by Huss, JA
She points at Ford and me and we zip it.
“Rook,” Ronin says calmly. “I told you, we’ll go get it tomorrow when I’m free. Today I have to go down to Denver and work with Antoine on something. In fact”—he looks down at his watch—“I’m late. I gotta go.”
“Ronin, do I look helpless? I can get the bike myself. Besides”—she stops to look over at Ford—“Ashleigh said she’d come help.”
Ford is shaking his head no before Rook even finishes her sentence. “No, Ashleigh never mentioned that to me.”
“Ashleigh doesn’t tell you everything, Ford.”
He laughs. “I’m pretty sure she does.”
Rook smirks and we all start to squirm. “You’d be wrong. I have coffee with her every day now. I know her secrets.”
I chance a glance over at Ford and he’s thinking hard about this. I smirk a little at his discomfort.
“And you,” Rook says, pointing to me. “You think you know Veronica? Well, you don’t. Now hand over the keys or I will call a taxi, go down to the nearest dealership, and buy myself a fucking truck. Hell, maybe I’ll buy myself a motorcycle instead. And ride it home.”
She stomps her foot again, only this time we’re not amused. We’re all scratching our chins.
And then we all remember there’s a fucking camera crew here. Damn.
“OK.” I grab Ronin by the arm. “Give her the keys. She’s being taped today, so she can’t get into any trouble with the camera crew with her.” I stop and the three of us look at each other. “Right?”
Rook beams a triumphant smile and Ronin waves her through the door to go tell the garage guys to let her take the truck.
I wait until they are halfway down the aisle before I walk over and close the door again. Ford and I turn to Carson and he’s smiling. He likes the fact that Rook won and we lost.
“Carson, look,” Ford says. “You can be in the Club if you keep an eye on Ashleigh too. In fact, I think you should just come clean and tell these girls you’re gay. You can be the gay best friend. Do their makeup and hair, paint their toenails, whatever it is that gay best friends do with girls.”
“I’m not gay,” Carson starts.
But Ford is not even listening. He’s talking to me now. “If he keeps an eye on Ash and watches Fight Club, he’s in.” And then he pulls the door open and walks out.
I turn to Carson. “I’m not gay,” he repeats.
“Carson, do you want in the Club or not? Just pretend, dude. You get to hang out with pretty girls, what’s wrong with that?”
He glares at me in his nerdy tan suit. Tan. Who the fuck wears a tan suit? I try to picture Ford in a tan suit and almost laugh out loud. No.
“Fine, then. I’ll pretend for now. But that’s gonna cost you. I want a custom paint job for my Shrike Bike too.”
I promised him a custom bike if he keeps his eye on Ronnie and helps me slip her a fake loan so she can start her own flower shop business. I’m not sure why Ronnie wants to sell flowers in a shop, she’s never mentioned it before. But if she thinks it’s better than being a tattoo artist, then more power to her. She can take that twenty grand I’m making Carson tell her came from the bank and blow it on shoes for all I care. I just want her to be happy until the trial is over and we can all breathe a sigh of relief.
“Deal. Now what’s the plan for today?”
“Plan?” he asks with this pathetic stupefied expression on his face. “I’m planning on going to work.”
“Not your plan for you, Carson. Your plan for Ronnie. And Ash.” I stick that in since Ford will have a fit if I don’t include her in the recon. “How will you keep them out of trouble?”
“Um…”
“I got it. Ronnie needs a new car, so you call her up later and tell her you wanna go car-shopping. That’s good for one evening. We’ll just have to take it day by day. Ronnie, she’s a little bit unpredictable, ya know?”
He’s shaking his head at me. “A little bit? Are you kidding? That girl scares the shit out of me. And her brother, man, that guy is like… like…” He huffs. “Well, just… Big. And he looks at me with that I’m-gonna-kill-you expression and you know what?”
Carson pauses, like I’m supposed to answer that rhetorical question. I give in. “What?”
“I think he really does want to kill me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Carson. Vic Vaughn is the least of your concerns. He’s all bark, man. No substance behind that whine. At all.”
“I dunno,” he says.
Vic is not all bark. People think his name is short for Victor, but it’s not. It’s short for Vicious. What parent would name their kid Vicious? Fern Vaughn, that’s who. That motherfucking Vaughn family has been the bane of Fort Collins for decades.
But they are pretty cool people once you’re in with them. Carson just needs to be in. And there’s no better way into the Vaughn family than taking care of their baby sister.
It’s only then I realize Carson is still talking about Vic’s killer attitude. “—and how am I gonna get Veronica to go car-shopping with me tonight, anyway? Huh? She’s not very receptive.”
“Simple,” I say as I take out my phone and grab her contact. I press her beautiful face and listen to the phone ring. My heart beats a little faster as I wait for her to pick up. Three years later and she still makes my heart beat faster. The fourth ring ends and it goes to voicemail. “Fuck,” I say to the machine. “Pick the fucking phone up, Ronnie. I own your ass.” I press end and dial again, but get the same result.
“See,” Carson says. “Even you can’t contain her. But I know where she’s at, she’s over at the FoCo Cinema having coffee.”
“How do you know?”
“She goes there every day at ten. How do you not know?”
I walk to the far side of my office, the side that faces the street, and peek out. And sure enough, who do I see? Ashleigh. Pushing that fucking stroller and flanked on either side by the red-vested canine face-eaters.
“She really does meet Ashleigh there?” I ask Carson.
He shrugs. “I dunno. I haven’t had coffee with her in a couple weeks and Ashleigh is new in town. But I know for a fact that she meets Rook.”
“Yeah, but Rook is going out to the farm today, so—” And just as the words are coming out of my mouth, Rook pulls the Shrike Bikes truck into a parking space out front of the cinema.
I dial the phone one more time, but I already know Ronnie won’t pick up, so my feet are busting ass out of my office and over towards the back door that leads outside.
She thinks she can just ignore me?
Huh.
No.
Chapter Two- Veronica
Metallica’s Breadfan is blaring in my earbuds and at least a dozen people sitting nearby are shootin’ me the look. The music’s not even full blast, so they can just move the fuck along and get their mid-morning coffee somewhere else. The Fort Collins Cinema is one of my haunts and that’s the way it’s gonna stay. I eat here in the restaurant four times a week and catch a movie at least twice a month. I’m a local.
So I’m banging my head a little, watching as the work crew paints the outside of the Shrike Bikes building—which sits diagonal from the FCC—when my song is interrupted by a ding. I glance down at my phone, then ignore it.
It’s Spencer. Again.
When he said he’d need me on call if I took the job as his personal assistant, he was not kidding. That mother dings my ass seven, eight times a day.
I continue enjoying my music, watching for Rook. Ever since she and Ronin got a place in Fort Collins, we meet here every day for coffee.
I see Ashleigh first. She comes now too. I’m not sure I like her, mostly because I’m not sure I like Ford, but the baby is cute. And I like her dogs, even if they are trained to eat the face off anyone who messes with her.
Ashleigh is one of those walkers. She walks every-fucking-where. They live all the way down Mountain Ave, across from the antique trolley station. It’s
like a couple miles away, and yet that girl walks. I live like two blocks away and every damn day I’m tempted to drive the car. I was gonna take it today, but I sold it last night. So I’m out of a car.
I suppose Ash has to walk those dogs sometime though. And the baby likes the stroller, so I don’t judge.
Rook pulls up just as Ashleigh is hucking that humongo stroller over the curb and then they walk in together, making the bells jingle on the door. Ashleigh gets more looks than I do. She’s got a stroller, two mean-ass-looking dogs with bright red vests, plus a baby.
And she’s married to Ford Aston. That’s like sixty-seven strikes against her right there.
She’s way worse than me. I’ve got like ten. One for being a Vaughn. One for being a tattoo artist. One for being blonde. One each for being associated with Ford, Spencer, Rook, and Ronin. One for being poor. One for being mean. And two for having big tits. That’s eleven, but who’s counting.
Rook, she’s only got two strikes. One for being Rook, since everyone knows her from the news. And one for being perfect in every way. Rook is so perfect, she makes people want to gag. But they can’t. Because not only is she perfect, she’s sweet. Not a mean bone in that girl’s body. I’ve been doing my best to bitch her up a little, but she’s a terrible student. She’s polite and happy and she smiles. Like all the time. And since she and Ronin live in FoCo now too, we’re all just like one big happy family.
Except I’m the odd one out since Spencer won’t acknowledge me.
I unplug my earbuds and stuff them in my purse.
“Hey, Ronnie!” Rook chimes as they approach. “Sorry I’m late, I had—”
My phone rings and interrupts her. “Damn Spencer.” I silence the call and turn the ringer to vibrate. “Sorry, Rook.”
Ashleigh’s dogs crawl under the table and one begins to pant on my ankle. The baby shoots me a gummy grin and I smile back. Babies are damn cute. I think Kate knocks off at least thirty-two points against Ashleigh, that’s how adorable she is. “Hi, Kate!” I beam. She squeals at me. Rook and Ash disappear to go order coffee and my phone vibrates on the table.
Goddammit! I turn the ringer off, but a few seconds later the screen lights up with a text. Answer your fucking phone, Bomb!
I weigh my options and then decide to ignore the next silent call. In fact, I throw that damn phone right into my skull-covered Betsey Johnson purse.
The girls return and Rook chats us up about her new job as front door girl at the new Shrike Bikes showroom and garage. I glance out the window as she talks to get a visual of her in there being Miss Congeniality, but all I see is Spencer walking diagonally across the street. He’s got a mean look on his face. In fact, he looks pretty fucking pissed off. Rook is still talking to Ashleigh—about what, I have no idea—so I stand up, grab my purse, and bolt to the back of the cinema where the back door leads to an alley.
It’s starting to rain outside, and there’s no way I’m gonna be able to run in high heels. So I slip my shoes off my feet and throw them in my purse. I start walking quickly down the alley, my bare feet splashing through puddles, and stepping on stones that make me wince. I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is coming after me and slam right into Spencer’s rock-hard chest.
“What the fuck are you doing, Veronica? I’ve called and texted repeatedly, and you’ve ignored them all. When I gave you this job I told you you’re on call.”
He’s got me by the wrists, and he’s squeezing kind of hard. “Spencer, goddammit, you’re hurting me, let go.” I struggle against him. He squeezes even harder, then lets go and pulls me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me. I can’t help myself, I give in.
It’s starting to rain now and we’re both getting wet. The drops are dripping down his face and for once he’s got his sunglasses off and I can see his gray eyes as they crinkle with anger.
He starts walking, forcing me to step backwards, stumbling a little as I go.
“Spencer, what the fuck are you doing? You’re gonna make me fall!”
He doesn’t let up, though. He keeps pushing and I keep stumbling backwards, his eyes still angry with me as I slam back against the brick wall of the building. He leans in close, his lips come towards my mouth and for a moment I fantasize that he’ll kiss me.
But he never kisses me anymore. And he doesn’t now.
“I’m only telling you once,” he says with a snarl. “You do what I say, Veronica. When I tell you something, you do it. When I send you a text, you answer it.” He stares hard into my eyes and his flash with anger, darting back and forth, making sure that I’m listening.
His chest is pressing hard against mine, forcing me back against the uneven brick wall. Anger consumes me. How dare he? How dare he burst into my day and start making these demands like he owns me. It’s my turn to squint my eyes and look him dead on, the heat of my anger taking over.
“Spencer Shrike, I might work for you but I’m not your property. And if you think that paying me a salary means you get to order me around like you’re the boss, you’ve got another thing coming. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t need your fucking job. So if you think I’m going to put up with your—”
His lips crush against mine and my knees just give out. I’m weak. Whenever he touches me I am so, so weak. The heat flushes through my body and I know if I looked in the mirror I’d be red all over. His tongue presses against mine. Searching, probing, looking for everything he just demanded—and I respond. Goddammit, I respond, giving him exactly what he wants. His hands come up and cup the side of my head, threading his fingers through my hair and around the back of my neck. He pulls me up towards his face, making me stand on my tiptoes to try to keep the connection between our mouths. I want to touch him back, thread my fingers through his hair and make him as crazy as he’s making me, but I can’t even think straight while he’s kissing me like this. When we come up for air, a fingertip traces along my jaw and the tip of my chin.
“Veronica,” he whispers. “I am the motherfucking boss.” His hand slips between my legs and his fingers find my sweet spot through my jeans. Goddamn, this fucking man knows everything about me. He presses against my clit and then releases, making me moan. “Say it back to me, Bombshell. Who’s the motherfucking boss?”
I whine out a no, but he just palms my whole pussy and leans in, whispering in my ear. “Say it, Bomb. Or I’ll take you right here in the fucking alley and prove it.”
Oh, God, is that a promise?
“Why?” I whisper back. “Why do you do this to me?” Suddenly my emotions take over and it all becomes too much. I’ve known this man years, I’ve slept with him hundreds of times at least. His paintbrush has caressed the most intimate places on my body. I fell in love with him the first day we met. There is no man on this earth I want more than Spencer Shrike.
But…
“I can’t do this anymore, Spencer. You’re killing me. Every day you play these games with me, you’re killing me. I can’t take it anymore. I quit. I quit this stupid fucking job and I quit this stupid nonexistent relationship.”
His fingers fist in my hair, yanking hard enough to make me moan. He closes his eyes and looks down for a moment, letting out a long breath of air. And it’s only then that we realize it’s starting to rain hard. He grabs my hand and starts leading me up the stairs under the overhang of the building’s back door. He’s still holding my hand when we finally find shelter from the rain in the empty alcove. I try to pull it away, but he holds tight.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, stop torturing me.” I want this man so bad it makes my heart ache inside my chest.
“Bombshell, it’s more torturous for me than you will ever know.”
“I don’t understand you, Spencer. I don’t understand. If you want me, just take me. I get it, you’re guilty.” He looks down when I say the word, but I’m tired of pretending that he didn’t admit to me last week that he was a killer. “Spencer, look at me.” I place my hand against his heart and push a little so tha
t he sways backwards. “Why is it that Ronin trusts Rook, and hell, even Ford trusts Ashleigh, and they get to know all the secrets, but me, even though I’ve known you guys the longest, I get trusted with shit? I get nothing from you, Spencer. I’m no one to you. Why?”
His eyes search mine again, only now they look… pained. Why is he so confusing? “Because, baby, I love you enough to push you away.”
The tears well up as the words come out and I sniff as I wipe them away. “Well, you’re doing a really good job, because I am fucking out of here.” I go to push past him, but he swings me back around and presses me against the wall.
“Just listen,” he says in a low throaty voice. “Look at me, Ronnie. Because I’m only gonna tell you this once.” He rocks his hips into mine, grinding his erection against me. And I am instantly flooding with wetness in anticipation. “I said fucking look at me.”
I refocus, taking my attention away from the growing need between my legs, and stare him in the eyes. His emotions are coming through more clearly than normal, and while Spencer has never been a man to hide behind a facade of indifference like Ford, he tries to keep things on an even keel. But right now everything he’s feeling… shows.
He cares?
And then, like he realizes I can see though him, he turns it off.
“Baby,” he growls into my ear, “I’ll give you what you want right now. But you gotta work with me here, Ronnie. If I give you what you want, you give me what I want.”
I look out into the curtain of rain which is the only thing between our growing desire and the cars on the street outside beyond the alley. He’s going to take me here, and he’s not going to care who sees us.
“Tell me you want it,” he orders. “You know how I work.”
I do know how he works. Spencer can make me come without ever touching me or uttering a single word. Because Spencer likes the details. Spencer wants to know everything I want, and he wants me to be crystal clear about it.
Details like… “My pussy is tingling, Mr. Shrike,” I purr into his ear.
He grinds against me harder now, his breath becoming labored and heavy. This drives me wild, and he knows it. His breath in my ear is a signal we’ve had since the beginning. A signal that says I’m ready for you, baby. Tell me everything. Tell me how you feel, tell me how I make you feel, tell me what you want, tell me how you want it.