J. Huss - PANIC

“What’s all that?” Spence asks as I struggle with all the bags. I got an extra power cord and a battery and pretty much everything else the salesman said I needed just so I didn’t have to fight with him about it.

“Just a computer, you know I should have my own, right? I’ll need it for class.” I smile and make my way towards the stairs. “Well, I’m beat and we have a big day tomorrow, so I’ll see you in the AM. Night, Spencer!”

“Night, Blackbird,” he calls out softly to me. It’s like he knows. Something’s off with me.

Shit, shit, shit.

But when I get downstairs to my apartment and look back, he’s not following me, so I push through the door and dump all my shit on the new couch and then start tearing into the bags. An hour later my computer’s up and running and connected to the house wireless.

I wonder if they can see my browsing history remotely?

I’m a paranoid freak because of Jon. But I don’t have the patience. And besides, what would they do if I found out? I mean, seriously? They have to know that I’d stumble onto it eventually.

I plug their names into the search bar and I swear my heart skips when I see what the headlines actually say.

Brutal Slaying by Local Golden Boys

Boulder Seeks Grand Jury Indictment of Aston, Flynn, and Shrike

Golden Boys Walk!

I lean back on the couch after reading more than two dozen articles and let out a long breath. “Well, Rook. You sure can pick them.”

What should I do? Should I leave? Should I confront Ronin? Should I ignore it?

I run through each one—it would be stupid to just leave. I could, I have plenty of money, but these guys have been very good to me. And Ronin’s never lied about anything before. He told me all about Mardee and he admitted that they set Jon up. And I can’t confront them. I’m not a confrontational person, it makes me sick, actually. I can’t even imagine doing that.

So ignore it?

How? How can I ignore the fact that some millionaire businessman up in the Boulder hills was brutally killed a few years ago and my fucking boyfriend and his BFFs are the ones who were accused?

And the article says straight up the DA had the evidence but they couldn’t use it in court because they obtained it illegally.

But this is Ronin, Rook. Do not overreact.

I clear my browser, cookies, and cache just in case.

Just in case what?

Shit, I’m doing it again! I’m acting like I was back in Chicago with Jon.

But I shut the computer down clean all the same, then take it in my room with me as I sit on my bed.

The bed that Ronin purchased for me, along with all the other stuff in this apartment. It’s way more than ten thousand dollars’ worth of stuff. The TV, the surround sound, the furniture, the kitchenette supplies.

But he did lie to the police about Jon. And he was quite convincing. They left me alone all afternoon before asking for my statement. I didn’t need to lie, actually. Everything I said in my statement was true. Ronin said he saw the threatening texts on my phone, but I never saw them, and that’s what I said. But then Ronin was right there next to me, saying he hid them from me so I wouldn’t get scared.

The cops never even blinked at his lie.

And Ford hired Gage to help me in math and enrolled me in college. He’s been so good to me.

Actually, he hacked me into that college. Sure, I paid the fees and everything, and it’s even out-of-state tuition because I haven’t lived in Colorado for a year yet. But still, he cheated to get me in because I was supposed to take a test to see which classes I was eligible for, and I never did that. He faked my test scores because he’s a super hacker genius or something. I’m not really one hundred percent sure what Ford is, I just know he can do that shit like Jon. Only better, because we won and Jon lost. And it was all because of Ford.

And Spencer is so nice. I’ve spent a lot of time with Spencer, very close and intimate time, and he was never anything but nice. I love the hell out of Spencer.

Of course, he does have guns stashed everywhere. Like everywhere. In the kitchen drawers, in the couch cushions, in the fucking towel cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. I found that one looking for washcloths last summer when I stayed up here on the weekends.

He’s obsessed with guns. When he told me he stashes them everywhere and forgets them, he was not kidding. And he’s got a huge safe down here on the other side of the basement where he says he keeps the ‘good ones’, whatever that means.

My phone buzzes inside my purse and I jump up to get it.

Ronin.

Sorry for being so busy this week, Gidge. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. Night, baby.

He’s not a bad guy. He’s not. I’d know. I mean, I was very discerning when we first met. I looked for signs and signals at every turn. I found them even when they weren’t there. But still. Ronin has secrets. They all do. And I know nothing about them, really.

But what I do know is good.

This is a useless battle. I get up and run the water for a shower, then strip and get inside. I let the hot water beat the day off me and when I’m done, I feel warm and tired.

I’m gonna ignore it. I’m not gonna say anything because I have no idea if they’re guilty but I do know there’s no way I’m gonna ask them about it.

I do not want to know.

I don’t. Period.

I’m ready to play dumb for a while and just let life move forward. These guys are not killers, they’ve done nothing but give me opportunities and love. So as long as I don’t see anything weird, I’m gonna let it go.

I text Ronin back after I turn the lights out and climb into bed.

Miss you. See you tomorrow night! xxoo Rook

The test shoots this week have been a nightmare. Total nightmare. These girls are so snooty and high-maintenance, I just want to drop-kick them.

I sigh as yet another one pouts and huffs over in the make-up salon. Elise is on hiatus with Antoine. Both of them hang around the periphery once in a while, but for the most part, Josie is in charge of the salon right now. And Josie is about to smack this girl, I can tell.

“Look,” Josie snaps at the blonde with aquamarine eyes. “I might not speak French, you stupid bitch. But I certainly do understand it. So shut your—”

“Josie!” I call out to her just before she loses her temper. “Come here a sec, will ya?”

The model sneers as Josie walks over to me, straightening her black jacket a little. “Sorry, Ronin. But that girl—”

“I heard. Let me handle her, just start on the next one, OK? Send her over to Roger with no make-up or hair, let’s see how much she enjoys that.”

Josie peeks up at me through her dark bangs and smiles. “OK.”

She walks away laughing and I watch the model’s horrified face as she directs her hate over to me. I give the bitch a little wave of my hand and then point to a group of girls sitting at some tables near the kitchen, waiting their turns.

French blondie gets up with a breathy blow of air and makes her way towards me. “Comment osez-vous?”

I point to myself. “How dare I? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re pretty, you’re experienced, and you’re here—that’s about all you have going for you right now. If you want this job you’ll be nice to my family. That woman over there”—I point to Josie who is already busy with another girl—“is like a sister to me. Do not piss her off.”

Aqua Eyes looks me up and down for a few seconds, then turns away.

“Oh,” I say, stopping her. “And no more French. Unless your last name is Chaput, it’s fucking rude. Speak English when you’re dealing with us or hit the road.”

I forgot what bitches these outside girls are. The regular Chaput models are all pretty nice. At the very least, they all know the rules and one of them is that I don’t put up with that catty princess bullshit. I’ve been spoiled working with Rook, she never pulls any of that crap. She’s almost always polite, except with Ford, and she’s not high maintenance at all.

She’s perfect.

I wish she was my Gidget instead of all these girls.

I look back over to Barbie Bitch and she’s pointing at me as she spouts off to Clare in French. I shake my head as Clare looks over at me.

Clare has certainly had her moments as far as temper tantrums go, but she’s been a completely different person since she came home from the treatment facility. I watch carefully to see how she handles this.

She stays perfectly still as the model complains and points to me and Josie in the salon. Clare replies in a soft voice and points to the front door.

Frenchy shoots me hate and I let out a small chuckle as I walk over to them, covering the distance in just a few paces, that’s how long my pissed-off strides are. “That’s it, I warned—” I stop talking just as my gaze finds the man standing at the front door. Tall, black suit, looks like the government.

I turn back to Clare. “Get rid of Aqua Bitch, OK? I’ve got a visitor.”

Her gaze travels to the guy at the door and she looks back to me and swallows hard. “OK. Sorry, Océane, you’re no longer needed. Thank you for—”

And I walk away as the bitch starts screaming in French and make my way over to the man at the door. “Can I help you?”

“Like racehorses, I guess, huh?”

“What?”

“High-strung, these girls.”

We step aside as Clare pushes the girl past us and then follows her out into the stairwell and closes the door behind her. The screaming is still loud, but better than it was. “I’m sorry, let’s start again. Can I help you?”