was on the streets homeless, just wandering around. And I begged enough money to go inside this diner and get some food, and he was sitting next to me at the counter. I knew it was stupid then, but I was desperate. So I let him take me home.
"It was OK for a while. I turned seventeen a few months later, and he moved us to that dumpy house his uncle left him when he died. And then all the violence and weird shit started. He was always talking about marriage and at first I said no, I'm too young. But after a while that got me a smack and a long lecture about how I belonged to him. So I just agreed. Then he booked this trip to that island for my eighteenth birthday and when we got there we were staying in the honeymoon cabin at this crappy campground on the lake. And—"
I shake my head as I remember it.
"Tell me, Rook."
I look up at Ronin and just blurt it out. "He tried to drown me. He held me under the water that night, he choked me. I thought I was gonna die, Ronin. I swear. He said he'd kill me if I didn't agree to marry him and if I ever tried to leave him, he'd torture me. And I believed him because he had already done so many terrible, terrible things to my body by that time, drowning and torture were just the next logical steps."
Ronin brings his hands up and scrubs them across his face a few times but he says nothing.
"Please, Ronin, tell me what you're thinking right now. Do you hate me?"
He leans down and kisses my forehead one more time. "No, Rook. Hating you is the last thing I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about how easy it would be for us to kill that motherfucker."
"Us? As in me and you?"
He's got a far-off gaze now, just staring out into space. "No, Gidge. Us, as in Spencer, Ford, and me." He looks down and his eyes are blazing with anger. "It would be so easy, you have no idea."
I think back to what Ford said earlier. I'm sure Ronin's going to ask for favors when he comes back. "What do you mean by that, Ronin?"
He sighs and ignores my question. "You wanna stay here tonight? Or you wanna go home? It's only an hour and a half drive home. Wanna go home?"
"What about the footage we need for the show?"
"Fuck the show. We can do that another day."
"But we have to do it though, right? So let's just stay here and do that tomorrow and then it can be over with."
He gets up and takes my hand, pulling me up with him. "Come on, then. Let's wash your face and get something to eat. You hungry?"
I nod and let him take care of everything. There's nothing about this night I want to be responsible for, I just want him to do all of it.
After I splash some cold water on my face and wash off the dirt and tears, Ronin leads me out to the fire pit near the shop where the crews have a big BBQ going. Everyone is standing around joking and drinking. Even Spencer and Ford have eased in with the crowd. No one seems to know that I had a major meltdown or that my ex is a piece of shit woman-beater and is looking for me so he can come back and finish the job. So I just pack all that bad stuff away and quietly stick to Ronin's side.
It feels normal.
Ronin does this.
Ronin makes me feel normal.
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Ronin
We finish filming late the next day and then we all pile into our vehicles and go back home. Spencer stays one more night since the frame came in from painting and he wanted to start the assembly, but he's back on duty with us bright and early this morning.
Ford has given in to Rook completely. She gets to stay with me. No cameras in the apartment.
Ford is weirdly affected by all this Rook stuff. It hits us all pretty close to home, watching her fall to pieces. It brings back a lot of very bad memories of Mardee and how all that shit went down in the end.
How Ford lost and I won.
But really, no one won. We all lost.
I got Mardee, I took her from Ford, and I lost her anyway.
Rook was wrong the other day when she asked what Ford did to start our fight. It wasn't Ford who did anything. It was me. I'm the one who took Mardee from him, brought her into the studio, then let her get caught up in the life, the money, the drugs, and the sex—only to discard her and leave her to find her own way back from all the scumbags that hover around the periphery of the modeling and entertainment worlds.
He never forgave me, and up until right now—maybe even right this second as I run all this through my head again—I never gave a fuck. I could always take or leave Ford, he was barely an acquaintance and never a friend.
But despite that he was a partner in the business the three of us ran during college.
That was just before Mardee died. Just the one job, we said, just the one guy, the dealer who turned Mardee on to the heroin. We were all feeling guilty
. Spence for bringing her around the guys in this neighborhood, Ford for letting me take her away, and me for not caring enough about her to stop what was happening right in front of my face.
But we were all a little lost after Mardee died, and that job was too easy, because regardless of what Spencer looks like on the outside, the fact is, he's a fucking certifiable genius on the inside.
Ford might just be a well-dressed asshole to most people, but if you saw the guy's psychological profile, you'd shit your pants. I've seen it—that's how I know he's one fucked-up individual. He showed it to me, walked me right into his old man's office, hacked into his computer, and let me read what his own father wrote about him.
Incapable of emotion—high-functioning Asperger's Syndrome with areas of prodigious savant skills.
Like Spencer, Ford is a genius, but unlike Spencer, Ford's brand of intelligence is scary high. Off-the-charts evil-genius kinda shit. The kind of intelligence that comes about once every few hundred years.
But even though Ford has some emotional limitations, he's perceptive to fitting in. He started failing his intelligence tests long before I ever met him. In fact, that file in his father's computer was created when he was only seven years old. Ford never passed another test after that. He hides both his limitations and abilities well.
Showing me that personal file was his way of making things right for that fucked-up prank he pulled on me in high school. But we can all thank his solitary childhood computer geek stage for the special skills he brings to the table now.
Me? I'm not a genius, I'm not a hacker, I'm just the face. But every operation needs a front man, right?
And this Jon Walsh asshole is a worthy opponent. It might even be fun.
I watch Rook and Ford cross the street and then part ways at Ford's little sports car. Rook looks up, sees me watching, then drops her head. I'm not jealous of Ford. If she wants to work out with him, that's her deal. I won't interfere. But that doesn't mean I won't keep my eye on her as she does it.