by JA Huss
He goes for my panties next. His fingers hook inside the elastic and he pulls. I wrap my arms around his neck so I can lift my hips and he leans in to bite my lip and slip me some tongue before backing away. He gives me the crooked I’m-gonna-make-you-scream grin, and then his mouth is all over my body. His lips suck on my breast and he palms them from underneath, forcing them to push up my chest. “Suck, baby.”
My tongue darts out and licks my nipple and he goes wild, growling against my skin, his mouth stealing the bunched-up tip away. He flicks his tongue against it, then bites.
I squirm because it’s painful, but he holds me still. “He kissed you, Bombshell?” And then he pinches my other nipple.
Oh, shit. “Ow!” I squirm away.
He pulls me back and resumes his task. “He kissed you? Did you slap him?”
“No,” I reply through the stinging sensations shooting up my breast. “Ah! I punched him in the face!” I laugh it out. “Spencer, stop. You jealous caveman. I’m not your girlfriend, remember? You should date Carson,” I squeal again. “Stop!”
My nipple is released and I take a breath.
“I am a jealous caveman, and don’t you ever forget it. You’re my Bombshell. And if that asshole wants to come into my town and think he can fuck with my woman, I’m gonna have to set him straight.”
I eye him carefully, trying not to read too much into what he just said. “Do you want me?”
“I’ve wanted you since the day I laid eyes on you. You know that.”
“Sometimes I forget, Spencer.” I say it softly, so I don’t hurt him. I’m done playing games. I just want to settle. I just want us to settle. I trace his lips with my fingertip. “It’s so hard to remember what it used to be like.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. “Maybe you need a reminder, then, eh?”
Fuck me, I silently mouth. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
He says nothing, but his hand does. It rests on my thigh, squeezing gently, and the wetness escapes my throbbing pussy. “Tell me, Bomb. Tell me what you want.”
I grab his hand and guide it to my sex, my fingertips holding his fingertip. I stroke myself with his finger. Back and forth. And then I slip inside myself, the walls of my pussy slick with want. His finger follows, pushing mine in further.
“Tell me, Ronnie.”
I melt at the name. He’s got so many names for me, but Ronnie—that’s the one that says I love you. I gather up the wetness on my finger then withdraw it and brings it to his lips. “Suck me, Spencer.” His tongue darts out and laps against my finger. And then he dips his mouth down to mine and gives me a taste as well.
I taste like lust. I taste like want. I taste like greed.
He watches my tongue as I lick his finger. “I’ve said every dirty thing imaginable to you over the years, Ron. We like it like that, don’t we? The dirty talk.”
I nod. “We do.”
“You know what else we like?”
My head shakes out the slightest no. It’s been so long since he’s looked at me like this. So, so fucking long since he’s had any kind of real conversation with me. So long since he’s said all the dirty things that tell me he loves me. I need it so bad. “Tell me what else we like, Spencer.”
His smile is small and crooked. Almost sad as he reaches over and laces his fingers in mine. “We like to hold hands too, don’t we?”
Oh, God. That was not what I expected. I swallow down the tears and nod.
He watches me struggle and then frowns and lets out a sad sigh. “We like to watch TV, too. Don’t we?”
I nod again. “Adult Swim and King of the Hill.”
He laughs for real at this. “Yeah, baby. You appreciate the cartoons like no other woman I know. What else do we like?”
A tear slips out and rolls down my cheek. His finger automatically swipes it away and then he presses his mouth into my ear and says, “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Ronnie. Just tell me what we like, so I can remember. Because I’ve lost my way, baby. I’m worried about so many things right now, I’m afraid I might’ve forgotten why I’m doing all this. Why I’m hurting you so badly. Why this Bobby guy gets to take you out when I can’t. So tell me, remind me why I’m doing this, Ronnie. Tell me what we like.”
“Trees,” I blurt before the sobs come out.
“We do like trees. You love me for my buckeyes, huh?”
That makes me giggle, but his expression remains serious. “Yeah,” I whisper. “We love the buckeyes. And we love beaches.”
“I love being on the beach with you, Bombshell.”
I can’t stop the tears now, they just stream down my face. “We like puppies, too.”
“Pound puppies, right?” He leans down and kisses my head. “We like to save them, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say as I wipe my nose.
“We’re gonna get a shitload of pound puppies once this is over, baby.” His gray eyes are darting back and forth across my face, studying me. “Tell me what else we love, Ronnie.”
“We love the country. And we’re gonna live on the farm.”
He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. “Absolutely live on the farm. I’d never leave the farm. What else?”
“And have Sunday dinners with your parents.”
“Together,” he adds with a sigh. “For once. We’re gonna do that together. Keep going. Tell me all the things we like. Tell me all the things we’re gonna do when this is over, Ronnie. I want to hear it all. I want it burned in my brain when I leave here.”
“Line dancing.”
“We love the fuck out of line dancing, Bombs. I’m gonna take you dancing every week when this is over.”
He leans off to the side of me, resting his hand on my stomach and his head next to mine, making it clear that none of this is about sex. Or my body. Or our lust. He makes it clear that every bit of this is about us. Our dreams, our lives.
“Do we love kids, Ron?” he asks, so, so serious.
“I think we do, Spencer.”
“That farmhouse has a lot of rooms. We’re gonna need to fill them all up. There is nothing worse than a big empty house.”
“We hate empty houses, huh, Spencer?”
“Can’t stand them, Bomb. Our farmhouse will be busting at the seams with rowdy kids and pound puppies. Do we like boys or girls, Ronnie?”
“We like girls. You need a pack of princesses running around in ballet shoes.”
He’s silent for a long time after that. Maybe picturing it like I am. My eyes begin to get heavy. I want nothing more than to make this moment last forever, but his body pressed up against mine makes me content in a way I can’t even explain. He makes me feel safe and protected.
“I never cheated on you, Bomb. I took those girls out to trick people into thinking I didn’t care.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to feel about that.
He turns towards me and one hand comes up to cup my face. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want my mistakes to come back and hurt you. I’ll die if something happens to you.” His eyes stare into mine and he swallows. “But I’m the one who’s been hurting you with this plan. And I just want you to know, Ronnie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he says again. “It’s just… we’re in a lot of trouble, baby. And I hate to bring you in on it like this. But I don’t want you to think I never cared if something happens and I never get a chance to tell you—”
He stops and I’m crying all over again. I hug him close and bury my face in his chest. “Nothing’s gonna happen, Spence. It’s not, OK?” I look up, sniffling. “I love you too. And I feel the same way. I’d do anything for you.”
He kisses me on the nose and then scoots down the bed and starts taking off my fuck-me boots. “You’re gonna drive a minivan, Ronnie. And all my princesses will go to Catholic school. They’ll wear those little green and blue uniforms, Bombshell. And my daughters will wear pants, every fucking day. No tartan skirts for my little girls.”
I laugh at that and
sigh as I picture it. “I’d do anything to make that dream come true. Anything.”
Spencer wraps me in his arms and holds me close. “I love you, Veronica. I love you more than I love myself. More than I love Ronin or Ford. More than the Team, Ronnie. I love you more than the Team. Much more. And I just need you to trust me a little bit longer, OK? I just need to keep you safe. I’ll tell you everything once it’s all over. But I can’t tell you anything right now, babe. Do you understand me?”
“I do, Spencer.”
And I really mean it. Because Bobby-slash-Tet and I talked the whole way home from the test. And he told me things tonight as well. Things I’m probably not supposed to know. Things Spencer would not want me to know. Things that need to be done to keep our dream alive.
I love Spencer just as much as he loves me and that’s why I’m gonna be Bobby Mansi’s backup. I have a job, and just like Spencer, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure we all come through the other end alive.
After a while Spencer’s hands find their way back to my body. We’re all talked out, so we show our love in different ways now. We show our love with kisses, and eye contact, and light dragging touches across bare skin.
Every movement is slow.
Every gesture is tender.
Every word is soft.
And if I didn’t know what was coming, it would be the perfect happily ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SPENCER
Leaving Ronnie in bed might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I look at her one last time in the dim glow of approaching dawn outside. Her golden hair is spread out on her pillow, her little hands all tucked up under her chin like she’s cold. I pull her close one more time. She’s a heavy sleeper, but she grumbles and gives me a snuggle before wiggling away and turning over.
I wish I could just steal her away right now. Run away with her. Some tropical island where we’d live naked, brown from the sun, carefree with no one else around. And if I had met Ronnie first instead of Ford and Ronin, I would. I do love her more than the Team, but my Team is in this mess right now because of me.
Yeah, Rook has a lot to do with it as well, but now that our stories are intertwined—for the sole purpose of saving my ass—it’s not about Rook’s mistakes anymore. It’s all about mine. I’m the one who killed the Boulder dude. I’m the one who told Rook to cover for me with the story she told the police last year.
And yeah, Ronin and Ford were there when I pulled the trigger, and Rook is responsible for those human traffickers being linked to us in the first place. But everything all comes back to me. We stand together, so if we lose, we’re all going down. We all played a part.
But I’m the only one who’s really guilty. I can’t just up and run away with Ron. I have to clean my mess up or one day it will come back and kick my ass. I know this. I saw it happen when I was sitting in the Denver Detention Center, waiting to be processed over to Boulder County, and I was stuck in this cell with a guy who was also in for murder one.
Three and a half years ago
“You got a girl?” the guy asks from his side of the room.
I don’t even look up. “No. Not really. A bunch of them, you know.” It just sorta comes out. My mind is spinning from my current situation.
Because we are fucked. That detective in Boulder got a hold of Ford’s computer and sure enough, he found a way inside Ford’s protected shit.
How the fuck did they breach his shit? I don’t get it. It was locked up tight. In fact, it wasn’t even on that computer. It was being held on a remote server. I don’t know all that shit Ford does to keep his data private, but I do know for a fact that nothing’s actually stored on the computer. Nothing is local. Which means these guys got into his system, traced his ass through the cloud, and then broke in.
My breath comes out in a long controlled exhale.
I’m so fucked.
“That’s good, son,” the older guy says. “Because they always get you. They always get you in the end.”
I look up at him now. He looks Mexican but his Southern drawled English says he’s not, he’s about forty or so, and his green tats tell me he’s no stranger to prison. All the knuckles on his left hand have x’s on them. “What?” I’ve got no interest in hearing this asshole’s version of Life Lessons Learned in the Joint. I just want him to shut the fuck up.
“Your loved ones? You got loved ones? Mommy and Daddy?”
I shake my head at him. “Dude, my family is not gonna be my downfall, take my word on that one.”
“No? Why’s that? Because you innocent?”
I take a deep breath and go back to my own thoughts.
“And that’s not what I meant, anyways. I meant, if you’ve got someone close to you, too close to you, then they sees that, you know?”
Sees that? The grammar lapse conflicts with my previous opinion about his English. “See what?” I ask, frustrated with the talking but unable to stop myself from asking. Being locked up will do that to you. I’ve been here three days already, and this asshole’s blathering is not my idea of enlightening conversation.
“See you love someone. They sees that, then they use it to take you down.”
“The cops?” I ask, confused by both the bad grammar and what he’s actually saying.
He laughs at me. “Them cops is the least of your problems. The ones you work for. Those ones. They keep records of your family.”
I just stare at him. “What?”
“You’re still learning, pup. But if you want to stay in this business, you better figure that part out right quick.” The dumb Mexican routine drops the longer that sentence streams on and I realize he’s been playing me these past few days.
I sit up and pay attention.
“That’s right, kid. Now you’re learning.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I look up at the ceiling, at the cameras. I’m pretty sure they’re keeping a nice peeled eye on me right now.
“The cops ain’t the bad guys, pup. It’s the bosses you gotta worry about.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, looking beyond the ugly tattoos, the weathered brown skin, and the fact that he smells like he’s been homeless for years. And when I finally do that, I see him for the first time.
I see him because I recognize him.
He is some other Team’s Ronin. As sure as shit, I see it. He’s some Team’s liar and he’s here because it’s his job to take the fall.
“Is that all?” I ask him.
He gives me a small smile. “Let me offer you a piece of advice, OK, son?” He stops, but I give him nothing but silence. Silence is the only safe way out of this situation. “Keep the ones ya really love far, far away.”
I’m just about to reply when the door buzzes and both of us jump a little. It slides open and two guards appear. “Shrike?”
“Yeah.” I blow out a long breath as I get to my feet.
“Charges have been dropped. We’re moving you through outtake.”
I walk forward, then look back at the Ronin and give him a nod. He nods back and I walk through the doors.
I never saw the guy again. Not in person anyway. But I did see him on the internet a year later. Drudge Report ran a headline about a mob job gone bad and an unidentified victim with x’s tattooed on his knuckles.
He was the mark in that hit and not two weeks before that his wife and kids died in a freak carbon monoxide accident while they were sleeping.
It freaked me the fuck out. I had just pitched the Shrike Bikes pilot to the Biker Channel. I sucked up to Ford and got him to commit, then called Antoine to feel him out for the photography. I had always planned on using Ronnie for that show. I wanted to make her life special, give her a taste of the better life, as she liked to call it. A life where she could shop and play without worrying about money.
I wanted her to be my model. So bad. Painting Ronnie’s body is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done. Man, she turns me on like nothing in this world.
/>
But that guy. His words were burned in me. So I told the Bomb no. I told her I wanted a new girl. Some professional model. Someone taller, dark hair. Thinner. I told her I wanted the anti-Bomb to be my Shrike Bikes girl.
I hurt her with those words. I’ve never seen a more hurt look on her face. She broke it off with me and I played the bruised boyfriend for a week or so, telling anyone who’d listen that she’s a bitch. But every night I drove by her house. Sometimes I’d sit up on the roof of the little candle shop across College Avenue from Sick Boyz and spy on her. You’d be amazed how far you can travel on the rooftops before you have to hit the streets.
And she dated a few guys. I held my jealousy in check, because it never seemed to go anywhere. I followed her relentlessly for months. And then slowly I let her go. Redirected my attention to Rook, and the two brothers I’d been missing for years, as we all got back together for the STURGIS contract.
But when Veronica Vaughn showed up as Operation Jon was in full swing… when she came out of that building smelling like guns with blood dripping down her side… when Rook told me she’s the only reason Jon didn’t get her that day…
Ronnie wasn’t hurt. I knew she wasn’t hurt. That bullet skimmed her, it was a scrape. But that’s not the point. The point is, my world touched her. My fucking world touched her. And Ronnie pulled out her little pink gun—it was a Walther P99 that day, but every gun I picture her with is a pink .38 Special—fully loaded this time, and went in shooting just like I taught her.
She got knocked on her ass that day. Jon really did a number on her. When we got back from Sturgis she was all black and blue. And that shit really hit home. I lost all my resolve. I wanted her back. I wanted her back so bad. I kept her closer to me that month than I had in more than a year. I took her to Rook’s birthday party and I fucked her every chance I could.
Until the bullshit came back in full force. Again.
It’s like these mistakes we made will never end. It’s like the past has me by the balls and it has no intention of letting go.
This trial is our last chance to put this that Boulder shit to rest.