Bomb: A Day in the Life of Spencer Shrike
Page 12
“I have to admit,” I say with an air of admiration as I slip my shirt back on. “I’m f**king impressed with that little display.” I hold my hand out to her and she takes it, then snags the drawing up off the counter as I pull her out of the room and down the hall.
Monster Bro is about to bark at her when we appear holding hands, but Bomb just slaps the drawing down on the counter. “He’s got this in his garage, he wants me to tattoo it on his back, so I’m going to see it in person.”
Monster Bro is stunned silent so we make our escape and practically run to my truck. I open her door and she quickly slides in as I go around to my side. Her brother is just opening the door to object to what’s happening when I start up the truck, check for traffic, and pull out into the northbound lane of College Avenue.
“I live out in Bellvue, that OK?”
“Why would it be a problem?” She’s got her foot up on the seat, her elbow propped on it, just looking at me. Whatever I did back in that shop, it changed her mind about me. And I’m not sure if it’s the drawing or the fact that I have a ‘56 Bird in my garage, but at this point, I really do not care.
“You hardly know me. I’m taking you to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I’m a known criminal.”
She frowns. “So you are guilty?” It’s a question, like she wants to believe I’m innocent, but she also wants to hear the truth.
“They dropped the charges for a reason, Bombshell. Let it go. I’m not the guy they made me out to be on the news. I’m not that guy.”
She chews on her lip for a moment and then digs through her purse and pulls out her pink .38. “I’ve got my gun. So if you mess with me, I’ll just put some bullets in it and make you sorry.” She’s laughing before she finishes her sentence.
I shake my head. “You should never carry an unloaded gun, Ronnie.” She blushes at the nickname. I’m not sure why, I’ve got a shitload of nicknames for her a helluva lot more erotic than Ronnie. But I note this for future reference. “You might only get one chance to save your life with that gun. It needs to be loaded so when opportunity knocks, you’re ready.”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” she reluctantly admits after a few seconds’ pause. “My dad and brothers never taught me. I bought the gun to piss them off, but I never learned how to shoot it. I don’t even know what kind of bullets it takes. I’ve been wanting to learn for a long time though.”
“Oh, baby,” I say wistfully. This is a girl after my own heart. “You’re talking to the right guy. I’ve got a shooting range on my property. I’ll teach you the basics, then I’ll put you on my gun club membership and buy you some marksmanship classes.”
Her eyes light up. “OK,” she says through her smile. “Wow.” She laughs a little. “I think you just changed my life, Spencer Shrike.”
“That was the plan, Bombshell. That was always the plan.”
We drive in silence after that. She looks out the window as I make my way across the countryside until I come to my driveway. “Who do you live here with?” she asks as I pull past the house and park the truck next to the shop building out back.
“Just me. I inherited this house last year. I figure my life could use some slowing down, so I decided not to get an apartment near school and just drive in every day.”
She jumps out, her hair waving in the wind. “What do you do out here all alone?” She follows me to the door and I unlock it and wave her through, flipping the switch for the lights as I pass in behind her.
She gasps in surprise as she takes in the room.
“I build bikes, Veronica Vaughn. I make custom bikes. You recognized a Triumph Thunderbird from a drawing, and at least one brother rides, so I know you have some knowledge about bikes. But what I don’t know is if that interest is really you or just a byproduct of your upbringing.”
Her fingertips caress the cherry-red tank on a custom piece I’ve been working on all summer and then she walks straight over to the Blackbird and swings her leg over. She looks damn good on that bike. “I could ask you the same question, Spencer Shrike.” She grips the handles and leans over like she’s pretending to ride. How f**king cute is that?
“I learned to love them as a kid, but these bikes are my future. Can you ride?”
She shakes her head no. “My dad and brothers.” This seems to be a common theme with her.
“So they run your life?”
“Yes,” she laughs. “They do. I live at home. I don’t make enough to move out and get my own place, I don’t have a lot of clients yet. I just started at the shop a few weeks ago.”
“Well, I can’t blame them, really. If I had a sister as perfect as you, I’d never let her leave home or ride a bike either.”
She smiles up at me from under her blonde hair. It’s covering her bright blue eyes. “What about shoot a gun?”
I walk over to her and swing my leg over, sitting behind her. She hisses out an exhale, like I just surprised her. When I wrap my arms around her waist, she moans. “Guns are a lot safer than bikes, Ronnie,” I whisper in her ear. “Shooting is something you should know how to do.” I flatten my hands against her belly, then slip them inside the bottom of her tank top.
She draws in a breath.
“Do you want me to stop, Ronnie?”
Veronica hesitates and I pull back, but her hands grab mine and hold them to her body, tightly. “No, I don’t want you to stop.” She looks over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, her chest rising and falling faster than it was a few seconds ago.
Monster Bro is about to bark at her when we appear holding hands, but Bomb just slaps the drawing down on the counter. “He’s got this in his garage, he wants me to tattoo it on his back, so I’m going to see it in person.”
Monster Bro is stunned silent so we make our escape and practically run to my truck. I open her door and she quickly slides in as I go around to my side. Her brother is just opening the door to object to what’s happening when I start up the truck, check for traffic, and pull out into the northbound lane of College Avenue.
“I live out in Bellvue, that OK?”
“Why would it be a problem?” She’s got her foot up on the seat, her elbow propped on it, just looking at me. Whatever I did back in that shop, it changed her mind about me. And I’m not sure if it’s the drawing or the fact that I have a ‘56 Bird in my garage, but at this point, I really do not care.
“You hardly know me. I’m taking you to a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I’m a known criminal.”
She frowns. “So you are guilty?” It’s a question, like she wants to believe I’m innocent, but she also wants to hear the truth.
“They dropped the charges for a reason, Bombshell. Let it go. I’m not the guy they made me out to be on the news. I’m not that guy.”
She chews on her lip for a moment and then digs through her purse and pulls out her pink .38. “I’ve got my gun. So if you mess with me, I’ll just put some bullets in it and make you sorry.” She’s laughing before she finishes her sentence.
I shake my head. “You should never carry an unloaded gun, Ronnie.” She blushes at the nickname. I’m not sure why, I’ve got a shitload of nicknames for her a helluva lot more erotic than Ronnie. But I note this for future reference. “You might only get one chance to save your life with that gun. It needs to be loaded so when opportunity knocks, you’re ready.”
“I don’t know how to shoot,” she reluctantly admits after a few seconds’ pause. “My dad and brothers never taught me. I bought the gun to piss them off, but I never learned how to shoot it. I don’t even know what kind of bullets it takes. I’ve been wanting to learn for a long time though.”
“Oh, baby,” I say wistfully. This is a girl after my own heart. “You’re talking to the right guy. I’ve got a shooting range on my property. I’ll teach you the basics, then I’ll put you on my gun club membership and buy you some marksmanship classes.”
Her eyes light up. “OK,” she says through her smile. “Wow.” She laughs a little. “I think you just changed my life, Spencer Shrike.”
“That was the plan, Bombshell. That was always the plan.”
We drive in silence after that. She looks out the window as I make my way across the countryside until I come to my driveway. “Who do you live here with?” she asks as I pull past the house and park the truck next to the shop building out back.
“Just me. I inherited this house last year. I figure my life could use some slowing down, so I decided not to get an apartment near school and just drive in every day.”
She jumps out, her hair waving in the wind. “What do you do out here all alone?” She follows me to the door and I unlock it and wave her through, flipping the switch for the lights as I pass in behind her.
She gasps in surprise as she takes in the room.
“I build bikes, Veronica Vaughn. I make custom bikes. You recognized a Triumph Thunderbird from a drawing, and at least one brother rides, so I know you have some knowledge about bikes. But what I don’t know is if that interest is really you or just a byproduct of your upbringing.”
Her fingertips caress the cherry-red tank on a custom piece I’ve been working on all summer and then she walks straight over to the Blackbird and swings her leg over. She looks damn good on that bike. “I could ask you the same question, Spencer Shrike.” She grips the handles and leans over like she’s pretending to ride. How f**king cute is that?
“I learned to love them as a kid, but these bikes are my future. Can you ride?”
She shakes her head no. “My dad and brothers.” This seems to be a common theme with her.
“So they run your life?”
“Yes,” she laughs. “They do. I live at home. I don’t make enough to move out and get my own place, I don’t have a lot of clients yet. I just started at the shop a few weeks ago.”
“Well, I can’t blame them, really. If I had a sister as perfect as you, I’d never let her leave home or ride a bike either.”
She smiles up at me from under her blonde hair. It’s covering her bright blue eyes. “What about shoot a gun?”
I walk over to her and swing my leg over, sitting behind her. She hisses out an exhale, like I just surprised her. When I wrap my arms around her waist, she moans. “Guns are a lot safer than bikes, Ronnie,” I whisper in her ear. “Shooting is something you should know how to do.” I flatten my hands against her belly, then slip them inside the bottom of her tank top.
She draws in a breath.
“Do you want me to stop, Ronnie?”
Veronica hesitates and I pull back, but her hands grab mine and hold them to her body, tightly. “No, I don’t want you to stop.” She looks over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, her chest rising and falling faster than it was a few seconds ago.
