GUNS: The Spencer Book

by JA Huss

  All the guys are checking out the painting with me. They are excited and smiling. We’re big time, those smiles say.

  Yeah, we were on TV last year too, but this… This. Is. Big time.

  I have to take a deep breath when Griff knocks me on the back and they all crowd around as we watch our names being painted on the side of a building.

  And the reason I have to take a deep breath is because this is the dream, ya know?

  I’m about to be living the fucking dream.

  And it came pretty quick. I’m not even twenty-four years old yet. But that’s not what’s bothering me today. Today all I can think about are the mistakes I made to get here. And last week, back when I was bitching about Ronnie’s dump of an apartment, she said something to me that really hit home.

  She said, ‘At least I got it honestly.’

  It was like a stab to my heart. Because she’s absolutely fucking right. I cheated my ass into this opportunity. Sure, I contacted the Biker Channel and pitched the show, but I name-dropped. My father stepped in, called up some of his old biker buddies. Got them to make calls.

  And Ford. I told them I would get Ford Aston on board. I used our infamy to get the pilot. I let Rook sign the contract even though I knew she was only doing it to defy Ronin. Because I wanted Ronin to model with Rook on the bikes. And guess what? I got my way. I got everything I set out to get.

  I used every bit of clout, reputation, friendship, and notoriety I had. And all of it was based on the fact that I’m a goddamned criminal. A murderer.

  Alleged murderer to the public, but there’s nothing alleged about what I did.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off a headache and then look up when Ryan punches me in the arm. “Snap the fuck out of it, Shrike! This is it, man. The end of struggling. The end of sweating the payroll, the end of…”

  I stop listening at payroll.

  They have no idea. They have no fucking idea my net worth is over a hundred and fifty million dollars if you include what’s left of my cut of the jobs the Team did a few years ago.

  I stand out there with the guys as they paint my name on the last bay.

  S. P. E. N. C. E. R.

  I step back a few paces so I can see the whole thing. All five bay doors, the open-winged blackbird that spans the entire length. The skull and crossbones centered in the middle. The Shrike Bikes rocker above the skull and the tagline Not Your Daddy’s Ride on the bottom rocker so that when taken together, the whole thing looks like the three-piece colors of a motorcycle club.

  My mind wanders back to when I made this logo. Ronnie and I were on the couch in the living room, sweating our asses off in the midday August heat the summer after graduation…

  Two years ago—Bellvue farm

  Her legs slip under my sketchpad and rub along the soft jeans covering my thighs. I’ve got a huge hole in the right pant-leg, and the flicker of heat that passes across my bare skin as she positions her legs makes me hard immediately. I stop sketching and rub my palm up and down her calf.

  “Ooooooh,” she purrs.

  Her legs are so fucking soft and smooth. Either this woman is hairless or she shaves every day. “You’re distracting me, baby. And you smell so fucking good, I can hardly stand it.”

  She sits up and wraps her arms around my neck, her legs staying put in my lap. “What do I smell like? Tell me again.”

  I smile at this. Why this turns her on, I have no idea, but it does. “Sugar, Bombshell. You smell like sugar.” She licks the inside of my ear and I melt a little, letting out a deep breath. “I’m never gonna get this logo designed if you keep demanding my attention.”

  She grabs my sketchpad and tosses it over on the coffee table. “That logo is perfect the way it is, Mr. Shrike.” Her back straightens and her tits push against my chest. “Pay attention to me,” she begs in my ear, her soft breath floating across the sensitive skin.

  I grab her ass, haul her up into my lap and squeeze her until she squeals. “You’re being bad, Ronnie. I’m trying to work.”

  “I’m work,” she pouts. “I need to be worked.” She leans in to nip my neck and then she lifts her mouth to my jaw. “I need to be worked every day. I’m gettin’ rusty.”

  “Ha,” I chuckle. “I fucked you hard this morning, you’re well-oiled as far as I can tell.”

  “No,” she insists as her lips drift over to mine so she can make me respond when she begins to lick me. “I need to be oiled, but I’m far from well-oiled now.”

  She lets out another loud girly squeal as I toss her off to the side, making her tits bounce when she hits the soft cushions of the couch. “Stay still, Bombshell.”

  Fuck me, she mouths silently. I lose control when she does that and she knows it. Fuck me, she mouths again. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Over and over again.

  She’s wearing that little bombshell tank top I made for her. The one with the pinup looking suspiciously like her, sitting on a WWII bomb as it sails through the air.

  I grab the hem of her shirt and rip it right up the center.

  “Spencer!” she screams. “I love this tank top!”

  I grab the cups of her lacy pink bra and rip that apart too. “I’ll make you another one, baby.”

  “Oh,” she gasps. “You are in so much tr—”

  I pop the button on her Daisy Dukes next. It goes flying across the room. “You wanna get fucked?” I growl at her. “Lift your hips.”

  She shudders. She always shudders. Like what I do to her is a surprise each and every time. I wait for the swallow, but she tucks her nerves away and inhales.

  I’ve fucked Veronica Vaughn like eleventy billion times in the past year that we’re been dating. I’ve licked every inch of her body. I’ve fucked her pussy, her ass, her mouth, and her tits. We’ve done it outside, in the shop, on a bike—hell, on like a dozen bikes, at least—in the river out back, up on a ridge in the hills behind the property, in four public parks, on CSU campus—like every fucking building they have on CSU campus, minus the bookstore because we got caught before we finished, so it doesn’t count—in the back of my truck, in the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, basement… you name a place in the greater Fort Collins area, and chances are I’ve fucked my Bomb there.

  But no matter what, no matter how many times I take her body, no matter how public the taking is, no matter how dirty the talk—the thing that turns me on the most about my Bombshell is the shudder that runs through her body each and every single time we get started. It’s my drug, and I’m addicted to it.

  That shudder says, You rock my fucking world, Spencer Shrike.

  And my response, each and every time, are these thoughts. The ones running through my mind, and not the ones controlled by my dick. The memories we make every time I touch her.

  Fuck me, she mouths again as she lifts her hips and I slip her shorts off. Her panties are so adorable. And this is what I love about Ronnie. She’s a tattoo artist. She shoots better than I do after she took a bunch of marksmanship classes at my gun club. She’s got moves an MMA fighter would envy. And she comes from a brood of siblings who would make just about anyone shit their pants if they ever met them in a dark alley.

  But this girl—this girl is a fucking princess underneath it all. She’s soft and sweet and pretty and she smells like a bakery.

  She smells like a sugar cookie. She’s like those little crystals of sugar on top, the ones that melt in your mouth.

  “Fuck me,” she says out loud now. “Fuck me.”

  I lean down and suck on her nipple, massaging her large breasts until she moans.

  Piss on the logo, the logo can wait. I shift positions and lean down, her little body smothered by my large one. And now it’s my turn to breathe into her ear. “Veronica Bombshell Vaughn, I’ll never stop fucking you, baby. You know why?”

  I wait for an answer and this throws her off her game. Her brows knit together slightly because I’ve changed the rules on her and I want a response. “Why?” she whispers back.
<
br />   “Because you’re mine, baby. And I’m gonna keep you forever.”

  “You promise?” she asks with a second shudder.

  I have to close my eyes to let my body fully soak up that unexpected treat. “I promise.”

  My phone vibrates in my pants and I reach in my pocket and pull it out, hoping it’s Ronnie calling me back.

  It’s not.

  It’s Ronin.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Hey,” he says back. “You seen Rook around? I keep calling and it goes right to voicemail.”

  “I think her and Ronnie are at the women’s doctor together.”

  “Huh, why? Ronnie got a problem?”

  “No, you asshole. Rook said she had an appointment.”

  “No,” he counters back. We are like the Two fucking Stooges. “She never mentioned the doctor to me. I’m pretty sure she’d tell me that.”

  We just wait there in silence for a few seconds like dumbasses. “Well,” I finally say to break the awkwardness. “I guess congratulations are in order. Way to go, she’s probably pregnant and wants to keep it secret until she gets confirmation.”

  Silence.

  “Ronin?”

  But the phone beeps three times and the connection is lost.

  Chapter Five

  VERONICA

  “He left you like that?” Rook says with shocked surprise.

  “Yeah, can you believe the nerve of him? Got me all worked up, came on my leg, and then zipped me back up tight like he was wrapping a present to save for later.”

  “What a fucking asshole!” Rook is always on my side. I love her. “But like, what did he say? I mean, didn’t you stop him and be all, ‘What the fuck, dude?’”

  I crack the window, pull out my e-cig and start puffing away. “Oh, you know. The usual caveman bullshit he always pulls.”

  “Pfft. Yeah, Ronin tries that shit too. I’m like, No.”

  “Oh, I love the caveman bullshit, actually.”

  Rook takes her eyes off the road and looks over at me. “You do?”

  “Oh, fuck yeah. Spencer is one hundred percent caveman. So he was all, ‘I’m the motherfucking boss of you, Bombshell.’ And I was all—well, I was actually stunned silent that he was gonna leave me hanging.” I take a puff and blow out a stream of vapor, making little smoke rings as I do it. “So I sorta just agreed with him.”

  “What? Veronica, don’t let him walk all over you like that. God, Spencer, I dunno. He’s hot and all but Ronin and I are like… partners. Spencer is too intense for me. He’s bossy and… and intense. I would not be able to handle him.”

  I sigh. “God, why do I love that man so much, Rook? I don’t get it. He treats me like total shit. Like I’m garbage. And still, I’m practically wetting myself whenever he touches me.” I puff and pout for a few seconds. “It’s like I lose all control when I’m near him.”

  She turns the truck onto Spencer’s private road, which he even named after me back when we first started dating. He lives on Bombs-A Way. It took months of paperwork and I have no idea how much it cost, but sure as shit, that’s what the road is now called. It used to be Private Road 13, so Bombs-A Way is much better. And cuter.

  “Why is he so confusing, Rook? I just don’t understand him at all. I need to get away from him. Maybe I’ll move to Denver when you go home.” The thought of Rook leaving me is upsetting all of a sudden. “Are you guys moving back when the season’s over? Or you gonna move to Boulder for school? Maybe I’ll go to Boulder with you.”

  Rook sighs deeply. “I dunno about school, Ronnie. I sorta suck at like—all of it.” She stops to laugh a little so instead of getting concerned that her dream of film school is going down the tubes, I relax and just listen to her problems for a change. “I mean, film school still sounds fun and all. I’d still like to do something related to movies. But I’m just not into the bullshit classes I have to take in order to get that piece of paper. I mean, I have that cool camera Ronin got me for my birthday. And I have a ton of money. Why can’t I just start making movies? Why do I need to go to school to make movies? I know what I like to watch and those movies aren’t bizarre artsy fucking bullshit. They’re popular films that make millions. So can’t I just make movies I like until I get good enough for people to take notice?”

  I puff and ponder.

  “Be serious with me now, Ronnie. Do you think you need an art degree to do what you’re doing?”

  I cough on the nonexistent smoke in my lungs. “To be a tattoo artist? I dunno.” I shrug. “I was always an artist. Generally people who want to go to art school are already artists. They do it to make their parents feel better about their career choice. But in my case, I think I just wanted to prove that I was smart enough, ya know? Like I’m just as good as all those kids at CSU, even though I’m a Vaughn.”

  “Exactly!” Rook squeals as we pull into Spencer’s driveway. “I think I just want the degree to prove I’m not trash. And back when Spencer was body-painting me he told me something. Something like—painting naked girls is his one true talent. The one thing he was born to do, the one gift he was given at birth. He said he did an internship with a famous painter or something, but basically he said he just knew how to do it. That’s sorta how I feel about movies. I can make movies, I just know it. But what I can’t do is college algebra.”

  I laugh at that. “I had a tutor. I’m not a math girl either.”

  She shakes her head and laughs with me. “Yeah, well, Ford’s been busy with his new life and I’m too afraid to get another tutor after what happened with the last one.”

  Rook’s math tutor last semester ratted her out to all kinds of bad people. Of course, he didn’t understand he was helping the bad guys, but it’s hard to let that shit go if you’re the one on the receiving end of a plot to kidnap you and sell you to a Columbian drug lord.

  “Hey, how come Ashleigh didn’t come, anyway? I thought you said she was coming?”

  “Oh, baby Kate was fussy. She’s teething and stuff. Six months is a hard age. They start getting opinionated and demanding. Getting ready to crawl and assert some independence.”

  Rook says all that like she’s a fucking pediatrician. I bet she read all those mother-to-be books back when she was pregnant, before she lost her baby to a terrible accident.

  Rook parks the truck in front of the carport and shuts it off.

  “Does it make you feel sad? When you watch Ford and Ashleigh with Kate?”

  She looks out the window for a few seconds. You can see the river in the winter because all the trees are bare. And there are a few deer over there looking for food. “You know,” she starts softly. “It sorta does. And not just in the obvious ways. Ford and I are good friends. And Ashleigh is perfect for him. But we’re not as close as we were. And the baby. God.” She stops again and I’m tempted to change the subject so she won’t have to face these feels. But she continues before I can do that. “Kate’s so beautiful, ya know?”

  Rook looks over to me now, all sad and shit. I nod. “Yeah,” I say back just a softly. “She’s very adorable.”

  “I’m going to the doctor after this,” Rook blurts out suddenly.

  “How come?”

  “That was my excuse to get rid of the camera crew, but also—” She looks over at me, and for a moment I get the feeling she’s afraid to tell me something.

  “What? What is it?”

  “I’m gonna have them remove my birth control implant.”

  “Yeah?” I smile big and lean over to hug her. “So—moving on?”

  She shrugs. “I just look at Ashleigh and I’m a little bit jealous.”

  “Wait. You’re jealous of Ashleigh? Why? Shit, Rook, from my end, you have the perfect life. Ashleigh’s life is pretty good too, I guess. She’s married and happy. Got the kid, the house, and the dogs, even if they are certified weapons. But you’ve got everything she has, plus you’re you. There’s no other Rooks in the world. I’d switch with you any day.”

  “Wh
at? Seriously, Veronica. Look at you. Your man calls you Bombshell for a reason.” Rook laughs.

  “Maybe. Except he’s not my man. Is he? He obviously thinks I’m some sort of throwaway trash from the way he treated me this morning. And it’s not anything he said, it’s just—the way he walked away like it was nothing.” Rook just stares at me, unsure of what to say. And that’s the problem, there’s nothing to say about it. Not really. It happened. He did it. “He thinks I’m nothing. So maybe it’s time for me to walk away and think of him as nothing?”

  She gives me a crooked smile as she shakes her head. “So that’s why you’ve gone to all this trouble to get a Shrike Bike, you’re wearing his leather jacket, and you took the job as his personal assistant? Not likely, Veronica.”

  And she’s right. What the fuck am I doing? I’m just playing right into his hands.

  I open the door and jump out, grabbing my pack and hucking it over my shoulder. “You said you had a helmet I could use?”

  Rook gets out her side and meets me at the bike. “Yeah, it’s down in my apartment. Come on, we’ll go get it.”

  She keys the code on the door and it reminds me of the last time I was here. “Did you know Ford spent the afternoon with me on Christmas Eve?” I ask as the door clicks open.

  She walks through the door into the kitchen and I follow her in. “This last Christmas? Really? He never said anything to me, and I talked to him on the phone that night.”

  “Yeah, he caught me coming out of Anna Ameci’s with Carson, back when I had that one date with him. And he wanted to show me Spencer’s office, to try to convince me that Spencer still cares.”

  Rook stops dead and I slam into her back before she turns around. “You were dating Carson?”

  “Just that one time,” I laugh. “I figured I needed to put Spencer behind me, right? And I wanted a guy who was like the complete opposite. Carson sorta fits that bill, right?”