Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 66
“Of course we thought of telling you, dickwad. But we figured you had enough on your plate with Rook’s problems. But now we’re second-guessing ourselves. Maybe Rook’s not the problem, maybe Ashleigh is.”
All of that was true. Every word of it. And Ronin knows this, so even if he’s still suspicious, he has to let it ride.
“What about the new witness for the trial?” he finally asks, after several seconds of silence. “How’s that play into it?”
I throw up my hands because I actually have no idea. “He’s just another witness. I mean, look, the defense has a team of very accomplished lawyers. Of course they can find a witness to substantiate their claims against Rook. It’s not that unusual. Right?”
“And Drake?”
“Ford found something when he was doing his computer thing back in his apartment. Drake, it turns out, is the illegitimate son of our friend the Boulder pedophile.”
“What?”
“Yeah, so shit’s starting to make sense, right?”
He shakes his head at me, angry as all f**k. And I don’t blame him. If the tables were turned, I’d be raging. “Then why keep it from me, Spencer? That shit’s not cool. At all.”
“Rook,” I say as he stops his pacing and looks over to me. “Rook cannot know anything else. She’s a terrible witness, Ronin. Too much information is just as bad as too little.”
Ronin paces the room a few times. He looks over at me, then stops in front of the window and peeks through the blinds. There’s people outside again, but they are not in the parking lot today. I hired security to rope it off. They are out by the sidewalk with their signs. And really, who gives a f**k about some picketers at this point? We’ll deal with them if they come too close. Right now we’re dealing with two mobsters, the FBI, two teams of lawyers, three girls and a baby we’re trying to keep safe, and the possibility of the Team breaking up over these lies I’m telling.
Those people outside are not even on my radar.
I look back at Ronin and he’s not taking this too well. His eyes might be looking out the window, but his mind is a million miles away. His mind is on Rook.
Just like Ford’s mind is on Ashleigh and my mind is on Veronica.
We can’t do this anymore. We have way too much to lose. But that’s a talk for another day. Today, Ronin needs to just go along. That’s it. Just go along. So I start talking again. “She’s not even involved in this, Ronin. Rook is the babysitter, right? You’re gonna be with her the whole time. You’re gonna take a nice walk to church with the baby, sit inside for a little while. Talk to the peeps in there if they ask questions. Then get in the car I send and meet us out at the farm to regroup. Ashleigh is the one taking the risk. Ford is the one who needs to be worried, not you.”
He looks over at me and then opens my office door and walks out without another word.
I sit down in my chair and sigh.
This is it. This is the end. This Team is over. And as much as I want a normal life with Ronnie—I’m f**king sad at the thought of leaving my brothers behind.
And if I’m honest, I’m scared to leave them behind as well. We’ve been through a lot. We’ve stood up for one another through so much. I’ve known for many years, even back when we were fighting, if I needed anything, I could just call. But when you’ve got babies and women involved, that answer is no longer automatic.
Because we’ve all got new priorities now.
And as much as I want all this shit to be over so I can move on with Ronnie and have a normal life… I’m sad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
VERONICA
My morning goes by like that. I have the sorority girls and one regular today. I do butterflies and flowers, then work on the 3D robotic parts I’ve been tattooing on my regular’s arm for the better part of six months. Today is the last appointment, and I should be thrilled, because this shit is art. This tattoo will find its way into magazines, will be all over the internet the second the redness goes away, will win competitions if he decides to enter—it’s that awesome.
This tattoo will be famous for another reason. Because the arm it’s inked on belongs to a drummer for an up-and-coming Denver band. They had a single featured on iTunes last Christmas and they’re almost ready to put out their first full-length CD. And he wants to come back and have me do the other arm next month.
I told him yes. What could I say? No? I’m quitting? I’m a quitter?
I’m not a quitter, so I told him yes. I scheduled it for May, the day he comes back from a short small-venue tour in California.
But my mind is really not on tattoos right now. My mind is constantly wandering over to Rook. And Kate, and Ashleigh.
Because in two hours, I’m gonna be involved in something horrific.
I swallow that down, because even if it goes perfectly, even if I save Spencer’s ass by doing this, the second he finds out, he’s done with me. I’ll never be his friend again, let alone his girlfriend.
The phone in my pocket buzzes and I jump, dropping the machine I’m cleaning into the stainless steel sink in my room. Shit. I remove my nitrile gloves—I might be distracted enough to forgo the plastic on the chair and shit, but I do not f**k about with cleaning without some heavy rubber gloves. I lay them on the counter and turn the water off, then fish out my phone.
Twenty minutes. Do not be late.
Oh, God. My stomach is in knots.
“You OK?” I spin around and Carson is looking at me with a worried frown. “You look freaked out.”
All of that was true. Every word of it. And Ronin knows this, so even if he’s still suspicious, he has to let it ride.
“What about the new witness for the trial?” he finally asks, after several seconds of silence. “How’s that play into it?”
I throw up my hands because I actually have no idea. “He’s just another witness. I mean, look, the defense has a team of very accomplished lawyers. Of course they can find a witness to substantiate their claims against Rook. It’s not that unusual. Right?”
“And Drake?”
“Ford found something when he was doing his computer thing back in his apartment. Drake, it turns out, is the illegitimate son of our friend the Boulder pedophile.”
“What?”
“Yeah, so shit’s starting to make sense, right?”
He shakes his head at me, angry as all f**k. And I don’t blame him. If the tables were turned, I’d be raging. “Then why keep it from me, Spencer? That shit’s not cool. At all.”
“Rook,” I say as he stops his pacing and looks over to me. “Rook cannot know anything else. She’s a terrible witness, Ronin. Too much information is just as bad as too little.”
Ronin paces the room a few times. He looks over at me, then stops in front of the window and peeks through the blinds. There’s people outside again, but they are not in the parking lot today. I hired security to rope it off. They are out by the sidewalk with their signs. And really, who gives a f**k about some picketers at this point? We’ll deal with them if they come too close. Right now we’re dealing with two mobsters, the FBI, two teams of lawyers, three girls and a baby we’re trying to keep safe, and the possibility of the Team breaking up over these lies I’m telling.
Those people outside are not even on my radar.
I look back at Ronin and he’s not taking this too well. His eyes might be looking out the window, but his mind is a million miles away. His mind is on Rook.
Just like Ford’s mind is on Ashleigh and my mind is on Veronica.
We can’t do this anymore. We have way too much to lose. But that’s a talk for another day. Today, Ronin needs to just go along. That’s it. Just go along. So I start talking again. “She’s not even involved in this, Ronin. Rook is the babysitter, right? You’re gonna be with her the whole time. You’re gonna take a nice walk to church with the baby, sit inside for a little while. Talk to the peeps in there if they ask questions. Then get in the car I send and meet us out at the farm to regroup. Ashleigh is the one taking the risk. Ford is the one who needs to be worried, not you.”
He looks over at me and then opens my office door and walks out without another word.
I sit down in my chair and sigh.
This is it. This is the end. This Team is over. And as much as I want a normal life with Ronnie—I’m f**king sad at the thought of leaving my brothers behind.
And if I’m honest, I’m scared to leave them behind as well. We’ve been through a lot. We’ve stood up for one another through so much. I’ve known for many years, even back when we were fighting, if I needed anything, I could just call. But when you’ve got babies and women involved, that answer is no longer automatic.
Because we’ve all got new priorities now.
And as much as I want all this shit to be over so I can move on with Ronnie and have a normal life… I’m sad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
VERONICA
My morning goes by like that. I have the sorority girls and one regular today. I do butterflies and flowers, then work on the 3D robotic parts I’ve been tattooing on my regular’s arm for the better part of six months. Today is the last appointment, and I should be thrilled, because this shit is art. This tattoo will find its way into magazines, will be all over the internet the second the redness goes away, will win competitions if he decides to enter—it’s that awesome.
This tattoo will be famous for another reason. Because the arm it’s inked on belongs to a drummer for an up-and-coming Denver band. They had a single featured on iTunes last Christmas and they’re almost ready to put out their first full-length CD. And he wants to come back and have me do the other arm next month.
I told him yes. What could I say? No? I’m quitting? I’m a quitter?
I’m not a quitter, so I told him yes. I scheduled it for May, the day he comes back from a short small-venue tour in California.
But my mind is really not on tattoos right now. My mind is constantly wandering over to Rook. And Kate, and Ashleigh.
Because in two hours, I’m gonna be involved in something horrific.
I swallow that down, because even if it goes perfectly, even if I save Spencer’s ass by doing this, the second he finds out, he’s done with me. I’ll never be his friend again, let alone his girlfriend.
The phone in my pocket buzzes and I jump, dropping the machine I’m cleaning into the stainless steel sink in my room. Shit. I remove my nitrile gloves—I might be distracted enough to forgo the plastic on the chair and shit, but I do not f**k about with cleaning without some heavy rubber gloves. I lay them on the counter and turn the water off, then fish out my phone.
Twenty minutes. Do not be late.
Oh, God. My stomach is in knots.
“You OK?” I spin around and Carson is looking at me with a worried frown. “You look freaked out.”
