The county deputies pretty much had it after that. They cleared them all out under the pretense that it was a fire hazard. A few years ago this whole area was up in flames, so people tend to take that fire talk seriously around here.
Rook survived. Ford was here, Ronin was here. The Biker Channel hired security. She never had to leave if she didn’t want to, she worked in my shop while we were filming and did her classes online. Ford fired that piece-of-shit tutor who ratted us out and helped Rook in her college math class himself. I even got Ronin to do her delivery duties.
We protected her one hundred percent. But her situation was unique.
Ronnie works in a tattoo shop downtown. If she doesn’t work, she doesn’t make money. She can’t pay her bills. Her family is not rich. Hell, they’re not even middle-class. They might be the token white trash of Fort Collins. They do have a big-ass house in the historic district, but they have that house for one reason only—Gramps won it in a poker game back in 1958. It’s not in good repair. The place is freezing-ass cold in the winter because the furnace is so old it hardly functions, and the roof has been leaking since I met her.
And Ronnie might have a pack of badass brothers and a father who’d drop you with one kick to the throat, but the doors don’t even lock on that house. The windows barely shut. The only reason it’s never been robbed is because the Vaughn clan scares the shit out of people.
If Ronnie was thrust into the public eye like Rook was, she’d never make it. The entire family would be annihilated. They’d lose their business, they’d be hounded day and night. And there’s no way to restrict picketers on a public sidewalk in downtown like I can do on my little backcountry private road.
There’s just no way to keep her safe other than the way I’ve been doing it. Ignoring her.
The minute anyone finds out this girl is my future Mrs. Spencer Shrike, people will pounce. And while I can handle that at any other time—I could get her out of here and put her somewhere safe, I could make sure the Vaughn clan gets Sick Boyz’ rent paid on time, I could drum up business for them with some word-of-mouth buzz—I cannot do any of that shit right now.
We’ve got a major trial happening in two weeks. Rook will need to testify about the most horrific details of her previous life. They will try their best to link Ronin, Ford, and myself to a shitload of crimes that took place several years ago. I cannot be worrying about Ronnie and her family.
It’s just not a good time.
I turn off College Avenue before I get to Ron’s shop and park the truck on Maple, right next to my new building. It used to be an auto repair place a few years ago, but that went under and no one picked it back up. The Biker Channel loved the location, just past all the cute shops in downtown so we won’t offend anyone with our loud bikes. Plus, it’s already set up for a shop.
I get out of the truck and walk up to it, just checking shit out. The windows are all boarded up still. No one’s supposed to see inside until the grand opening and the crews won’t even start painting the outside for another week.
Not much to see, so I head down the street towards Sick Boyz. It’s still packed when I get there. All those frat guys are milling about outside waiting on their brothers to be finished. They’re drunk and I don’t like it.
I check my phone for the time. Ten forty-five. And just as I look up, Ronnie comes plowing through the doors in a rush. I slink back against the building, hiding in the crowd of guys as she looks up and down the street, probably checking to see if I’m doing recon on her ass. One of the guys outside the shop whistles at her and she flips him the bird and tells him to f**k off as she walks off towards home.
I start to laugh, but it dies in my throat because she stops at Mountain Avenue and hits the walk button. This is where things get interesting. Because her house is west, and that signal is for crossing College Avenue to the east.
My legs are in motion before my brain fully understands what’s happening. I’m an act-now-think-later kinda guy, so I take off after her. Where the f**k is she going? It’s late, it’s dark, she’s got no car—she should not be walking around downtown alone. Not that this town is unsafe per se, but bad shit happens everywhere. Even here. And it’s a college town, which means there’s always the threat of predators.
She walks briskly on Mountain, then turns abruptly into an alley. I hang back. My Ronnie is not stupid. She never looked back at me, but I taught her to keep walking if she ever thought she was being followed. Keep quiet for as long as possible and get that gun ready. I stalk up to the corner and wait. I know she’s on the other side, ready to pounce on anyone who appears. I can feel her when she’s this close. Like we’re connected. I can almost hear her heartbeat, that wild heartbeat that drives me crazy beating against mine as she lies on top of me after sex.
I hear an exhale, then the pounding of her Chucks as she beats a retreat. I poke my head around and catch her disappearing around another corner. But this is not a street, it’s a building. I cross the alley and stalk the wall, getting to her corner just in time to hear a screen door slam.
What the f**k is she doing?
I peak around the corner just as some lights flip on in an upstairs apartment over an old building.
That little sneak got her own place. Her car is out back, parked. And sure enough, there’s a For Sale sign on it. And she’s dating some rich guy. I bet she’s got new panties on as well! That uptight f**kass banker is enjoying my Bomb’s new panties!