"You OK, Rook?"
I just stare up into his blue eyes and shake my head. "No, I don't think I am." I look back at the building and shake my head again. "I'm not OK. I need to get out of here. I need to go." I pull away from his grip and start running down the alley but he catches me and pulls me back, almost yanking me back, until I slam into his chest.
"Hold on, what's going on? Did someone hurt you? Why are your clothes all ripped?"
I look down at my outfit and laugh. "Oh, f**k." He lets go of my arm and waits as I take a deep breath. "Sorry, no, no one hurt me. This was from the photoshoot, that's all, but I can't stay here right now. I just need to go someplace, anyplace. I just need to go."
He takes my arm again and guides me over to a big red Ford F-250 with the logo of his bike shop on it. "Here, take a seat, we'll go get some lunch. I wanted to talk to you about the contract anyway, before Antoine and Ronin exaggerate it all out of proportion. I want you to make up your own mind about whether or not it's a good fit, because frankly, I'm tired of hearing them tell me you're not interested when I think you might be. So sit tight, sister." He waits for me to settle in the passenger seat and then closes the door and heads over to his buddies who are unloading bikes from the back of a semi.
I watch the back door nervously, afraid I'm going to get caught. Where is this feeling coming from? I didn't do anything wrong!
But that's never stopped you from getting punished before, Rook.
I shake my head. Ronin is not Jon. Antoine is not Jon.
But they might not be the people I thought they were either.
Spencer comes back a few minutes later, climbs in, and turns to me. "Where should we go?"
"I don't care, I have no idea, just get me out of here. And not Cookie's, OK?"
He laughs. "I'd never take you to Cookie's, Blackbird. I'll take you to my favorite restaurant, how's that?"
I nod and chew on my nail as we drive away, my whole world spinning once again.
Chapter Thirty-Six - ROOK
Spencer and I end up at a biker bar that is nowhere near Denver. And really, I asked for this, right? Get me out of here is code for get me the f**k out of here. I laugh at this as I eat my burger.
"What's funny?" Spence asks.
"Nothing, it's just… where the hell are we?"
He leans back in the booth and stretches his arms out to either side, obviously proud of himself. "My bar." He grins like an idiot now.
"This is your bar? Shit, dude, you're like loaded or what? You can't be any older than Ronin and you have all those bikes, some TV show people paying for a major deal with Antoine, and you own a bar?"
"You forgot Shrike Bikes showroom next door. Which is really where I want to take you so I can show you what this contract is all about."
"Why not just tell me? I mean, why's it such a secret?"
"Well, it sounds bad on paper."
I eye him suspiciously.
"But it's not, Rook. I swear, just let me show you because if Ronin and Antoine get to you first they'll blow it all up and make it sound dirty." He stops to lean forward and raise his eyebrows at me, but not in a joking way, he's almost pleading for me to understand. "It's not dirty. It's art. And it's a hell of a lot less exploitative than what you're doing for TRAGIC, I'll tell you that right now."
I pout at this, because today was just wrong. I had to wash my face in the bathroom when I got here and change into a spare biker shirt Spencer had in his truck because the whole crack-whore thing was not working for me. If this is what modeling for Antoine will be like most of the time, I'm not interested. "I'll keep an open mind, how's that?"
"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.