by JA Huss
I swing the truck back out, flip a bitch, and head towards College Ave. I’m not sure what’s going on with Ronnie, but I’m about to find out. I park next to Vann’s gray primer-coated Vespa and head into the tattoo shop. I swing the door open and I’m accosted by frat boys all waiting around like idiots and looking at the sample art on the walls. That’s one bad thing about living in a college town. College kids.
Of course, when Ronnie and I were in school together, we were the shit. But now that school is a distant memory best left forgotten, these kids annoy the fuck out of me. I’ve always lived out in Bellvue, even when I went to Colorado State for senior year, so I never had to put up with them much. But the new shop the Biker Channel and I decided on for Season Two is located a couple blocks up. Unlike my shop at home, this new shop will also have a showroom. So I expect the college kids will be dropping by often.
“Well, if it isn’t Shrike fucking Bikes!” Vic’s loud welcome blasts over the roar of excited frat boys and everyone turns to look at me.
“Where’s Ron?”
Vic smiles that big-brother smile and that can only mean one thing. “She’s not interested in talking to you, Shrike. Told me to tell you that if you came by.”
I flip him off and walk down the hallway. Vic is not going to mess with me unless I ask for it. And a friendly fuck you is not enough to get us brawling. Because we’ve been down that road before. Once we start, we don’t stop and there’s always medical bills involved.
I look into each of the tat rooms as I pass. Vern’s room is first, then Vic’s, which is empty now since he’s up front, then Vinn and Vonn—they share the biggest room—and finally Ronnie’s room is last.
Her gun is buzzing, so I know she’s got a customer. Her back is to the door so I slip in and lean over her shoulder. The customer is some wimpy eighteen-year-old, obviously a brother from the frat house since he’s getting Greek letters on his non-existent bicep. “Beautiful, Ron. Love it, babe.”
She never even flinches. Her machine never slows. She draws and wipes, and then draws again. Like I never said a word and I’m nobody.
I point to the other wimpy frat boy sitting in the only chair in the room. “Get the fuck out.” He gets, and I sit, rolling my eyes as the plastic covering over the seat of the chair crinkles under my ass. Ronnie never even huffs. Usually that’s what she does if I come in to her work acting like a caveman, but tonight I get nothing.
She’s pissed.
I bide my time until she’s done. She leaves and I stay put. I can hear her talking out in the lobby, then she tells her next victim to wait until she cleans the room and she’ll be right back for him.
Ronnie is a freak about blood splatter from the tattoo machines. She wears scrubs to work. She has both a facemask and a visor with a clear plastic shield that covers her face. She wears gloves from the minute she walks into the shop until the minute she leaves and there’s an air ionizer in the corner to clear out any microscopic bacterial byproducts that may or may not be floating around in the air.
Everything in this room is covered in plastic. From the tattoo chair to the cord on her tattoo machine. Even the flat screen mounted on the wall is covered in sheeting. You really have to use your imagination when you watch TV in Ron the Bomb’s room.
It takes her a good thirty minutes to remove all the plastic and apply new between customers. We’ve all learned to love this about her, even if she’s constantly behind schedule.
She returns to the room crumpling her mask up and holding her face shield in her hand. “Why are you here?” she snaps at me.
I shrug. “I want to see you tonight.”
She busts out a long low laugh as she shakes her head and starts pulling plastic off things. “Well, that’s not going to happen, Spencer. I’ve got a date after work.”
“I know,” I say back calmly.
She looks over at me now, her eyebrows all scrunched up in confusion. “How do you know?”
“Because,” I say sweetly, “your date’s with me.”
She whispers under her breath as she turns back to her room duties. “I’m busy, Spencer. Go away. Vic!” she yells over the music and buzzing of tattoo machines.
“Veronica,” Vic says in his how-can-I-help-you voice. He must’ve been right outside the door. Asshole. “You need me to give him the boot?” Vic says with a smile in my direction.
“Please,” she sighs. “I’m busy, Spencer. Just go away.”
“Out, Spencer,” Vic says. “She’s working until eleven.”
“Vic!” Ronnie screams. “What the fuck?”
Vic motions for me to follow him so I get up and grab Ronnie by the waist and haul her sexy little body up against mine. “Veronica Vaughn. You’re mine tonight, baby. I’ll be back at eleven. And don’t think you can duck out early, because I’ve got my recon hat on right now. I’ve got a lot of questions for you and I’m just gonna spend the next few hours between now and then trying to answer them myself.” I kiss her on the head and pat her ass gently as I leave.
I can hear her stomping her foot and growling out obscenities after I leave. Vic is waiting for me at the front door. He opens it and I walk through, then he follows.
“What’s up?” I ask as I walk to my truck.
“You ever meet that new guy in town, Spencer? Drake what-the-fuck’s-his-name?”
“Cikes,” I hiss. “Drake Cikes. Is she going out with that fuck tonight?” Fucking Drake, I’ll kill that mother—
“No, she’s been sorta seeing an accountant or something. Real boring guy, she’s into the boring ones right now.”
“What?” She really is dating that fuck from the alley. “Wait, the boring ones? She’s dating more than one?”
“Spencer, that’s her business. I’m asking about that Drake fuck. Because I saw him over by your new place the other night. Stalking around the building. I was walking home from a fun night out with that redhead from Cat Call, and he was nosing around. And I know your showroom in Broomfield was just robbed. So—you know. He might be your guy.”
I grunt a little but I don’t give anything away. My team is in too deep with this shit to be copping out to some bullshit spouted off by Vic Vaughn. “Nah,” I say. “I got a lead on that other incident, and it’s not him.”
Vic nods. I’m not sure if it’s a conspiratorial nod or just a regular nod, so I let it go. “OK then. Take it easy. And Spencer?” I’m already turning to go when he calls me back. “Stay the fuck away from Veronica until she says otherwise. I will kick your ass over this. She’s happy. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but whatever it is, she’s happy. Leave her alone.”
And then he turns and walks back into the shop.
Chapter Five
Leave her alone, my ass.
I repeat that in my head over and over again as I wait for the girl at Big City Burrito to make my dinner. Fucking whatever. Ronnie is mine. Ronnie has always been mine. I own her ass. She’s belonged to me since that very first night at the shop. And if she thinks I’m just gonna give her up after all these years, she’s on some pretty powerful drugs.
I won’t.
I might ignore her, but I have my reasons and that life is almost wrapped up. I can feel it. We’re gonna wrap all that illegal shit up and move on. Ford’s fucking married and has a kid, Ronin will have Rook roped in very soon, I can already see that shit coming. And I’ll be damned if those two assholes think they’re gonna become all mature and shit before I do.
Fuck that.
I’m the mature one on this team. I’m the one who has a real career. I’ve got three businesses, plus that little campground out in Nebraska. I’m on TV, I have my own line of custom bikes, and I’ve got the whole body art painting thing going. I’m bona fide. I’m on my way up. I’ve got plans, I’ve got big, big plans.
And Ron the Bomb has always been part of it. Shit, has that woman no memory? How could she have forgotten our first date?
“Shrike!” the burrito girl yells as she hands my
dinner to Carla, the girl who runs the register.
I walk up to the counter and grab the bag. “Gracias, Carla.”
“See ya mañana, Spencer.”
She winks at me and I wink back and shoot her with my finger. “Tomorrow, baby. We’re on. Pick you up at eight.”
“I’ll have my boots on, handsome!”
I chuckle as I walk out. Fucking Carla, gotta love that girl. She makes all my Thursday nights better. We’ve had a Thursday night date for almost two months now. I kinda like it too. She’s one helluva cowgirl. Fridays I hang out with Renee from the Cat Call while she’s at work. I got a new regular for Saturday. Kim from the Harley store down south in Broomfield. I don’t usually go in there since I own my own bike shop and we sell or make everything I need custom. But I was looking for a specific set of pegs for the new bike I’m thinking about building, and I found a guy from Craigslist who had them, and he just happened to work at the Harley shop.
Sunday I go home to see the folks for dinner. It’s a thing I can’t get out of even if I wanted to. My old man would kick my ass if I didn’t show up for family shit on Sundays.
So yeah, I haven’t had much time for Ronnie, but I’m a busy fucking guy. What does she want me to do? Change my whole life around? I will, eventually, but not yet. I’m not ready for that yet. Too much shit to get done.
I get back in my truck and head home. Once I get past the little town of La Porte there’s nothing else around, so I grab my burrito and start chowing. When you live thirty minutes away from the nearest real town, you learn to eat your take-out on the road. By the time I get home and let myself into the kitchen, my food is gone, my mood is even more sour, and I’m totally unsatisfied. I will go see Ronnie at eleven when she gets off, I do not care what Vic says. Ronnie and I have history.
I walk down the hallway towards my office and key in the code that controls the locks. This was Ronin’s brilliant idea. And it is pretty brilliant. Key codes instead of keys. You always have a key and you always have a record of when the door is accessed.
I flip the light on and take it all in. Every wall is covered with pictures of Veronica. She was my body painting model for almost three years. I have touched every inch of her beautiful body with my paintbrush. And I do mean every inch. I even painted her hair once. She hated that and I laugh just thinking about it.
Our life together started the moment I saw her and Vic arguing outside the CSU bookstore. And while I did have to wrangle a gun out of her hand to get the first real date, the second time I talked to her, things went a whole other way.
Colorado State University - Three years ago
“Miss Vaughn,” I say sweetly as I saunter up to her. She’s walking fast because she’s late for her early morning art class.
“Go away, you caveman. I’ll fix your stupid tattoo, but I’m not going to be nice about it. You kissed me, you know. Without permission.”
“You liked it last night.”
“Yeah, well, I was tired. And caught off guard. And manhandled.” She quickens her pace to try and give me a hint, but I don’t take hints. Besides, my legs are longer than hers. She can’t out-power walk me.
“You liked all of that last night if I remember correctly.”
She pulls open the door to the art building and I follow her in. We weave through the various displays in the shadowed room. “I like the art building,” I tell her casually. Like we’re just friends walking to class. “It’s dark and moody. Like the artists who study here.”
“Why are you following me?” she stops and asks in a huff, her foot stomping on the polished concrete floors.
“I’m going to class. I’m not following you.”
She looks over at me and scowls. “You have class here in this building at seven AM? Not likely. There’s only one class in here and it’s by invitation only,” she says with an air of superiority as she begins walking again.
I walk again too, then smile at her when she checks to see if I’m still following. “I’ve been invited, don’t worry.”
This makes her stop and whirl around to face me. “You’re in my class?”
“I am,” I say smugly. “I’m a transfer from DU. I major in business, but I take art on the side.”
“Oh.” She flips her long golden tresses over her shoulder. “A hobbyist.”
“Yeah.” I smirk and shrug at the same time. “You could call me that.”
She turns again and resumes the power walk. I catch up, pass her, and then hold the studio door open and wave her through.
“Thank you,” she says under her breath as she passes close enough for me to breathe in her scent. She smells like sugar. Seriously, like a fucking cookie or something. I watch her head across the room to gather her things. The studio is filled with students. At least forty of them. Everyone is setting up, getting ready for life drawing.
“Mr. Shrike,” the middle-aged voice calls out to me from across the room.
I look over at Bombshell and she’s watching me very carefully. I wink and shoot her with my finger, then turn and walk towards the professor with a smile. “Miss Aberdeen, thank you for fitting me in the class. I can see what you mean now, it’s packed full.”
She blushes at me. Yeah, I have that effect on women of all ages, so I shoot her a winning smile and tilt my head a bit. Ronin taught me that move. I might not be on speaking terms with him these days, but that guy knows all the fucking charm tricks. He has the women lined up like groupies.
I’m not a groupie gatherer, but this head-tilt thing works well enough on the professor in front of me. Her look says, I’m an artist. She’s got the earthy clothes that hang off her skinny frame, the glasses, the put-up hair that’s falling out all over the place, and the Birks on her feet.
She’s so earthy, I was sorta shocked when she named her condition for letting me join this class.
“Mr. Shrike—”
“Please, Miss Aberdeen, call me Spence.” I smile again and chance a look over at Bombshell. She’s set up in the front row. I already knew this. I’ve been doing recon on the Bomb since I first saw her in that fight with her brother in front of the bookstore.
“Very well, Spence.” Aberdeen blushes when she says my name and that’s sorta cute. “Next week your space is next to Miss Vaughn—”
She continues talking about what will happen next week. But I’m more concerned with what’s happening this week to give a shit about a time so far in the future, so I tune the rest out. I’m too busy looking over at the Blonde Bomb as she tries to process what’s being said.
I chuckle as Aberdeen walks away and Veronica Vaughn walks up. “You planned this. You’re stalking me, aren’t you?”
“Recon, baby. Not stalking.” And then I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it straight up over my head. Not too fast, Ronin taught me this too. He said the slow-mo shirt removal was one of the easiest ways to snag a girl. When I look back at Veronica her mouth is gaping open.
“What are you doing?” she hisses at me. “Put your shirt on!”
I drop the shirt to the floor and go for the pants. Veronica gasps when I pop the button and downright chokes when I go for the zipper. I hear a few cat calls from the back of the room as I slip my pants down.
I’m commando today, so His Highness just pops right out.
Every girl in the room explodes in laughter. It’s the good kind though. I know the difference. This laughter says, Holy fucking shit, I cannot believe he just took off his clothes!
“You look more like a cherry than a bombshell right now, Blondie,” I joke with her.
She shakes herself out of her silent stare and turns on her heel.
“Well,” Miss Aberdeen says as she claps her hands together in delight. “Mr. Shrike—err, Spence.” She smiles big as she says my name. “It’s too late now, obviously, but next time—”
“Next time?” Blondie says as she peeks out from behind her easel.
“—please use the dressing room over there in the corner. And pu
t on a robe until we’re ready for you.” She bats her eyelashes at me, then steals a glance down.
“Sure thing,” I say as I wink and shoot. “Where do you want me, Miss Aberdeen?”
Veronica blushes the entire fucking class. Her face is this sexy shade of flush for ninety minutes. And every one of those ninety minutes, she thinks about nothing but me. She traces every line and curve of my body onto the paper in front of her. She licks her lips seventeen times. She sighs twenty-two times. She groans and whimpers when she makes five mistakes, and she even has a pouty frown on her face for the splittest of seconds when Aberdeen announces that class is over.
I wait for her as she cleans up. I’m wearing clothes again and all the girls, and a few dudes as well, are coming over to introduce themselves and ask who I am and where I came from.
I have that effect on people. I’m blessed in the body department. Ronin has his charm, Ford has his brain and I’ve got this beautiful body. Plus charm and brains. I’m the total package. Almost six foot three—I’m taller than both Ronin and Ford, and that’s all muscle. I played a little football in high school and got two scholarship offers. But I stayed in town with Ronin and we both went to University of Denver.
The team comes before everything else—and DU is a great school anyway.
Ford was already in Boulder studying film, he’s two years older. So Ronin and I started college together. He continued to model with Antoine, his sister’s lover who runs Chaput Studios out of a remodeled six-story building near Lower Downtown. I continued to build bikes and learn how to run the business so I could take over Shrike Bikes from my old man. My mom was desperate to get him to retire after a heart attack a few years ago.
We roped Mardee into doing some cons with us. Some basic shit. Little bit of hands-on stealing from scumbags. Then she overdosed on heroin and died.
We didn’t take it well, it was a huge blame game. Ford blamed Ronin, Ronin blamed me, I blamed—fuck. I blamed all of us. We were all at fault. We took it out on the local drug dealers using every skill we had in our arsenal. Namely Ford’s savant hacking abilities. And all that ended abruptly after the Boulder job. The job that would change our lives, send me to Colorado State in Fort Collins and Ronin to University of Colorado in Boulder after we were kicked out of DU.
