TRAGIC: Rook and Ronin, #1 (24 page)

"Perfect, that's all I ask."

After we eat we walk over to his shop. It rained a little while we were inside, so water sloshes inside my worn-out Converse as we splash through some puddles. There are no sidewalks around here, just dirt. Spencer opens the door to the showroom for me and I'm a little taken aback by the beauty of it all. "Wow, you have some nice bikes, Spence. I had no idea."

"You're into the bike scene, Rook?" he asks, a bit surprised by my genuine interest.

I shrug and sigh at the same time because I was into the bike scene once, if only because of the person who got me interested in the first place.

"Which one do you like the best?" he asks me as I walk between the aisles of bikes lined up, headlight to headlight, facing each other. There must be like thirty or forty bikes in here.

"I like the retro ones, like this one right here," I say, tapping the glossy gas tank. "It looks like an old Triumph."

"Ah, you are a biker chick!"

The smile creeps out with the memories this time, I can't help it. "I had a boy once. He liked bikes."

"Yeah? Where's he now?"

I shrug and swing my leg over and cop a seat on the pretty turquoise one I was eyeballing.

"Do you ride?"

"Dirt bikes," I say under my breath.

"This boy teach you that?"

I look up at him and change the subject. "So spill the details on the contract, Spence. I'm dying to know if this will work for me or not."

"OK," he says, taking a deep breath. "Come with me." I get up off the bike and follow him towards the back. There are a few lingering customers and one cashier helping people out, but the shop seems to be winding down for the day. He opens the door to an office that has his name on it. It says,
Spencer Shrike, President
. Which totally trips me out.

I walk in and Spence directs me to take a seat at a round table surrounded by cheap vinyl chairs that look like they belong in a VFW and not the Shrike Bikes president's office. I do, and then wait patiently as he gathers up some binders on the filing cabinet behind his desk. I look around the office as I wait. It's a typical biker office. Eagles and American flags, and of course, black velvet girls with tits hanging out, adorn the walls. I have to chuckle behind my fist because seriously…

I take my attention away from the artwork and study the furniture. The desk is a monstrosity of dark wood, mostly scratched and filled with paperwork. His office chair says a lot about him as well. It's leather, but not pretentious, and it looks well-worn, not new.

Spencer is a clash of contradictions. But this is a good thing. It says he's a down-to-Earth guy, not some asshole who gets off having the word
president
stenciled on his door.

He brings the binders over to the table and then takes a seat and looks over at me with a grin.

"What? You look nervous," I say.

He opens the book and there's an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a naked girl. Except it's very hard to tell that she's naked on first glance because her entire body has been painted to look like she's wearing the sexy female version of an Elvis jumpsuit, complete with rhinestones and a nice sparkly belt.

I grin. "What's this?"

He turns the page and it's the same girl, only now she's wearing a roller derby outfit. He flips the page again and she's a cowgirl, complete with Wrangler jeans—it's an ass-shot—and a red checkered shirt.

The next page makes me gasp. Because it's a picture of Spencer, painting the girl.

"You!" I say, jumping up and grabbing the book from him.

"Me," he says proudly. "I paint on girls." We both laugh at that, hysterically almost. "I paint on girls," he says again. "And I want to paint a girl to match the custom bike I'm making for the Sturgis Rally this summer."

"Wow, you have blown me away, Spencer. Holy shit! Never in a million years did I think this was your secret. You're an artist!"

"Yeah, and I want to paint you, Rook. For the contract. I want to paint you to match all my bikes for the portfolio and advertising, but mostly, I want to paint you to match the custom bike I'm making special for Sturgis, because it's called the Shrike Raven. When I heard your name was Rook, well, that was it, girl. I just need it to be you."

"Wow," I say again. I nod at him. "I think I'm in, Spencer Shrike. This looks like the most fun I might ever have in my life."

"You'll be completely naked, Rook, just so you understand. When we do public performances, your nipples will be covered with those pasties, and you'll wear a thong, but that's only for the public appearances. In the photoshoots and in the private show at Sturgis, you'll be painted everywhere. And even with the pasties and thong, you have to be painted up nude, first. So it matches up perfect."

I flip through more pictures. Each one is perfection. You cannot tell these girls are naked. Not one bit. "I'm OK with that, Spencer. I'm in."

"Ronin is not going to approve."

"Who cares?" I reply, still flipping through the book.

"Well, I got the impression he liked you yesterday, so I figured you liked him too."

I can't hold it in anymore so I spill it. "I think he's seeing that Clare girl, Spencer. I saw them together today, in a bed. And we slept together last night. I thought we were, I don't know, together or something? But he obviously doesn't see it the same way. Maybe he
will
hate it, but I can't be bothered with that right now. I have to make my own decisions."

"Fair enough. I'm not gonna stop you, so you wanna see the bike you'll be painted up to match?"

"Yeah!"

We go back out to the showroom and it's empty now. He takes me to a book on the front desk and opens it. "This here is the showroom, but I build the bikes in a shop just north of Fort Collins, about a half hour from here. I'm almost finished with it, so we'll shoot you on the other bikes first, all painted up to match each one, and then we'll take the new bike to Sturgis and do a presentation to kick off the Biker Channel show we're gonna film for next year's spring TV season."

"Wow. I realize I've said that like three times already, but Spencer, you're amazing. This bike is the shit." Most of it is still in pieces, but the rendering is beautiful. It's got curves, and chrome, and the gas tank has been molded and painted to look like a raven's head.

"Which bike out here, Rook? Which is your favorite? You can pick one to be in the show too, then keep it for yourself."

I turn around and check them out carefully. "Are you serious?" I look at him, astonished.

"It's no big deal, these are showroom bikes, not special customs like the Raven. But I'll have it customized a little and we'll take it to Sturgis for you."

I walk between the aisles, my fingertips lovingly touching the tanks of several very nice specimens. But if I get to keep it, I should be practical so I can actually ride it. I don't want a chopper, that's for sure, they look difficult. I go back over to the turquoise one I was sitting on earlier and try it out again. "This one," I say, looking up at Spence's beaming smile. "I like this one."

"Can you really ride?" he asks as I lean forward on the tank and rest my cheek against the cool metal. I let my arms drop and a long sigh comes out.

"Yeah, I had a boy. He was wild about bikes."

"Hold on, be right back."

He leaves and comes back a few minutes later, pushing a cart filled with art supplies down the aisle. "Stay just like that, but lift your shirt up a little."

"What?" I laugh.

"I'll paint your back, just to make sure you know what you're in for. Just something simple."

I have to admit, this is exciting. "OK." I lift the back of my shirt up a little and lean back down on the tank. He sits behind me on the bike and grabs his supplies. First he washes my back with a wet cloth and then he dries it with a soft one.

"Now," he says, "tell me about this boy with the bike."

And I do. He paints while I talk. "Wade was his name. I was fifteen when I went to live with him. I was in foster care after my mom died, and this was literally like the tenth foster home I'd been in. I wasn't even a troublemaker or anything, it's just… I don't know, no one wanted me. Wade was two years older than me and he was a motocross racer. He taught me to ride a dirt bike and then he got a motorcycle when he turned eighteen and it was such a big deal. We had started messing around a little by then, and well, his mom figured I was bad news, a baby-maker waiting to happen maybe. She sent me away. But even though we never did anything beyond second base, he was my first love."

I wiggle a little at the soft touch of his brush on my back and he growls out a "Stay still, Blackbird," at me.

"And after that, Spencer, nothing in my life was ever good again until I found Antoine, Ronin and Elise last week." I stop for a moment to consider things, and then continue. "You too, I think. I mean I realize I barely know you, but shit, Spencer, you made my life today. Seriously, this whole offer is like a dream. And I've been pretty short on dreams these days, so it's a big deal to me."

He swishes his brush in a can of water and turns on a fan to air dry the paint on my back.

"Yeah, well," he says as he gets up and takes a seat on the bike next to me. I turn my head so I can see his face as we talk. "I have to admit, at first I just wanted to piss Ronin off and get you to agree, not that I didn't immediately think you were perfect, because Antoine described you over the phone. But Ronin and I used to be close and we're not anymore. So I was just being childish."

"So how do you two know each other?"

"We went to Catholic school together."

I almost choke on my own spit. "Oh shit, Ronin mentioned Catholic school last night, but I figured it was, I dunno, a weird suburban fantasy. How the hell did the two of you end up in Catholic school?"

"I always went to Saint Margaret's, since fucking pre-school. But Ronin showed up in eighth grade, just before we were about to graduate over to the Catholic high school. I lived in Park Hill and he lived over in the studio with Antoine. Ronin was a trip, ya know? He showed up out of nowhere speaking French like he grew up in Paris instead of Five Points, leaving school every few months to go travel the world for photoshoots. It was a strange life for a kid, but Ronin was never a kid. I found out about his parents a few years later when someone dug up the police report and plastered it all over school."

"Oh, that sucks. He told me about his father."

"Yeah, you'd think that would really piss a guy off, but not Ronin. He never even blinked. He said something in French, which roughly translated to
I am not my father's son
, and went about his business. That was tenth grade. We spent the next three years inseparable."

"What happened?"

"Ahhh," he says, getting up off the bike, "it's a long story. I better get you back before he goes apeshit. I have no idea what you saw today, but Ronin's not a cheater, Rook. He's just not. He's dated a lot of girls, I know that for sure, but he's never dated them at the same time. That's not him, so maybe let him explain."

He checks my back and pulls my shirt down after determining the paint is dry. I get up, feeling a lot better than when I left the studio, and I realize something.

I'm ready to go home.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - ROOK

The studio is still bustling with activity when we arrive. It's hard to believe that it takes so long to unload bikes and roll them into the elevator and park them upstairs, but it must, because there are still two bikes in the truck.

We take the stairs and I'm exhausted because this day has been long and teetering on the edge of unpleasant since it started. If Spencer hadn't made this STURGIS offer, I'd probably be very depressed right now. We reach the fourth floor and the door is open, I can hear Antoine yelling in French about something. I'm really glad that guy prefers to get pissed in a foreign language, because it saves the rest of us from listening to his big-ass mouth.

"Rook! Where the fuck have you been?" Ronin yells, storming over to us.

"Spencer and I—"

Ronin pushes Spencer in the chest, sending him backwards, and then before I even understand what's happening they are throwing punches. "Wait!" I yell, grabbing at Ronin's arm. "What's the—"

Ronin reacts to my grab and pushes me away. I go flying backward and end up on my ass.

Again! That fucker!

Antoine pulls me up and asks me politely if I'm OK, and two of the technicians break up the fight.

"Where the fuck were you?" Ronin demands.

I ignore his question and turn to Antoine. "Spencer said he wants to offer me the STURGIS contract, so I'd like to sign that
right now
."

I look over at Spencer, hoping I'm not overstepping my boundaries, and he smiles at me, still breathing heavy from the fight.

Antoine doesn't move, Ronin just stares at me, and Elise is the only one with enough sense to speak. "I'll get the papers."