by Huss, JA
"Rook, he raped you. Repeatedly, for several years. You're just so used to being mistreated you can't even comprehend what happened."
She stares at me, the water running down her face, streaking it with black and blue paint that slides down her body and swirls together in an inky pool of color at her feet.
"He raped you."
She shakes her head. "No."
I reach out and pull her close, hug her tightly. "Yes. That's what happened, Rook. And while I'm very proud of you for how well you've been dealing with the past, you need to know, in case it ever happens again, that if a man intimidates you into sex, that. Is. Rape."
She pulls back, squinting her eyes up at me as she tries to process my words. "I don't think I can talk about this."
I nod and pick up the sponge, then swipe it down her arm. She stands still as I wash her. Just thinking about what I said.
We meet Spencer and Ford for dinner, and even though they both keep up their ends of the conversation with some crude South Park talk, Rook is unable to hide her reaction to the facts that are suddenly becoming clear.
The doctors say the brain finds way to cope with stress and one of those ways, a very popular way actually, is denial.
This girl has been in denial for so long, she can barely process the truth.
When we go to bed that night she's quiet and clingy. I like her clingy because that just means I get to touch her more. But she's not snuggling, she's desperately holding on to me. She sighs against my chest and I sigh with her.
It hurts me—physically hurts me—to think of what she went through as a teenager.
She was a child when that monster found her, desperate and needy. Homeless and hungry, alone on the streets.
And that pathetic excuse of a human is nothing more than a pedophile rapist.
It takes hours for Rook to slide into her normal deep sleep, but I wait patiently until her breathing evens out, her clenched fist releases my shirt, and she turns a little to sink into the pillow. I slip out of bed, grab my phone and text Ford.
He's standing down in the studio near the far windows, like he never went home. He knows better than to speak about work unless the conditions are right, so he walks to the center of the room and flips on one of the fans we use for windy shoots.
"What'd ya got?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the vibrating hum.
"A nibble. Small withdrawal."
"He's testing?"
"Yes, that's my guess."
"So did you make a grab?"
He sneers at me. "If we just established he's testing, why the fuck would I grab him now?"
"I'm just asking, Ford."
"Be patient. It's a waiting game. He knows where she is now, the ball's in our court. I'll put the website up this week and set up the accounts. See if we can't tempt him to move fast."
"Do you think he will?'
Ford looks out the window as he thinks. "No, I think he's gonna wait. I think he's one paranoid motherfucker, but stratospherically ballsy at the same time."
"Why?"
"Because his first transaction was ninety-nine cents. He went inside and paid for a cup of coffee at Cookie's with a card from Rook's account with his name on it. I found it on the security footage we have access to for the show. I don't want to risk invading Rook's account because I'll muddy the tracks, so I can't be sure of how he got it without asking Rook to check things, but there's only one reason for him to be that ballsy. And that's because he ordered that extra card right from her online banking account. He's definitely had access to that for a while now."
"What a dumbass."
"Yeah, that's what we think because we know the food's free at Cookie's, so she'd never pay for a cup of coffee. It was a dead giveaway, we couldn't have asked for a better tip-off. But in his mind, that's about the safest transaction there is. A cup of coffee at her local haunt. If she did pay for food there, she'd never suspect it."
"How long do you think? Before he moves on her?"
"Hard to tell." Ford shrugs. "But he's quite good, it takes some skill to deal directly with banks."
"What about the other stuff?"
Ford smiles his nasty evil genius smile and nods his head. "Setting it up. He'll regret ever stepping into my little sphere of vengeance."
I get the shivers as the words come out because Ford is diabolical when it comes to these jobs. "What do you want me to do?"
"This is a non-personal con, Ronin. You're not really necessary until the very end. Just keep your eyes open, I don't trust this man. He's devious. And we all need to be carrying from now on. He was issued a concealed carry weapons permit out of the JeffCo Sheriff last week."
"Fuck. That means he's been here for a while."
"Probably as long as Rook has. That's the only way he could get that permit so quickly, and even then, he probably had someone pull strings."
I just nod, hoping we're not putting her in more danger as this plays out.
Ford turns and walks off and I flick the fan off and take the stairs three at a time back up to my apartment.
Rook is still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the deal Ford, Spence, and I are making. Unaware of who I really am, what I used to do, and what I'm capable of.
Unaware of what I'm gonna do for her now.
Chapter Thirty-Two - Ronin
And that's pretty much how our summer passes. We put the entire studio on lockdown, no public hours at all anymore, entrance by appointment only. Spence, Ford and I hold secret meetings under cover of bubbling rivers or oscillating fans. Rook is painted up to match the bike of the day and then photographed alone or sitting in my lap. We spend our weekends up at the Shrike Shop, filming fake deliveries and goofing off for the cameras. I visit Clare up in Steamboat a few times as a reward for good behavior. She finally begins to make progress towards a real recovery.
And we wait it out.
We wait for that sick fuck to make his move.
But he is so very, very patient.
And it's making me very nervous, because there's no way around it. Somehow, some way, this asshole knows we're setting him up. Ford was supposed to move on to part two of the con more than a month ago, but Jon Walsh disappeared and we had to hold back, then start all over again when he finally resurfaced.
Ford says it's normal for a guy with his credentials to be wary, but I'm not buying it. There's no way this is normal.
So I worry, and pace, and most nights I sit up in bed, watching Rook sleep, my Ruger in hand. Like I am right fucking now. Maybe this started out with him paranoid, but I have a bad feeling that he's turned the tables on us, like somehow he knows. He knows who we are and what we do and he's taunting us.
And our road trip to Sturgis starts today, so that means we're gonna be out of state, on the highway, in a campground with five thousand other strangers—all badass, all mean as fuck, all drunk and horny—and this is not going to end well. I can feel it.
I drag my hand across my forehead to wipe the sweat and Rook breathes a little heavier than normal, like she's dreaming. She's a perceptive girl, that's one thing I noticed about her immediately. She reads body language like a librarian reads books. She's on to us.
But anytime she asks, we shut her down. And something tells me she's OK with that. She's at the very end of her coping capabilities, she wants us to handle it for her.
She still runs with Ford in the mornings, but now Spencer and I hang out over there too, just in case. The AM training program at Coors Field is not something most people know about. It's private, reserved for big shots in the know. But this Jon guy seems to be in the know more often than not.
The waiting is killing me.
My phone buzzes with a text and my heart jumps at the noise.
Fucking Ford. I read the text and it simply says: Nibble, nibble.
He's such a child. I text back: Don't fuck it up this time.
I didn't fuck it up last time, asshole. Part two, commencing now. Website accessed.
I click the link For
d sends and almost get physically ill when I see Rook's picture advertising a live sex cam. I grimace and look over at her again. If she knew, she'd probably hate me. I close the web browser down and sneak out of bed. Light is already filtering through the windows and since we're leaving for Sturgis later this morning, I might as well just get up and go find Ford and talk this shit out with him in person.
"Rook," I whisper down in her ear. "Wake up, Gidge."
"Hmmm."
"I'm going down to the studio for a second, but the alarm is still set, so if I'm not back, don't ignore it. We gotta get ready to go in about an hour. OK?"
Nothing but snores.
"Rook!"
"Mmm-hmmm. Heard you."
"And do not ignore me if I text."
More snores.
"Fuck it, I'll be right back, OK?"
She's out.
I slip some jeans on and walk out to the hallway and make my way down to the garden terrace, texting Ford as I go. When I get outside he's over on the far side, craning his neck to see something down the street. The edginess is back and my heart beats a little faster. "What's up?" I ask softly as I near him.
"Saw someone. Maybe him, actually." He takes his attention to a ping on his tablet, scans the message, then turns back to the street below.
My heart rate jacks up as I process his words. "You're fucking kidding me? Now?"
"I said I think, Ronin."
"Where's Spence?"
"I sent him down the street, that's who I was watching."
"Did Walsh make a purchase?"
"Not yet, but I've had seventeen nibbles on it in the past several hours."
"Define nibble, Ford. What's that even mean?"
Ford stops his intense concentration on the street and turns to me. "He's tried to hack it repeatedly over night. But my friend is mistaken if he thinks he can crack past my firewall machine before I'm ready to let him in."
"So he wants cam access but doesn't want to pay and leave a record."
"Pretty much," Ford says, turning back to the street. Spencer is in plain sight now, walking back towards us.
"Well, that pretty much defeats the whole fucking purpose of having that site in the first place, doesn't it? If he gets access, we're fucked."
"Relax, Ronin. Let me handle it. It's my ass that will burn if he does that, not yours. You do your job and that's it."
Spencer enters the building downstairs and we go inside and wait for him in the studio, turning on the fans to keep the conversation muddied. Just in case. We are paranoid fuckers and that's why we're not in jail. The keypad on the door beeps out his code and then Spence enters, a little out of breath from running up four flights of stairs.
"Nothing," he says to Ford. "There's a few vagrants down there, that's all."
"I'm not buying it," Ford says. "He's down there, he's just hiding. It's definitely today. He's watching us, waiting for us to fuck up."
"Should we cancel the trip?" I ask Ford.
"Fuck that, we're not canceling the trip," Spencer retorts in a huff. "The sooner we get on the road the better. Keep her confined in the RV. That's better than hanging out here in this huge-ass building. Besides, everyone's ready. The crew are all packed and they'll be here in a few hours."
"Maybe," I say, but internally I'm thinking about all the ways we're sitting ducks inside that RV on that long, almost empty highway leading up to Sturgis. All the way through Wyoming. It's not good.
"You got anything else, Ford?"
"No, it's dead now. Nothing. I got seven proxies to query, though, so I'm gonna go back to Rook's apartment and work on that. Let's just move on like there's nothing out of the ordinary. Pack up the RV, pack up the trucks, when the crew gets here, just keep them busy. We'll decide what to do next on the road."
He walks off towards Rook's apartment and Spencer heads for the door. "I'll be down in the art room packing up the last of my supplies."
I'm like a deer in front of a Mack truck at night. Not sure what to do, paralyzed by the possibilities that are barreling down upon me.
Chapter Thirty-Three - Rook
Ronin is a manic mess this morning and I'm standing here in the middle of his apartment, trying for the life of me to figure out why. We're packed, we're on time. The RV is gassed up. The crews aren't here yet, but they're not due for another half hour or so. We ate breakfast. The bike is on the truck. Spence is downstairs getting his supplies together and shutting down the art and production studio.
We're ready. And I'm not even nervous—in fact, I'm looking forward to this trip. I'm gonna get blind-ass drunk up there in Sturgis, I do not even care that I'm underage. I figure if I'm old enough to parade my goods in front of half a million people, a few shots of tequila and some fizzy Coronas aren't gonna make a bit of fucking difference. If I have to sit in the RV and get drunk alone, I will.
The rally officially starts tomorrow, but we're not scheduled for the downtown walk of shame and Shrike Raven unveiling until the day after. It's a long day, one that I'm very anxious to be over. But being naked barely bothers me anymore, I'm so used to wearing nothing that when I do put clothes on for dinner every night, it almost feels weird. I might become a nudist.
I laugh. Right out loud.
Fuck that, I can't wait for winter so I can put on layers of clothes.
"Hey?" I call out to Ronin. He's out on the terrace talking fast and low to Ford, I think. Ford has been texting and calling him all morning. It's starting to drive me crazy because each time Ronin gets more and more wound up. Ronin puts one finger up towards me, then turns and continues his conversation.
Whatever. He's not gonna ruin my trip. I've been stuck in this place all summer, thinking about Jon and all the what-ifs. But he never showed. I figure I'm safe. Ronin was right—he probably did find me, saw I was already involved with someone else, I'd started over and all that, and then he left.
And Ford has been working on the divorce stuff slowly. He tells me a little bit about how we might take care of this every now and then, but he says we should wait until things calm down and then we'll talk about the plan. Annulment, he hints. Sounds good to me. I still run with him every day, it's actually one of the few things in my life that is stress-free and predictable. It allows me to think about nothing for thirty minutes every morning, clear my head. Ford was totally right about exercise. It's good for me.
I can't keep up with him when we run, but he slows down for me a little bit before taking off and going ahead on his own now. He's been talking a lot about the Biker Channel season going through with Spencer, so I've been mulling that over. It sounds a lot better than anything I've ever done, so—
"Rook!"
Ronin comes busting in from the terrace and interrupts my thoughts. "I've gotta go downstairs for a second. Stay here, I'll be right back." He leans down and kisses me on the cheek, then rushes out the door.
"OK," I say to no one, since I'm alone now. I go to the fridge and grab some blackberries from the fruit basket I took from Antoine's office yesterday. I can take or leave his apples and pears, but berries… that's another story.
The doorbell rings and I almost pee my pants, it scares me so bad. I didn't even know we had a doorbell, and for that matter, who the fuck would ring it?
I walk slowly around the corner of the kitchen and then just stare at the door.
Who would ring the doorbell?
I swallow hard as my heart rate picks up.
Who would ring the doorbell?
We're on lockdown, have been for months. No one in or out without a code. Everyone's code was changed when we came back from FoCo after the missing person's report was cleared. And no one who's allowed to be in this building needs to ring the doorbell, because everyone has access to Ronin's apartment via a second code, just in case Jon did come back and somehow make his way inside.
My heart thumps so hard with this thought my hand goes up to my chest. I feel like I have to hold it inside or it will burst through.
It's Jon.
Oh, God. I rush over to my cell phone and push the preset for Ronin. The little icon at the top of the phone says no service.
Oh, fuck.
He's messed up our service.
He's inside the building.
Where can I go?
He must not have the code for Ronin's apartment, either that or he's fucking with me, trying to draw me outside. I tiptoe over to the door and peek through the little peep hole.
There's a sign taped to the wall across from the door.
It says, Where's Ronin?
My arms reach out for the wall before I faint. Do not faint, Rook. Do not faint, I tell myself over and over.
He wants me to go outside. It's a trick. I know this, I know it's a trick. I lived with this man for three years, this is how he plays his game. And now that I think about it, that's what that phone call was with Ronin, something to do with Jon.
I stand up and catch my breath. Still, if that freak thinks he's gonna hurt Ronin… I take another deep breath and push my ear to the door. Nothing.
I tiptoe back to the kitchen and grab the biggest knife we have, then walk calmly back to the door.
I twist the handle on the door and cringe as the locking mechanism automatically releases. I wait for the door to burst open, I'm prepared for him to come at me from the hallway.
But nothing happens.
I open the door a crack and wait. Again, nothing.
I throw it all the way open and rush forward into the hallway.
Silence and emptiness.
Where the hell is everyone? We're leaving in like half an hour, where's Elise and Antoine?
Oh, God, please, please, I beg. Please do not let them be hurt or worse, dead, by this monster's hand.
I have to stifle down a cry before I remember that my own life is in danger if he catches me. I walk down the hallway, and for once, my old Converse sneakers are the perfect footwear for the job. I stop just before I get to the stairs and push myself up against the wall the way you see people do in the movies, just before they flash their eyeballs around a corner where Charlie's waiting to pump their guts full of lead.