by JA Huss
I look up at her and frown. “I don’t even have Spencer to make it all OK. I’m just so lonely without him. I feel like fate is telling me to give up. Just let him go, because he’ll never change. He’s not the guy I thought he was. He’s this… this… stranger. He’s not the guy I fell in love with. I love that guy I met back in college. This guy he is now, I don’t get it. And what makes it worse is that every once in a while, that other guy comes through.”
I’m thinking about Spencer that night he was in my apartment. When he said he was guilty. He said, ‘I am this guy,’ meaning that guy who committed those crimes he was accused of.
But he didn’t wait around for me to tell him what I thought of his confession. Because it was a huge relief.
That criminal who got kicked out of school, who got off a murder charge on a technicality—that’s the guy I fell in love with.
This guy today? This one who’s all cold and distant and leaves me hanging in a back alley and treats me like trash? I don’t like that guy. I’ll take the killer over that guy any day.
Rook and I stare at each other for a few seconds and then she shakes her head and breaks away. “Shit, Ronnie, we are a couple of whiners, you know that?”
I nod. “I know that. I do. It’s wrong to have so much and be so unappreciative. It’s wrong, I get it. But I can’t help it, Rook, I’m not fulfilled. I’m… unsatisfied.”
“Holy fuck, that’s the perfect word.” Her eyes get wide and she puffs up her cheeks with air. “That’s the perfect way to describe it. Time out from your pity party, I’m throwing one too. So last week when I was spending some time with Ashleigh before we did that—” She stops, like she caught herself saying something she shouldn’t.
And this is when I realize that Rook is part of it. She’s part of that shit the guys do. I let my head sink in my hands, totally defeated.
“Well… I was gonna take care of Kate for a few hours last week, so I went over to their house to meet her properly. She and Ford just got back the day before, so even though I saw her that night for the party—” Rook winces this time, realizing this mistake was even more damaging than the last.
God, that hurts. Because I wasn’t invited to the Welcome Home Ford and Family Party.
“—and I was in their living room, looking around. Apparently that Pam is a whiz, because Ford and Ash’s house looked like it came out of a magazine. Anyway.” Rook shakes herself out of that thought and continues. “I’m sitting there just making chit-chat, right? Just, you know, feeling her out, getting to know her. So she tells me she was in grad school, like she’s just about done with her master’s degree in psychology, right? She’s one research paper away from graduation. She’s done all her studies, wrote like two hundred pages of notes, and it’s some fancy-sounding topic—brainwave patterns of emotionally compromised children or some shit like that. Way, way over my head. So I ask her, ‘You gonna go back and finish? Get that piece of paper?’ And she’s all… just as casually as you can imagine… ‘No, probably not.’”
“Really?” I ask. “Master’s degree—that’s like a shitload of school.”
“Yeah,” Rook replies. “That’s what I said. I’m all, ‘Isn’t it a waste of time and money to not finish when you’re so close?’ and she’s all, ‘Yeah, probably. But I’m satisfied. So I’m not going back.’ And I tell you what, Ronnie Vaughn, I was so filled with jealousy for this woman, I could barely function for like thirty minutes. I mean, she’s not really that pretty. She’s cute, she’s got a curvy body, her hair and skin are beautiful. And she’s got big eyes and full pouty lips. So yeah, she’s easy on the eyes. But she’s not stunning, ya know? Not like the pets I’ve seen Ford with every once in a while before he got rid of them. Ashleigh never wears makeup, and her wardrobe—I’m sorry if this sounds catty, I’m just making an observation—but her wardrobe reminds me of my homeless days.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. It’s all true. Ashleigh walks around this town with her mean-ass dogs, pushing a stroller, wearing t-shirts and leggings, with bright pink running shoes on her feet like she owns the fucking place. She could care less what people think about her. Like at all.
“And I’m seriously not saying this to be a bitch, OK? I like her, I love that baby. But she makes me feel so fucking inadequate.”
I’m stunned, because in my mind, Rook—she’s perfect. In just about every way. “Why?”
“Because she has everything I want.”
“Aww,” I say, leaning in to hug her. “I’m sorry, Gidget.” That makes her chuckle but I know she’s crying now. “Finish your thought, Rook, just get it out, bitch.”
Rook sniffs and laughs again. “And it’s not Ford, OK? I do love him as a friend. I still talk to him like four times a week on the phone and we’ve run the Poudre River trail a bunch of times since he’s been back from New Zealand. I’m jealous because she’s on the cusp of everything, ya know? Like, if she wanted to be a career mom, it’s like six months of work, a licensing exam, and bam, she’s a counselor. But she wants to stay home and be a mother instead. And my whole life I’ve watched girls get stuck at home with kids they couldn’t afford and maybe even didn’t want. They got left behind by the men who helped create that situation. So I spent all my teenage years pushing that away. And when I got pregnant with Jon, I was not happy. Not for a long time. But then the idea that I could relax and be a mother sorta grew on me.”
I lean in and rub her back. Because what happened to her sucks. You should not have to lose a child like that when you’re barely eighteen years old.
“And now I’m thinking I was wrong, Ronnie. Because Ash said something else after that. She said, ‘I can go back any time I want. But I’m never gonna be this person again. Every day the baby grows bigger, my love for Ford changes in small subtle ways, my life gets better or worse, or more chaotic or less stressful. Nothing stays the same and I can’t stop that. So I’m gonna enjoy what I have right now and not worry about tomorrow.’”
“Is that why you’re taking your implant out today?”
Rook nods. “Yeah. Because you know what? Ronin rocks my fucking world. He’s everything to me. And I guess it took me seeing it from another perspective to realize it. Because you know, Ford might be weird and a total dick to almost everyone. But he’s a very black-and-white guy. He married Ashleigh and there’s nothing in this world that will tear them apart from his point of view. Nothing but death. Because when Ford goes in, he goes all in.
“And I think all three of these guys are like that. I think Ronin’s all in too. I just never noticed it or never accepted it before. And last year I had all these doubts about him. Who is he? Is he good? Is he bad? Will he hurt me? Will he leave me? But if I were Ronin, I’d be asking myself all those questions about me. Because I’ve been pushing him away since we met.”
She stops and looks hard at me.
“And I’m so stupid to never have recognized it before. So I think from now on, I’m gonna pull him towards me instead. I’m gonna finish out this semester. Then I’ll have a year of college under me and no one can ever take that away. So if I want to go back, I can. But I’m gonna stop thinking about what’s next. I’m gonna stop and be satisfied with what I have for a while.”
And now it’s my turn to be jealous. I slump back against the couch cushions and pull my knees up to my chest. “I wish I was anyone but me right now, Rook. Spencer’s not like Ford and Ronin. He doesn’t seem to want any of the same things as me. Like, at all. And who the fuck, ya know? Who the fuck would’ve thought that Ford Aston would be married with kids before me?”
“Spencer loves you, Bomb.”
I laugh at the nickname. I can’t help it. It’s so derogatory and sexist. But it makes me so happy to hear it. To know that’s what he calls me, and only me.
“He loves you, it’s just… he can’t be with you right now.”
I sit up immediately. “Why, Rook? Tell me why? You know something, I know you do. I want to know this. Rook, I need to
know this. Why can’t he be with me?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t say, Ronnie.”
“So much for hoes before bros.”
“Ron, come on. It’s about the trials, you know I can’t say anything. It’s too dangerous. I have to testify next week. And once that’s over, things will be different.”
Will they? I don’t say it out loud, though. They all believe it will be different. Even Spencer said as much. So did Ford when he brought me here on Christmas Eve to show me Spencer’s office. But different doesn’t imply better.
“He told me he was guilty,” I add quickly to see if she’ll take the bait.
But she just shrugs. “I have no idea what that might even mean, Ronnie. Sorry.”
I stand up. “Fine,” I say amicably, but really I’m sorta pissed. I mean we are like BFF’s. Sure, she says Ford is her real BFF, but you can’t be BFF’s with a dude like you can with your bitches. She should trust me. They should all trust me. I’m not a liability. I’m strong. I can fight. I can shoot. I’m a tattoo artist for fuck’s sake. I’m sorta badass. Plus, I’ve been around for years. Ashleigh and Rook are brand new to this shit. I watched it all happen in real time.
But I’m not in the mood to fight with her right now. I just want to move forward at this point. “You said I can borrow a helmet? I’m going to the Harley shop down in Broomfield soon to pick up my own gear, so I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”
She stands and goes back to her bedroom, leaving me to wait. It pisses me off that everyone seems to know Spencer better than I do. Just plain pisses me off.
But I take a deep breath and tuck my annoyance away just as Rook comes back and hands me a black helmet with a full face shield. We walk back up the way we came and end up in the carport where her custom Shrike Bike sits under a blue tarp. She unfastens the bungee cords holding the tarp down and then pulls it off with a whoosh.
I sigh with happiness. I’ve seen this bike a million times, but it’s never looked so beautiful. Rook said she picked this bike out on a whim, way back when she first met Spencer. Back before the STURGIS contract, before season one. Back when she was modeling for the TRAGIC stuff with Ronin.
But it’s strange that she chose this bike, of all the bikes he had in the showroom back then.
Because this is the Shrike Blackbird.
The very bike he drew in my sketchbook.
The very bike I tattooed on his back.
The very first bike Spencer Shrike ever made.
And now it’s mine.
Chapter Eight
VERONICA
“I’ll follow you,” Rook says as she opens her truck door.
I twist the key in the ignition and start the bike and then nod out an OK. “I’m gonna take side streets to the DMV so I don’t have to pass the shop or Shrike Bikes. So I’ll cut out once we get back to town.”
She sighs and points her finger at me. “Be careful.”
I nod. “Yes, Mother.” She gets in her truck and I pull away and go slow to let her follow. I realize I’m the only girl in a family of six men, but holy hell, does everyone have to treat me like an invalid? Because seriously, I’m way tougher than Rook and if she can ride a bike to Chicago alone, I’m pretty sure I can handle scootin’ around town.
The dirt road is a bit muddy, so I am extra-special careful until we make it back on the main road that leads to town, but once I get there, I relax and let my mind drift.
Seeing that picture of the first time Spencer painted my body on his desk has triggered all kinds of memories. I have pictures of that day too, but I haven’t looked at them in years. Since the day he gave them to me, as a matter of fact. I was sorta embarrassed to have naked pictures of myself. And I was very worried about my brother Vic finding out about the whole body-painting thing. He’s very protective. The twins could give a shit what I do, and Vann is like my partner in crime. They’ve always babied him too—never stopped them from kicking his ass regularly all growing up, but still. He can relate to being told no all the time.
Eventually Vic did find out about the body painting. How could he not? Spencer and I traveled all over the place doing contests the year after we graduated. But he never did see the pictures of the night in the atrium.
That day, that night, that experience…
That was not just body painting.
That was seduction, pure and simple.
Three years ago—Shrike Shop Atrium
“Take your clothes off, Bomb,” Spencer says casually as he messes with an airbrush.
I just breathe and nothing more.
He cocks his head at me and squints. “You having second thoughts?”
My breasts rise and fall in rapid succession as the adrenaline courses through my body.
Spencer does not miss this. “You’re nervous?” he tries again. I’m only capable of the most basic functions of living. Breathing. One, two, three more heaving breaths bring his attention back to my chest and then before I can understand what’s happening, he’s supporting my weight. “Ronnie, you OK?”
I shake my head, uncertain what just happened.
“Ronnie? Speak.”
“I’m OK. I think. What happened?”
He leans down and kisses me on the lips and it’s only then that I notice we’re sitting on the ground. “I think you fainted.”
“That’s… stupid. I’ve never fainted in my life.”
He kisses me again, just as softly. It’s not a seductive kiss, even though I know for a fact I’m being seduced right this very moment. It’s a casual kiss, the kind you’d give someone absently. Out of habit, with no thoughts of being denied or crossing boundaries. It’s a kiss that says, I’m here.
My head spins again and I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply for a second.
“Veronica?” His voice has a little more concern now. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” Thoughts are racing through my head, fast and furious. Even though I know such thoughts need to be tucked away, lest I faint again, they surface and there it is. “I think I…”
“What?” he asks, leaning in close again. His lips caress my cheek this time and I’m dizzy.
“I think I swooned.”
I expect a laugh, or a tease. Or maybe a kiss to wash away my silliness… but instead he says, “You know what that means, right?”
I force myself to look up into those gray eyes because I need this answer.
“It means you’re in love.”
“I am in love,” I admit immediately, breaking every rule of new relationships in one fell swoop. “I’m afraid I’m a goner and you might be stuck with me forever.”
He smiles the warmest, most adorable smile I’ve ever seen. On anyone. He’s got the most amazing smile. It’s soft, and caring. Such a contradiction to his hard body. “I’ve already planned our whole life, so I’m good with being stuck. But first, Bombshell, I’d like to get you naked. And then I’d like to caress you with my paintbrush until I turn your body into something magical. I’m gonna make you blush, Bomb. I’m gonna make you blush, and when we’re all done, I’m gonna capture you on digital film and keep you with me forever.”
Goddamn. This man has a way with words. How can his mouth be sexier than his… sex. I’m not sure, but it is. It very much is.
He gently moves me so I’m lying flat on the grass, my arms relaxed and my head lolling over a little with acceptance or surrender, I’m not sure which. And then he’s unbuttoning my shorts. My eyes dart down to his hands and then back up to his face.
He gives me a soft, but very crooked, smile as he drags the zipper down.
I swallow.
“Lift your hips, babe.”
I lift and he slides my shorts down, leaving my underwear on. My chest starts to rise and fall in that weird pattern again. He leans down to give me another comforting kiss. “Be still, breathe deep. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m not afraid.”
“Y
our body says different, Bombshell. But it’s OK. I’m gonna lead you through this, step by step. Now.” He gently grabs my upper arms and pulls me towards him until I’m sitting up. “Let’s take this off, OK?”
I nod as he slips my tank top up my stomach. And I swear, I try my best to not let it affect me, but holy hell. His fingertips drag up my ribcage, and I’m not ticklish much, but my head falls backwards and a moan comes out.
What the hell is happening to me? It’s like I’m out of control. Fainting and moaning. And all the man’s done is ask me questions and lift my shirt off!
Spencer leans into my neck once the moan subsides. “Do I make you hot?”
I try to regain some semblance of control, but I totally fail. So my words betray every empty thought in my head when I whisper, “I’m an insatiable inferno.”
His large hands stroke my calf, then he grabs my foot and pushes it until my knee bends. He does the same thing to my other foot, and then grabs my panties and says, “Lift, please.”
I swallow and lift.
His fingertips drag down my outer thighs this time, then tickle that little dent behind my knees as he hooks the panties over my kneecaps and lets them drop to the ground on top of my feet.
I wait for him to finish what he started and remove the panties from my ankles, but he doesn’t. He leaves them there, a reminder that he just stripped them off me.
God, that makes me wet for some reason.
His hands reach around to my bra clasp, and then before I can even formulate how I might feel about being stripped of my last bit of clothing, my breasts fall free and he licks his lips. He pulls the lacy pink bra down my arms and I slip my hands out before he makes me keep it on. I’m still thinking about the panties around my ankles. Something about that is just so… so… sexual.
I wait.
He waits.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you want to do now?” he counters.
I reach down and slip the panties over my feet and then set them on top of the small pile of clothes.