MANIC: Rook and Ronin, #2 Page 17

  It's one hundred percent awesome. As in, I might die from feeling so cool right now. He's such a master with that paintbrush, he knows just where to put the colors to make his art look 3D. He paints tubes and stuff all down my midsection, then fills in behind that with shades of black and blue, so it looks like I'm hollow. Like my midsection is nothing but these tubes and wires. He does the same thing to my arms, making them look like pistons and mechanical parts in some place, devoid of skin. Then purely human in others.

  When he takes me up to see the bike after our bathroom break it's a cyborg too, only the opposite of me. I'm mostly girl with machine parts, but the bike is mostly bike with girl parts. In fact, this bike is a girl. Well, a girl of the cyborg persuasion. She's bent over at the hips and her arms reach down, acting as the front fork that holds the tire. Her head acts as the headlight, and her back is the tank, but it looks a lot like my stomach at the moment. Parts of it are painted in just the right way to make it look like it's got a huge hole in it, with tubes and piston visible.

  I actually clap at this one and make a remark to Spencer that it's very Terminator 2.

  He loves that and has to stifle a proud grin with his fist.

  Today I'm really happy to be a part of this project. Spencer is amazing. The Shrike bikes are stunning. And his artwork is incredible. I hope Antoine gives me some of these photos, because this is something I'd like to remember forever.

  Maybe the bikinis were pretty boring and exploitative, but this is definitely more like movie FX.

  And then there's Ford.

  This morning at the stadium we talked a lot. Much more than usual. Not about me, not at all. But about him. I asked him about his schooling and he told me all about CU Boulder and their film department. He even went so far as to say he could get me in to talk to someone.

  He even hinted at an internship next summer.

  How incredible would that be?

  I jerk back to reality as Spencer asks me to tilt my head up so he can paint my face. Ford is still reading.

  And I tell you what, this whole let me read to you thing is just about the most tender expression I've ever experienced with a man. I'm not sure why, maybe because of the book. It's such a sweet book, so opposite of Ford in every way, that the fact that he's willing to read those words out loud, just to make me happy, well—it does something to me.

  It doesn't want to make me jump his bones, but it does add to the ever-growing, and ever-changing, view I have of Ford.

  Ronin is not happy. But I don't care. I don't want Ford. I'm not in love with him, I'm not even fantasizing about kissing him or touching him or anything like that. I'm just not interested in him that way. I'm interested in Ronin that way. So I don't feel bad about these new feelings for Ford. Ronin will have to get over it because Ford and I might become friends.

  "OK, Blackbird. You're ready for your close-up."

  I smile at the movie reference. I look over at Ronin and he's asleep.

  "Should we let him get his beauty rest?" Ford asks. "I can walk you upstairs and fill in for Ronin in the shoot. You haven't posed with me yet."

  "Um, that's a big negative, Ford. Ronin?" I shake him a little.

  "I'm awake!" he says, sitting up.

  "Right," I laugh. "We're ready to go upstairs." Ford heads out ahead of us and Ronin gets up and takes my hand, still not fully awake. "You're tired from all that driving, huh?"

  He smiles. "It's catching up with me. But we're in the home stretch now, Gidge. We'll crash soon."

  "I'm pretty tired too, that was the longest painting session yet. Do you have to get ready?"

  "Just your basic futuristic road warrior shit, nothing like you, my cyborg sex kitten."

  "I love this one. I feel like…"

  "A cyborg sex kitten?"

  "Yeah," I say, snickering. I really am a cyborg sex kitten because my girls are painted up with huge blue nipples and the clothing Spencer painted on is more like small strips of metallic blue fabric that criss-cross my body in all the wrong places. Which means, to the men, all the right places. None of the fun bits are covered by the fake fabric in the least. My legs are painted up to look like I'm wearing ripped blue leggings, and I have painted boots that come up just past my ankle. "I don't really look like her, but I feel like a cyborg Tank Girl."

  "Mmmm, I crushed on her pretty hard back in the day. She's hot."

  We part ways in the studio, I go to Josie for hair—no makeup because Spencer painted my face this time—and Ronin goes to the dressing room to change. We meet in front of the bike about thirty minutes later and Ronin is absolutely the sexiest Terminator that ever existed. "I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle," I quote from the movie, snickering under my breath.

  "What'd you say, Gidget?"

  "Oh." I blush. "Did I say that out loud?"

  He grins down at me and takes my hand. "Let's make this fun, wanna make it fun?"

  "I could use some fun, actually."

  He leans into me and begins to kiss my neck, his hands lightly exploring my body, just barely skimming my skin so he doesn't disturb the paint. I arch my back and tip my head and his hand slides up and caresses my throat.

  "Sorry," he says as he moves his hand away.

  I'm just about to ask what he meant by that when Antoine starts giving us directions in French and there's no time, because I lose track of everything but Ronin's words. They are soft and slow, not anything like our last shoot when it was his hands that got me excited. He's tender with cyborg sex-kitten Rook. I slide against him and he strokes my cheek with the side of his index finger and then he leans in and kisses me.

  It's not bruising or deep, but just a flicker, his tongue darting forward just enough to tease me, twisting against my lips, then pulling back so I'm left wanting more. He strokes my hair as he watches me with a question in his eyes.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  He shakes his head and scoots my whole body forward so my pelvis is pressing right up against him. But it's what I don't feel that surprises me. He's not excited. "What's wrong, Ronin?"

  "Nothing's wrong." He takes his nibbles down my neck and then over to my ear, breathing a soft breath against the tender skin, and sends a chill through my whole body. His hands circle my waist and then he whispers, "Lean back, Gidge."

  I do as he asks. His strong hands keep my lower body firm against his groin while my upper body lowers down onto the tank. I'm an arch, the blue nipples pointing straight up. Then Ronin's mouth is all over my stomach, licking and nipping the skin on my belly, teasing me and sending little chilly flutters shooting up my arms.

  One hand moves away from my waist and he slides one finger up my ribcage, tracing the bones one at a time in such a way that I actually squirm away and giggle at the tickle. The other hand moves away from my waist now too, only this one slides up my stomach and grabs my breast just as the weight of his body lowers down on me.

  Every time we shoot these erotic scenes together he surprises me because it's never, ever the same scenario twice.

  And while the heady, lustful passionate shoots are fun and say I want to jump your bones right now, this one is soft and sexy in a very tender way that says I want you to be part of my life forever.

  Chapter Thirty-One - RONIN

  I'm not sure what possesses me to palm her throat like that in the shoot, but as soon as I do it, I'm ashamed. And then the last time we made love hits me hard. When I blindfolded her and wanted to assert more control.

  She tried to tell me she wasn't into that crap but I pushed.

  And now I'm so fucking ashamed.

  I've been thinking about her relationship with that Jon fucker since she told me he tried to drown her and it's taken a lot of self-control to keep it tucked away. As soon as Antoine dismisses us I take her hand and lead her upstairs to my apartment and walk her over to the shower.

  "God, it's such a shame to wash this all off right now, don't you think, Ronin?"

  She's worried about Spen
cer's artwork. It kills me how this girl forces herself to cope. "Yeah, but that's why we take the pictures. Spencer will always have the pictures."

  She looks at me funny. "What's the matter with you?"

  "Nothing, why?"

  "You're being weird."

  I turn on the shower and start stripping. "What makes you say that?"

  She looks down as I take off my pants. "Well, you're not excited to see me." She laughs a little at this. "And nothing we were doing out there was turning you on. Are you mad at me?"

  I kick off my boxers and lean down to kiss her. "Absolutely not, I'm not mad. I'm just sorry about that choke move out there. And the whole blindfold and spanking thing we did last time. I'm not sure why you put up with me."

  "Wait, what'd I miss? What choke move? And I sorta liked that spanking stuff."

  I guide her into the shower and start washing off her paint. It's thick this time, her whole body is covered. I start with her back. "I'm just not comfortable with it, Gidge. Not after what he did to you for all those years."

  "What're you talking about?"

  "The rape. I'm surprised you can even tolerate me kissing you, let alone that dominant bullshit I tried to pull."

  "Ronin, he didn't really rape me."

  "No? So you gave him permission to have sex with you after all that violence?"

  "Well, no, but I was his wife. And before that, I never told him no."

  "Because you wanted to have sex with him?"

  "No! Of course not. Even before he got violent I never wanted to sleep with him. I was a virgin."

  I turn away to hide my anger but the words still come out. "He took your virginity by rape?"

  "He didn't rape me, Ronin. I never told him no."

  "Did you tell him yes?"

  "Well no, but—"

  "Rook, he raped you. Repeatedly, for several years. You're just so used to being mistreated you can't even comprehend what happened."

  She stares at me, the water running down her face, streaking it with black and blue paint that slides down her body and swirls together in an inky pool of color at her feet.

  "He raped you."

  She shakes her head. "No."

  I reach out and pull her close, hug her tightly. "Yes. That's what happened, Rook. And while I'm very proud of you for how well you've been dealing with the past, you need to know, in case it ever happens again, that if a man intimidates you into sex, that. Is. Rape."

  She pulls back, squinting her eyes up at me as she tries to process my words. "I don't think I can talk about this."

  I nod and pick up the sponge, then swipe it down her arm. She stands still as I wash her. Just thinking about what I said.

  We meet Spencer and Ford for dinner, and even though they both keep up their ends of the conversation with some crude South Park talk, Rook is unable to hide her reaction to the facts that are suddenly becoming clear.

  The doctors say the brain finds way to cope with stress and one of those ways, a very popular way actually, is denial.

  This girl has been in denial for so long, she can barely process the truth.

  When we go to bed that night she's quiet and clingy. I like her clingy because that just means I get to touch her more. But she's not snuggling, she's desperately holding on to me. She sighs against my chest and I sigh with her.

  It hurts me—physically hurts me—to think of what she went through as a teenager.

  She was a child when that monster found her, desperate and needy. Homeless and hungry, alone on the streets.

  And that pathetic excuse of a human is nothing more than a pedophile rapist.

  It takes hours for Rook to slide into her normal deep sleep, but I wait patiently until her breathing evens out, her clenched fist releases my shirt, and she turns a little to sink into the pillow. I slip out of bed, grab my phone and text Ford.

  He's standing down in the studio near the far windows, like he never went home. He knows better than to speak about work unless the conditions are right, so he walks to the center of the room and flips on one of the fans we use for windy shoots.

  "What'd ya got?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the vibrating hum.

  "A nibble. Small withdrawal."

  "He's testing?"

  "Yes, that's my guess."

  "So did you make a grab?"

  He sneers at me. "If we just established he's testing, why the fuck would I grab him now?"

  "I'm just asking, Ford."

  "Be patient. It's a waiting game. He knows where she is now, the ball's in our court. I'll put the website up this week and set up the accounts. See if we can't tempt him to move fast."

  "Do you think he will?'

  Ford looks out the window as he thinks. "No, I think he's gonna wait. I think he's one paranoid motherfucker, but stratospherically ballsy at the same time."

  "Why?"

  "Because his first transaction was ninety-nine cents. He went inside and paid for a cup of coffee at Cookie's with a card from Rook's account with his name on it. I found it on the security footage we have access to for the show. I don't want to risk invading Rook's account because I'll muddy the tracks, so I can't be sure of how he got it without asking Rook to check things, but there's only one reason for him to be that ballsy. And that's because he ordered that extra card right from her online banking account. He's definitely had access to that for a while now."

  "What a dumbass."

  "Yeah, that's what we think because we know the food's free at Cookie's, so she'd never pay for a cup of coffee. It was a dead giveaway, we couldn't have asked for a better tip-off. But in his mind, that's about the safest transaction there is. A cup of coffee at her local haunt. If she did pay for food there, she'd never suspect it."

  "How long do you think? Before he moves on her?"

  "Hard to tell." Ford shrugs. "But he's quite good, it takes some skill to deal directly with banks."

  "What about the other stuff?"

  Ford smiles his nasty evil genius smile and nods his head. "Setting it up. He'll regret ever stepping into my little sphere of vengeance."

  I get the shivers as the words come out because Ford is diabolical when it comes to these jobs. "What do you want me to do?"

  "This is a non-personal con, Ronin. You're not really necessary until the very end. Just keep your eyes open, I don't trust this man. He's devious. And we all need to be carrying from now on. He was issued a concealed carry weapons permit out of the JeffCo Sheriff last week."

  "Fuck. That means he's been here for a while."

  "Probably as long as Rook has. That's the only way he could get that permit so quickly, and even then, he probably had someone pull strings."

  I just nod, hoping we're not putting her in more danger as this plays out.

  Ford turns and walks off and I flick the fan off and take the stairs three at a time back up to my apartment.

  Rook is still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the deal Ford, Spence, and I are making. Unaware of who I really am, what I used to do, and what I'm capable of.

  Unaware of what I'm gonna do for her now.

  Chapter Thirty-Two - RONIN

  And that's pretty much how our summer passes. We put the entire studio on lockdown, no public hours at all anymore, entrance by appointment only. Spence, Ford and I hold secret meetings under cover of bubbling rivers or oscillating fans. Rook is painted up to match the bike of the day and then photographed alone or sitting in my lap. We spend our weekends up at the Shrike Shop, filming fake deliveries and goofing off for the cameras. I visit Clare up in Steamboat a few times as a reward for good behavior. She finally begins to make progress towards a real recovery.

  And we wait it out.

  We wait for that sick fuck to make his move.

  But he is so very, very patient.

  And it's making me very nervous, because there's no way around it. Somehow, some way, this asshole knows we're setting him up. Ford was supposed to move on to part two of the con more than a month ago, but Jon
Walsh disappeared and we had to hold back, then start all over again when he finally resurfaced.

  Ford says it's normal for a guy with his credentials to be wary, but I'm not buying it. There's no way this is normal.

  So I worry, and pace, and most nights I sit up in bed, watching Rook sleep, my Ruger in hand. Like I am right fucking now. Maybe this started out with him paranoid, but I have a bad feeling that he's turned the tables on us, like somehow he knows. He knows who we are and what we do and he's taunting us.

  And our road trip to Sturgis starts today, so that means we're gonna be out of state, on the highway, in a campground with five thousand other strangers—all badass, all mean as fuck, all drunk and horny—and this is not going to end well. I can feel it.

  I drag my hand across my forehead to wipe the sweat and Rook breathes a little heavier than normal, like she's dreaming. She's a perceptive girl, that's one thing I noticed about her immediately. She reads body language like a librarian reads books. She's on to us.

  But anytime she asks, we shut her down. And something tells me she's OK with that. She's at the very end of her coping capabilities, she wants us to handle it for her.

  She still runs with Ford in the mornings, but now Spencer and I hang out over there too, just in case. The AM training program at Coors Field is not something most people know about. It's private, reserved for big shots in the know. But this Jon guy seems to be in the know more often than not.

  The waiting is killing me.

  My phone buzzes with a text and my heart jumps at the noise.

  Fucking Ford. I read the text and it simply says: Nibble, nibble.

  He's such a child. I text back: Don't fuck it up this time.

  I didn't fuck it up last time, asshole. Part two, commencing now. Website accessed.

  I click the link Ford sends and almost get physically ill when I see Rook's picture advertising a live sex cam. I grimace and look over at her again. If she knew, she'd probably hate me. I close the web browser down and sneak out of bed. Light is already filtering through the windows and since we're leaving for Sturgis later this morning, I might as well just get up and go find Ford and talk this shit out with him in person.