Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 55
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean he’s beating her or anything. But he’s a weird guy.”
Bobby visibly relaxes.
“Why are you so interested in her, anyway? It is Ashleigh that you’re mainly interested in, right?”
He takes a long sip of wine before answering. “I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, well, if you want me to supply you with any more information, you’re gonna need to tell me those reasons.”
Bobby’s laugh is both lighthearted and terrifying at the same time. “Veronica, we both know you don’t have any information. Spencer Shrike has gone out of his way to distance himself from you for years. You’re not on the Team, honey.”
I throw my napkin down on my place and push my chair back to rise—but his strong grip on my wrist holds me in place. “Let go,” I demand calmly.
“No, Veronica. Sit back down, we’re not done.”
“Look, I’m not sure who you really are or what you really want, but I’ll tell you what. I’m not gonna sit here and let you hurt me. So let the f**k go of my wrist or I will take you down.”
“Is that—”
I hammerfist him in the forearm, yank my wrist free, spin on my f**k-me heel and whack him in the side of the face with my other fist. I step back and wait for his attack.
He sits in his chair as the redness creeps into the cheek I hit. “So you’re a fighter,” he says matter-of-factly. I say nothing. “That’s all I needed to know.”
And then he waits. It’s my move. I can walk out or ask the question he just set up.
I opt for the question. “Why?”
Now he does stand. His napkin falls to the floor and for some reason I fixate on it for the second it takes for him to get close to me again. He grabs my upper arm this time, but instead of pulling away, I let him pull me close.
Close enough to whisper in my ear.
“I’m not on the Team either, Veronica. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I just need to know if you’re a free agent.”
“Free agent?”
“Because I’d like you to be on my team.”
The waiter clears his throat and we both look over at him. He’s carrying a tray of covered food.
“Please,” Bobby says, and this time he does guide me with a hand on my back. “Please, eat. We’ll talk. And then I’m going to take you somewhere and test you.”
“What?”
He pushes me forcefully back towards my seat at the table. “If you sit and eat, Veronica, you will get all the answers you require.”
“Hmmm…” I know that trap. All the answers I require.
“Sit,” he commands. “You’re in, I can see it. So stop with the posturing and be patient.”
I allow him to seat me again, and as soon as he’s back in his place, the waiter approaches with the tray of food. My stomach growls and then practically screams as the lids on the silver trays are lifted and I’m presented with a delicious Italian feast.
“I’ll eat,” I say as I pick up my fork and dig in. “But I want more than the required answers.”
When I look up from shoveling another forkful of creamy pasta in my mouth, Bobby’s stare is rigid and flat. “You’ll get the answers I choose to give. But I assure you, everything I tell you will be the truth. I do not lie. I don’t believe in lies. If I can’t tell you the truth you want to hear, then I believe in silence.”
“We’re gonna kill someone, aren’t we?” I say offhandedly as I keep shoveling in the food. But it’s hard to miss the silence that follows that question.
Chapter Twenty-Four
VERONICA
I do my best to ignore the fact that Bobby Mansi practically admitted he wants me to help him kill someone, but after we sit in silence for about ten minutes, he begins to explain.
“I am here for one purpose,” he says as he caresses his wine glass. “I have a goal. There are many ways to achieve that goal, and yes, one ends in killing someone. Will you have a problem with that?”
I continue chewing. Slowly. Methodically. I dab my mouth with my pretty napkin and then set it back down in my lap. I reach for the wine and take a small sip. I can tell Bobby Mansi is not used to being made to wait. But I continue to take my time, crossing my legs, leaning back, and folding my hands in my lap. “I’m not killing anyone. I’m not a murderer. So yeah, I actually do have a problem with that.”
“You won’t be killing anyone, Veronica. Unless I need help. Then, if you agree to be on my team, I’ll expect you to have my back. That’s something we need to get clear right now.”
I reach for the bread and pick off a small piece and pop it in my mouth. Why can’t I ever get a normal date? Why do I only get asked out by the Spencers and the Bobbys? Am I that unapproachable that the only men who want to date me are criminals? Why does my first real dinner date in three months have to turn out to be an invitation to murder?
There must be something wrong with me. I’m pretty. I’ve got a nice body. I’ve got a college degree, and yeah, I’m a tattoo artist, but seriously? And this Bobby, he doesn’t even like me. He wants me to be his backup in some crazy scheme. He’s playing on the fact that I’m not part of Spencer’s secret team. He’s hoping I feel left out, alone, vulnerable, and desperate.
And he’s right. I feel all those things.
“Will you have my back?” he asks again.
Bobby visibly relaxes.
“Why are you so interested in her, anyway? It is Ashleigh that you’re mainly interested in, right?”
He takes a long sip of wine before answering. “I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, well, if you want me to supply you with any more information, you’re gonna need to tell me those reasons.”
Bobby’s laugh is both lighthearted and terrifying at the same time. “Veronica, we both know you don’t have any information. Spencer Shrike has gone out of his way to distance himself from you for years. You’re not on the Team, honey.”
I throw my napkin down on my place and push my chair back to rise—but his strong grip on my wrist holds me in place. “Let go,” I demand calmly.
“No, Veronica. Sit back down, we’re not done.”
“Look, I’m not sure who you really are or what you really want, but I’ll tell you what. I’m not gonna sit here and let you hurt me. So let the f**k go of my wrist or I will take you down.”
“Is that—”
I hammerfist him in the forearm, yank my wrist free, spin on my f**k-me heel and whack him in the side of the face with my other fist. I step back and wait for his attack.
He sits in his chair as the redness creeps into the cheek I hit. “So you’re a fighter,” he says matter-of-factly. I say nothing. “That’s all I needed to know.”
And then he waits. It’s my move. I can walk out or ask the question he just set up.
I opt for the question. “Why?”
Now he does stand. His napkin falls to the floor and for some reason I fixate on it for the second it takes for him to get close to me again. He grabs my upper arm this time, but instead of pulling away, I let him pull me close.
Close enough to whisper in my ear.
“I’m not on the Team either, Veronica. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I just need to know if you’re a free agent.”
“Free agent?”
“Because I’d like you to be on my team.”
The waiter clears his throat and we both look over at him. He’s carrying a tray of covered food.
“Please,” Bobby says, and this time he does guide me with a hand on my back. “Please, eat. We’ll talk. And then I’m going to take you somewhere and test you.”
“What?”
He pushes me forcefully back towards my seat at the table. “If you sit and eat, Veronica, you will get all the answers you require.”
“Hmmm…” I know that trap. All the answers I require.
“Sit,” he commands. “You’re in, I can see it. So stop with the posturing and be patient.”
I allow him to seat me again, and as soon as he’s back in his place, the waiter approaches with the tray of food. My stomach growls and then practically screams as the lids on the silver trays are lifted and I’m presented with a delicious Italian feast.
“I’ll eat,” I say as I pick up my fork and dig in. “But I want more than the required answers.”
When I look up from shoveling another forkful of creamy pasta in my mouth, Bobby’s stare is rigid and flat. “You’ll get the answers I choose to give. But I assure you, everything I tell you will be the truth. I do not lie. I don’t believe in lies. If I can’t tell you the truth you want to hear, then I believe in silence.”
“We’re gonna kill someone, aren’t we?” I say offhandedly as I keep shoveling in the food. But it’s hard to miss the silence that follows that question.
Chapter Twenty-Four
VERONICA
I do my best to ignore the fact that Bobby Mansi practically admitted he wants me to help him kill someone, but after we sit in silence for about ten minutes, he begins to explain.
“I am here for one purpose,” he says as he caresses his wine glass. “I have a goal. There are many ways to achieve that goal, and yes, one ends in killing someone. Will you have a problem with that?”
I continue chewing. Slowly. Methodically. I dab my mouth with my pretty napkin and then set it back down in my lap. I reach for the wine and take a small sip. I can tell Bobby Mansi is not used to being made to wait. But I continue to take my time, crossing my legs, leaning back, and folding my hands in my lap. “I’m not killing anyone. I’m not a murderer. So yeah, I actually do have a problem with that.”
“You won’t be killing anyone, Veronica. Unless I need help. Then, if you agree to be on my team, I’ll expect you to have my back. That’s something we need to get clear right now.”
I reach for the bread and pick off a small piece and pop it in my mouth. Why can’t I ever get a normal date? Why do I only get asked out by the Spencers and the Bobbys? Am I that unapproachable that the only men who want to date me are criminals? Why does my first real dinner date in three months have to turn out to be an invitation to murder?
There must be something wrong with me. I’m pretty. I’ve got a nice body. I’ve got a college degree, and yeah, I’m a tattoo artist, but seriously? And this Bobby, he doesn’t even like me. He wants me to be his backup in some crazy scheme. He’s playing on the fact that I’m not part of Spencer’s secret team. He’s hoping I feel left out, alone, vulnerable, and desperate.
And he’s right. I feel all those things.
“Will you have my back?” he asks again.
