by Huss, JA
I’m not sure how much time goes by when Bomb whispers over my shoulder. “Thunderbird.”
I laugh and turn my head. I don’t have to turn it far, her cheek is practically right up against mine. “Yeah, baby. Thunderbird, American-style. The 1956 Triumph Blackbird. I want ravens and rooks. And skulls and smoke. All done up in black and red. But first, I want the Shrike Bikes version of the Blackbird. And this is it.” I stop talking so I can stare at her lips for a moment. She licks them and I almost die. I reluctantly drag my eyes up to her heated stare. Her opinion of me has changed since I came in this room. I rip the page out of the notebook and set it on the counter. “Will you do it?”
She lets out a breath, like she was holding it in. “I’d need to plan it properly, Spencer.”
The sound of my name coming out of her mouth gives me the chills. “Of course.”
“You’d need to help me,” she continues in a whisper.
“I’d have it no other way.”
“I might need a model.” She licks her lips again.
“I have the perfect specimen at home in my garage.”
“You have a ’56 Blackbird?”
“I do. You should come see it, get a feel for it between your legs. Get a feel for me as well.”
She’s undressing before my eyes. I almost have a heart attack and start looking for Monster Bro before I realize she’s got shorts and a girly top on underneath her scrubs. Her hair comes down out of the pony tail and flows over her gorgeous breasts that are accentuated by the tightly stretched fabric of the Sick Boyz shirt. The next thing I know she’s applying some red lip gloss and snapping her compact closed. “I’m ready.”
“I have to admit,” I say with an air of admiration as I slip my shirt back on. “I’m fucking impressed with that little display.” I hold my hand out to her and she takes it, then snags the drawing up off the counter as I pull her out of the room and down the hall.
Monster Bro is about to bark at her when we appear holding hands, but Bombs just slaps the drawing down on the counter. “He’s got this in his garage, he wants me to tattoo it on his back, so I’m going to see it in person.”
Monster Bro is stunned silent so we make our escape and practically run to my truck. I open her door and she quickly slides in as I go around to my side. Her brother is just opening the door to object to what’s happening when I start up the truck, check for traffic, and pull out into the northbound lane of College Avenue.
“I live out in Bellvue, that OK?”
“Why would it be a problem?” She’s got her foot up on the seat, her elbow propped on it, just looking at me. Whatever I did back in that shop, it changed her mind about me. And I’m not sure if it’s the drawing or the fact that I have a ‘56 Bird in my garage, but at this point, I really do not care.
“You hardly know me. I’m taking you to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I’m a known criminal.”
She frowns. “So you are guilty?” It’s a question, like she wants to believe I’m innocent, but she also wants to hear the truth.
“They dropped the charges for a reason, Bombshell. Let it go. I’m not the guy they made me out to be on the news. I’m not that guy.”
She chews on her lip for a moment and then digs through her purse and pulls out her pink .38. “I’ve got my gun. So if you mess with me, I’ll just put some bullets in it and make you sorry.” She’s laughing before she finishes her sentence.
I shake my head. “You should never carry an unloaded gun, Ronnie.” She blushes at the nickname. I’m not sure why, I’ve got a shitload of nicknames for her a helluva lot more erotic than Ronnie. But I note this for future reference. “You might only get one chance to save your life with that gun. It needs to be loaded so when opportunity knocks, you’re ready.”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” she reluctantly admits after a few seconds’ pause. “My dad and brothers never taught me. I bought the gun to piss them off, but I never learned how to shoot it. I don’t even know what kind of bullets it takes. I’ve been wanting to learn for a long time though.”
“Oh, baby,” I say wistfully. This is a girl after my own heart. “You’re talking to the right guy. I’ve got a shooting range on my property. I’ll teach you the basics, then I’ll put you on my gun club membership and buy you some marksmanship classes.”
Her eyes light up. “OK,” she says through her smile. “Wow.” She laughs a little. “I think you just changed my life, Spencer Shrike.”
“That was the plan, Bombshell. That was always the plan.”
We drive in silence after that. She looks out the window as I make my way across the countryside until I come to my driveway. “Who do you live here with?” she asks as I pull past the house and park the truck next to the shop building out back.
“Just me. I inherited this house last year. I figure my life could use some slowing down, so I decided not to get an apartment near school and just drive in every day.”
She jumps out, her hair waving in the wind. “What do you do out here all alone?” She follows me to the door and I unlock it and wave her through, flipping the switch for the lights as I pass in behind her.
She gasps in surprise as she takes in the room.
“I build bikes, Veronica Vaughn. I make custom bikes. You recognized a Triumph Thunderbird from a drawing, and at least one brother rides, so I know you have some knowledge about bikes. But what I don’t know is if that interest is really you or just a byproduct of your upbringing.”
Her fingertips caress the cherry-red tank on a custom piece I’ve been working on all summer and then she walks straight over to the Blackbird and swings her leg over. She looks damn good on that bike. “I could ask you the same question, Spencer Shrike.” She grips the handles and leans over like she’s pretending to ride. How fucking cute is that?
“I learned to love them as a kid, but these bikes are my future. Can you ride?”
She shakes her head no. “My dad and brothers.” This seems to be a common theme with her.
“So they run your life?”
“Yes,” she laughs. “They do. I live at home. I don’t make enough to move out and get my own place, I don’t have a lot of clients yet. I just started at the shop a few weeks ago.”
“Well, I can’t blame them, really. If I had a sister as perfect as you, I’d never let her leave home or ride a bike either.”
She smiles up at me from under her blonde hair. It’s covering her bright blue eyes. “What about shoot a gun?”
I walk over to her and swing my leg over, sitting behind her. She hisses out an exhale, like I just surprised her. When I wrap my arms around her waist, she moans. “Guns are a lot safer than bikes, Ronnie,” I whisper in her ear. “Shooting is something you should know how to do.” I flatten my hands against her belly, then slip them inside the bottom of her tank top.
She draws in a breath.
“Do you want me to stop, Ronnie?”
Veronica hesitates and I pull back, but her hands grab mine and hold them to her body, tightly. “No, I don’t want you to stop.” She looks over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, her chest rising and falling faster than it was a few seconds ago.
I lean into her neck and kiss the soft skin, right under her ear.
She shudders.
“Oh, hell,” she sighs. “Maybe you should stop.”
I pull back immediately. “I will if you really want me to. But Veronica—” I reach up to turn her chin towards me. She has to reposition herself a little to look me in the eye. “Don’t say no because it’s expected of you. Or because you’re afraid I might hurt you. Or because it’s too soon. Because you’re mine, baby. I knew the moment I saw you last week, outside the bookstore having it out with your brother over something. I watched you stand your ground and toss your hair at the same time. And I told myself, She’s mine. I need her. I don’t know her, but I will. And now I do. And I want you. Not just for tonight, not for just a weekend, not for just this semester to pass the time, no
t just to get some kickass ink on my body. I want you for all those things, but I want them indefinitely.”
She lets out a long breath. “Holy shit, that’s sorta deep. What’s that even mean? Indefinitely?”
“It means I’m here, for as long as you want me.”
“But you don’t even know me, Spencer.”
“I’ve watched you for weeks. I know all I need to know.”
She’s silent for a moment, and then she stands up and turns around and straddles the long black leather seat, facing me. “What do you want me to say?”
I smile. “When I ask if I can touch you tonight, I want you to say yes. When I ask if I can kiss you tonight, I want you to say yes. When I ask if I can have you tonight, I want you to say yes. Just say yes, Ronnie. I want you to say yes. One word, that’s it. One word is all it takes. And I really will change your life.”
Her eyes dart back and forth, searching my face. I can almost hear her thoughts. Running all the questions through her mind, past conventional expectations. Past her father’s opinion of her. Past her brothers’ reactions if they find out she gave in to me after knowing me less than twenty-four hours.
And then she closes her eyes and whispers, “Yes.”
I rub her bare thighs, causing her to shiver, and then I grab the hem of her tank top and lift it over her head, revealing her breasts, perfectly cradled inside a lacy pink bra. “I knew it would be pink,” I whisper as I toss the shirt and pull her chest right up to mine. “I’ve pictured you in this moment a thousand times over the past few weeks, and those fantasies don’t even come close to how beautiful you look to me right now.”
Her perfectly manicured fingernails grab the hem of my shirt next. I let her do it herself because she drags those nails up my abs and then pushes it over my head, leaning in, pressing her breasts up against me. I grab her around the waist again, pulling her fully into me, my mouth on hers, probing with my tongue. She parts her lips, allowing me entrance, suddenly panting from her rapidly racing heart.
My hand goes to her chest so I can feel the thumping I’ve created, then I slip her bra down over her soft mounds and squeeze. “Your tits are fucking fabulous. I’d like to stick my dick between them and fuck your mouth at the same time.”
She gasps as her eyebrows hike up. “Oh, my God!”
“Do you like the dirty talk, Bombshell? Does it turn you on?”
She looks like she wants to reply, but words evade her, so she simply nods.
“I’ll keep it to myself if it bothers you, but you should know, my mind will be thinking these dirty things every time I’m around you, Bombshell. Because once I have this”—I look hungrily down at her body—“I’ll never forget it. I will undress you, reliving the scent of your pussy, every time I see you. My fingers will be reliving how I make your nipples bunch up against my touch. My cock will be reliving how good it feels when you clamp yourself around me.”
“Oh, my God!” she moans. “Don’t stop talking. Holy fuck, Spencer. Please, don’t stop! I like it.”
I unbutton her little jean shorts and smack her thigh. “Stand up and take these off.”
She stands up and swings her leg over the bike seat, then shimmies her hips until the shorts fall to the ground around her wedge-heeled sandals. She kicks them off to the side and stands in front of me. “Now you, Spencer.”
I shoot her a crooked, devious, filthy grin. “Now me, what?” I growl. “If you want something from me, you have to ask for it. And if you expect me to deliver, you better be descriptive.”
She blushes and my wood is petrified, that’s how fucking hard I am for this girl. She doesn’t ask, she just takes. She slips out of her panties and straddles the bike again, her legs open and her wet pussy exposed. She goes for the button on my jeans and I stop her hand.
“You want my cock, Ronnie? You want me to take it out and fuck your tits and your mouth?”
She pants harder now. “Yes.”
“Say it, Bomb. Tell me why you want it, or I won’t give it to you. I’ll tease you and leave you to suffer. If you want me, you have to ask for it. You have to ask for it the exact way you want it, Veronica. If you want my cock in your mouth, tell me. If you want my cock between your perfect tits, say it. If you want to suck me until I come down your throat—fuck, baby. Just ask. I’m ready.”
She stares up at me, her ragged breath a total betrayal of her desires. But I stay still and quiet as I wait her out.
“I want you,” she finally whispers. “I want—” She stops to swallow hard and closes her eyes. Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but she forces the words out anyway. “I want your cock between my tits, Spencer. I want you to fuck me in my mouth.” She squeezes her tits together and wiggles her pussy against the hard thickness pressing up against my jeans.
I can’t take the restraint anymore, so I get off the bike and strip off the jeans. I’m still commando from this morning’s modeling job, and His Highness is ready for battle. I sit back down and look down at her pussy. It’s so wet her juices are almost flowing out onto the black leather bike seat. I grab her hips and pull, bringing her beckoning sex within easy reach of my throbbing cock. “Lie back, baby. I’m gonna take you now. I’ll get to your tits and your mouth later, but right now I’m gonna fuck you good. I’m gonna make you squirt. Are you a squirter, Bombshell?” I push her until she falls back against the tank. “I bet I can find out right now.” I slip two fingers inside her and thrust, fast and hard. She buckles and screams, wiggling against my palm, which probably stimulates her more. I pull my fingers out quickly once her muscles begin to clamp. “You are, baby. You are most definitely a squirter. But I’m not gonna let you off that easy. If you want that, you can ask for it next time.”
“Oh. My God,” seems to be her standard answer tonight. I’ve got her off balance. She’s not sure what to make of me, but her wet pussy says she’s OK with that for now. I ease forward and she moans out, “Please, Spencer, just fuck me! Please!”
I do fuck her on the ’56 Blackbird. She screams my name four times. We almost topple the damn thing over with our antics and I could care less. That bike can be repaired, but this first dirty fuck with my Bombshell, that’s never gonna happen again.
It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing.
It’s a change-my-life-forever thing.
It’s a falling-in-love-and-lust thing.
It’s a recognizing-my-best-friend thing.
And it’s the day I decide—this girl is mine.
Forever.
Chapter Seven
I pull myself out of the past and sigh. It’s not going to end this way, that’s for damn sure. It’s not. I’ve been planning for my moment for years and that shit is just about in reach. I refuse to submit to circumstances.
I glance up at the clock on the wall and realize it’s already ten o’clock. I might as well go back into town early, just in case Ronnie thinks she can duck out and evade me at closing time. I grab my keys and my phone and head down to the buildings on the far end of the property where I keep the surveillance van. Ford’s robot shit is in there and I won’t have time to come back to the house before meeting him at midnight.
I key open the garage and walk into the darkness. A stray beam from the outside security light bounces off a chrome fender and distracts me for a moment. I reach over to the wall and flip on the light.
My old Chevy truck—the same one I drove around town when I first moved out here, the same one I met Ronnie in—is staring back at me. One of my mechanics borrowed it last week when his truck was out of commission. He must’ve parked it in the wrong bay.
I suddenly have an overwhelming need to drive this truck into town to see Ronnie. Maybe I can talk her into going for a drive and it will spark a memory in her? A memory that reminds her that we’re good together. I fish around in a drawer where I keep an extra set of keys, then reach inside the surveillance van and pull out Ford’s case. I think there’s a computer in there, but I really have no idea. He locks that s
hit up tight. It’s not really a briefcase, it’s a portable safe. You’d break whatever’s inside opening it up without a key, and even if you ever did access Ford’s computer, he’s got an automatic kill switch on the drive if you get the password wrong just once. We learned our lesson the last time his shit was breached. Almost cost us life in prison. We don’t make the same mistakes twice so the password kill is more than a just-in-case precautionary measure. And Ford never forgets a password. There is no need for a second chance.
I check the back of the van for anything else we might need, but it’s clean back here, so I get in the old Chevy, set the case down on the passenger seat, and pull out of the garage.
The ride back into FoCo is nothing but a whole lot of time to stew in all the mistakes I’ve made over the past few years. I’m second-guessing everything. The team, the jobs, the revenge, the bailouts. All of it had consequences we never saw coming.
But there’s nothing we can do about that now. We just need to move forward and clean it up as best we can.
The only thing I don’t regret is how I’ve handled Ronnie. In her case, I did everything right. I made sure of it. I covered all my tracks, I left no trace, I have kept her as far from me as possible for as long as possible. New Year’s was the first time I slept with her in months. And that was a private party. We stayed the night in Rook’s old garden apartment. We never left the building together. I made sure I was gone in the morning when she woke up.
The time before that it was just after Rook spilled her guts about her life on national TV and got more than a hundred people arrested in the process. People lined up outside Chaput Studios with giant signs. One proclaimed her a lying whore. And that was one of the nicer signs. She wasn’t even living there, she was here with me. But as soon as those monsters found that out, they parked at the end of my driveway.
I smile. They made the mistake of assuming that the road leading up to my house was public. It’s not. It’s my road, all three miles of it. It’s on my fucking land, which makes that land my fucking home. Which means I can shoot those fuckers if the right situation arises and it’s totally legal according to Colorado law.