Panic (21 page)

“Shut up, Victor,” Veronica says as she comes around a corner dressed like she’s doing a root canal back there. She’s wearing pink scrubs, a white lab coat, a pink visor with a clear plastic face shield that she flips up as she approaches, and a blue mask over her mouth. “Hey, Rook, come by for your free tat?” she says through the mask, making it puff out a little with each word.

“Uh, no.” I stammer for a moment because her get-up is pretty distracting. “Actually, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk. About…” I look over at Vic, and then cover my mouth and whisper, “Spencer, Ronin, and Ford.”

“Hey, Blackbird? You’re like two feet away, I can still hear you. Well, Ronnie, I win this bet. I said a week and it’s been”—he looks over at the calendar—“nine days.”

We both ignore that remark and I change the subject and point to her clothes. “What’s with the outfit, Veronica?”

She absently looks down at herself. “Blood-borne pathogens. Did you know that an ink machine can spray minute particles of blood into the air and you breathe it in if you don’t protect yourself?” Veronica grabs my arm and pulls me to the back of the shop. We pass a few more rooms, each with tattoo machines buzzing—but all of the male Sick Boys look like regular ink artists with their t-shirts, jeans, and tatted-up arms.

“Come on back, Rook. I’ve got a guy in the chair, but he’s such a pussy, he can use the distraction.” She drags me into a small room that looks like a cross between a hospital surgery room with the different doctor office-type stuff lined up neatly on a long counter, and Fran the Nanny’s mother’s living room—because just about every single surface is covered in plastic.

You could kill someone in here,
Murder by Numbers
style, and just roll it all up in plastic and toss it in the dumpster when you were done.

I shiver.

A very large biker who has half his arm bubbling up dots of blood from the partially finished tattoo shifts in his chair and makes the plastic crinkle. “You get used to it,” he says matter-of-factly, panning a hand up at the sheeting that covers the flat screen on the wall. I spy Milla Jovovich with orange hair so I’m pretty sure it’s
The Fifth Element
playing, but it’s hard to see through the wrinkles. “She’s got a germ issue and a blood phobia.”

I almost snicker as I picture her back in the Chaput parking lot freaking out about her bullet scrape. It makes more sense now.

Veronica ignores the dude and absently waves a hand at him. “Rook, this is Tiny. Tiny, Rook. Rook here needs to girl-talk with me. You don’t mind, do ya, Tiny?”

The big biker smiles at me through his full beard and I force one back as well to be polite. “Nah, you girls just go right ahead.”

Veronica offers me an extra face mask and visor shield, but I hold up my hand and refuse. “OK, Rook, spill it. What’s up?” She slips her gloves off, washes her hands, and then snaps on a new pair, grabs her inkwell, flips down her clear plastic face shield like she’s getting ready to do some welding, and the buzzing starts up again.

She is one strange chick.

“Well, it’s sorta private, ya know? Like, I’m not sure I should—”

“Rook,” she puffs through her mask, “we’ve got a pool running on how long it would take you to come by asking questions about your new roommates. It’s no secret that Spence, Ford, and Ronin are knee-deep in controversy and shit. So just tell me what’s on your mind.”

I sigh and then try for vagueness so I don’t involuntarily let out any
new
secrets. “OK, let’s start with the murder charges. True or not?”

“True,” Veronica says. “At least the charges part is. I have no idea if they actually did it, but everyone knows the state dropped the charges because of a procedural technicality.”

OK, that I figured. Obviously, since it was in the paper and all. “How about drug-dealing?”

Veronica snorts at this one. “That’s a first for me. Who says they deal drugs?”

“My math tutor had a print-out of a file the FBI is keeping on Ronin, and it said something about dealing coke, grand larceny, and…” I look around, then down at Tiny, who is all ears, just soaking up my girl gossip. “And something else that I won’t repeat.”

“Do you think Ronin’s dealing coke? I mean, you’ve lived with him for a few months, right?”

“I can’t see it, Veronica. I can’t see any of it to be honest. He seems like a really good guy. You saw that party he gave me. And yeah, Spencer throws that danger vibe at times, but he’s pretty normal as far as I can tell.”

“How about Ford?”

She stops the tattoo machine and then all four of the Vaughn brothers appear in her doorway and the place is suddenly very quiet, like everyone wants to hear my answer. I shake my head nervously. “I’m not talking to an audience, guys.”

Vic steps forward. He appears to be the oldest and he’s definitely the biggest, so maybe he’s like the family ringleader. “Hey, you came here to talk to
us
. Not the other way around.”

“I came to talk to Veronica.”

“Veronica is a package deal. You talk to her, you talk to us. Besides, she’s been dating that fuck Spencer for years now, and I’m curious about these guys. So tell us what you think of Ford.”

I guess that’s fair. At any rate, I don’t have a lot of room to negotiate. Either I give him what he wants so I can get their opinion on things, or I walk out. And I really need a second opinion on things, even if it is over a tattoo machine instead of coffee. “Ford’s good to me and we spend a lot of time together. I like him a lot. But there’s just some weird shit going down and I’m trying to figure out who to trust. I don’t need to know the specifics, Veronica. I just want to know if you think they’re OK.”

“Well, aside from Ford, I’d say yeah. Ronin and Spencer are good guys. But Ford…” She shakes her head at me. “I’m sorry, Rook. You saw that display at your party. He keeps those girls as his pleasure slaves.”

I swallow hard as Ford’s words come back from the exit interview for the pilot show.
I’m not a good guy, Rook. I’m not even close to a good guy.

This cannot be happening. Seriously cannot be happening. “Against their will? Does he keep them against their will? Or is it mutual? He took her to the party, surely it must be mutual?”

Veronica shrugs. “How should I know? You’re his friend, do you think he keeps them against their will?”

I’m not sure. In fact, I have no idea whatsoever. I’ve never seen Ford outside our little friendship sphere. I only found out his last name because Gage blurted it out last week. “Well, that’s all I needed, I guess I’ll go.” I get up to walk out but all four of the Vaughn brothers are still standing in the doorway. Blocking it. “Excuse me,” I say nervously. The hard bodies part and I slip through. I walk quickly down the hallway, round the corner to the front reception area, and I’m just about to break through the door when a hand grabs me from behind.

“Hold on, Rook,” Vic says softly as his grip loosens. “I’d like to give you my opinion.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve heard enough, Vic. I’m not interested.”

“Well, you’re gonna get it anyway. So, for what it’s worth, I like Spencer. Just don’t tell him that because we have this whole ‘I’ll kill you if you fuck over my sister’ thing going.” And then Vic smiles down at me and my heart slows a little at his unexpected quiet voice and gentle touch. “You know, he plays tough guy. And he’s got the shit to back it up. And maybe that reputation he has is even halfway true. Maybe he did kill that guy? I have no idea. But I let him take my sister out, so you know, I think he’s OK.”

Vic releases my arm and I push through the door, mumbling out a ‘thank you’ as I slip into the darkness.

Maybe Spencer
killed
that guy? That’s even a possibility?

Holy fucking shit. I’m sure Vic thought his words would make me feel better, but they don’t. Because I never, not for one moment, really believed these guys actually
murdered
someone.

Until now.

Just when I think my day could not get any worse it starts to rain.

I walk hastily down the sidewalk, look both ways, wait for a car to pass, and then head towards my truck. I fish my keys out of my pocket, look up, and then stop dead in the middle of the southbound lane of College Avenue.

Wade fucking Minix is standing six feet away.

Chapter Thirty-One - ROOK

A set of headlights flash, then a horn honks but I can’t drag my eyes away from the man standing before me.
Where the hell did he come from?

Then Wade has me by the waist and he throws me down on the wet ground near the back tire of my truck. My breath comes out with a loud oomph with the impact and then my head slams back onto the concrete, temporarily stunning me. “Jesus fucking Christ, Rook! You almost got flattened by a goddamn van!”

He lies there on top of me, breathing heavy, staring into my eyes, and I’m paralyzed. He comes back to his senses before I do and stands up, extending his hand.

I process what he’s doing but nothing moves. I’m just frozen. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He reaches down, grabs my arm, and hoists me to my feet. I lean back against the truck and realize he never answered me. “I said—”

“I heard you, Rook,” he says so softly I can barely make out his words over the constant stream of traffic flowing through the little downtown. “Let’s sit in your truck. Can we sit and talk in your truck?”

I’m too stunned to even answer. I haven’t talked to this guy in five years. The last time we had a conversation I was a kid, about to be thrown back into the foster care system because his mom wanted to keep us apart. Wade takes the keys from my hand, unlocks the door, and pushes me to get in the driver’s seat. I watch him walk around the front of the truck, then get in next to me, setting a backpack down on the floor in front of him.

“Rook—” he starts. But I put up a hand.

“Don’t. I don’t even know why I let you in this truck. Give me the keys.” I hold my hand out and he drops them into my palm. I shove the key in the ignition and start the truck. “Leave. I have nothing to say to you, Wade. If I wanted to talk to you I would’ve done it up in Sturgis.”

He shakes his head at me and I take him in. Like, really take him in for the first time since that horrible day that changed my life forever. His blond hair is wet and plastered against his face and even though I know he’s got gorgeous green eyes, I can’t really make out the color in the dark. He’s a lot bigger than I remember him, maybe because we were just kids back then. Five years can mean a lot of changes to a teen boy’s body.

“Rook, listen to me, OK? I just want to talk to you, that’s it. I just want a chance to talk to you.”

“Why? What could you possibly have to say to me that hasn’t already been said?”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes search my face, almost as if they’re pleading.

“Sorry?” I shake my head. Un-fucking-believable. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry for what, Wade?”

“For what happened.” I just stare at him. “What happened after… you know, after my mom kicked you out and you ended up with that Jon guy.”

“
What?
” I ask, stunned.

“I know what happened, Rook.”

“You don’t know shit. Get the fuck out of my truck.”

“I know everything, Rook.” And then he reaches down into the backpack and removes a folder and thrusts it at me.

I just stare at it. And I’m not sure how I know, but I know—“I do not want that.”

“I don’t care,” he says in a low voice. “You’re taking it. They’ve been trying to reach you through your math tutor but you just won’t listen.”

I look around wildly. They
are
following me! “Who sent you with this?”

“The FBI, Rook. You’re in so damn deep, baby, they just—”

“Do not fucking call me baby, OK? I’m not your fucking baby.”

“Sorry,” he says, raising his hands in an
I surrender
motion. “Sorry, I just need to talk to you and then I’ll leave if you want.”

“I’m not talking about Ronin, Wade. I’m not sure what’s going on, but that paper Gage showed me was utter bullshit. He’s not any of those things they say he is and I don’t care what kind of so-called proof those guys have, I’m not buying it.”

“This isn’t about Ronin, Rook. It’s about Jon, and those things he was doing back in Illinois. The things he made you participate in, the things—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My heart is racing so fast I might pass out, that’s how rattled I am right now. “Who sent you?”

“I told you—”

“No, who specifically. I want a name, right fucking now, or I’m calling the police and reporting you for stalking.”

He hesitates for a second and then gives it up. “Agent Abelli, he’s out of the Chicago FBI field office. He’s been hunting Jon down for years and they were very close to busting him when you took off to Vegas last spring. Jon disappeared after that and then, of course, he resurfaced here.”

I’ve never heard that name. Who the fuck? “So? Why do they want to talk to
me
?”

“They think you have something of Jon’s. Something you got in Vegas. Did you get something of Jon’s in Vegas, Rook?”

My entire body is buzzing with anxiety right now. What the hell is all this about? I want to say I never went to Vegas and I have nothing of Jon’s, not a damn thing. But I’m just not sure I should play that card so soon. “What if I did?”

Wade breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh, fuck, thank God. You need to hand that over, Rook. These people are not fucking around, OK? They want that information and if you saw any of it, you better pretend you didn’t.” He stops and grabs my shoulders with both hands. “Did you read any of it?”

I shake my head, far too frightened to actually form words right now.

“Where is it?” His eyes race around my face like he’s too amped up to concentrate on one point for more than a millisecond.

“I never saw it,” I say, backpedaling. I know Jon went to Vegas on business sometimes, but I have no idea what he did there. “I lied, I never saw it. I never went to Vegas, Wade, I came straight here, to Denver. You can check, I was in a homeless shelter, then I had a house-cleaning job—”