Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick Revolution

“Yeah, you will,” she said softly.

She was one of the reasons I’d be okay, so she should know.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t need to hit Fortnum’s, but before, we gotta dash through the mall. I have two changes of clothes. I need to stock up and then we gotta bounce.”

She nodded again as she rose, taking her coffee. I went up with her, doing the same. We left our cars where they were and moved down the sidewalk heading out of Cherry Creek North toward the mall.

“You know, it would go a long way to smoothing things over with those three if you sent Roxie, Tod and Stevie to the mall to deal with your wardrobe emergency,” Indy noted.

I stopped dead on the sidewalk and turned to her.

She was so right. And I was a Rock Chick, which meant I was a shopper. But I had shit to deal with, and as much as it killed, the time suckage of buying new jeans and tees was suckage I didn’t need.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered, grinning. “Maybe because you were worried about me, your apartment exploded and you got fired.”

I grinned back. “Oh yeah. That took some headspace.”

“I see that,” she replied as we made to turn back.

But as we did, my eyes caught on something through a shop window and I again stopped dead.

Then I stared.

Then I whispered, “Holy shit.”

“What?” Indy asked.

“Holy shit,” I repeated, not answering, still staring, and also not believing my eyes.

“What?” Indy also repeated, but I knew she saw it when she whispered, “Holy crap.” And a nanosecond later she shouted, “Holy crap!”

In unison, we ran to the door of the store and then we ran through the store to the display.

And without a window separating us making the sun play games with our eyesight, there they were proving we weren’t having a mutual solar hallucination.

Stacks of them in an upright display, at the top of which was a starburst sign that announced New Series by Local Author.

And under it were dozens of hot pink books that included the Denver skyline, a film strip filled with pictures, and the white title in (what I had to admit was) a kickass font:

Rock Chick.

“Oh my God.”

“Holy crap.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Blooming heck. Did that really happen?”

“This pink color is the bomb.”

The Rock Chicks were reacting to the book.

We were at Fortnum’s and we were holding an impromptu Rock Chick Powwow that Indy had hysterically called to order while riding shotgun with me on our way to the store. She was too freaked to drive. And anyway, she had a strict rule against driving and dialing and she was doing a lot of that.

As usual, no one wasted time hauling ass to Fortnum’s.

Now there were stacks of pink books that we’d bought in Cherry Creek on the low table in the seating area in front of the big plate glass window where we were congregated.

The good news was, a published (maybe) fictionalized account of Indy and Lee’s courtship took precedence over anyone giving me shit for being secretive about my non-Rock Chick activities as well as not sharing details as I was carrying on a fuck buddies relationship with Ren Zano for a year.

The bad news was, a (maybe) fictionalized account of Indy and Lee’s courtship had been freaking published.

“Oh my God,” Tod chortled, and everyone looked to him to see his book open, his eyes to it, a huge smile on his face. “I remember that. That was hilarious!” He looked to the group. “And this is fab…you…las. I’m famous!”

“Tod, this is not fabulous,” Indy snapped.

“Yes it is,” Tod disagreed.

“It is not,” Indy retorted.

“You’re famous, too,” Tod pointed out. “Or, you’re already famous with those newspaper articles, but you’ll be more famous with this book.”

“I don’t want to be more famous,” Indy shot back.

 Tod stared at Indy like she’d just declared the sparkly fringed crochet dress Tina Turner wore for her 1971 Beat Club performance of “Proud Mary” was in bad taste.

Then he asked, his voice pitched high, “Why on earth not?”

Indy brandished a pink book at him and yelled, “Tod! They have the kitchen counter scene in this! I don’t need the world knowing about the kitchen counter scene.”

“What page is that?” Shirleen muttered to Sadie, frantically flipping through a book.

“I’m looking,” Sadie muttered back, doing the same.

“That scene was hot,” Tod said to Indy.

“That wasn’t a scene, Tod,” Indy returned. “That was my life!”

“I remember hearing that story,” Roxie whispered to Ava. “Tod’s right. It was hot.”

I looked to Roxie, my gut clenching, as Daisy asked, “Who’s this Kristen Ashley person?”

“My guess,” Tod took his attention off Indy and looked at Daisy, “it’s a made up name. Kudos to whoever picked that, great romance novelist name. But totally fake. No one’s named Kristen Ashley.”

“It’s not a strange name, Tod,” Stella pointed out.

“How many people with romance novelist’s names do you know?” Tod asked Stella.

“Ava Barlow,” Stella answered.

“Hmm,” Tod mumbled.

“India Savage. Allyson Nightingale. Roxanne Logan. Juliet Lawler. Sadie Townsend,” Stella carried on.

“Point taken,” Tod murmured.

But I was listening with half an ear.

The rest of my focus was on Fortnum’s.

I saw a lot of faces I knew. This was because Tex’s coffee was revered, thus practically everybody came back for more. It was also because, with the newspaper articles, as Tod noted, Fortnum’s, the Rock Chicks and the Hot Bunch were already famous in Denver.

Therefore we had a lot of regulars, and those regulars didn’t always just pop by for a coffee.  Fortnum’s had been around a while. It had that feel that was real. That feel that invited you to stay. That feel that assured you you were welcome. That feel that many gave in to and hung out.

Sometimes for hours.

Right then, the place wasn’t packed, but the seating area in front of the espresso counter was full and there were people in line for coffees. And Jane, Indy’s other employee outside Duke, Tex, Jet and me, was even ringing up a book.

The kitchen counter story had been talked about, more than once, in that space.

I obviously hadn’t had time to read the book, though I’d skimmed parts, but it was safe to say most of what was in it had been discussed, at length and in some detail, in that space.

And easily overheard. The Rock Chicks weren’t about quiet. Not even close.

That meant it could be any regular that spent time there.

Why I hadn’t thought of this when wondering who spilled to the papers, I did not know.

But I was thinking of it now.

My gut clenched further as I remembered something.

During Indy’s Drama, Lee had put bugs and cameras in Fortnum’s. These fed to Lee’s surveillance room at his office in LoDo. After Indy’s drama, he didn’t take them out. This was because Lee’s surveillance room was manned 24/7, and those feeds provided comic relief for the boys.

And Brody Dunne was not the only computer whiz who could hack into anything.

Someone could have hacked into those feeds.

Someone could be watching us now.

I jumped out of my chair, digging in my back pocket for my phone and heading to the door.

“Where’re you goin’?” Tex boomed.

“Gotta make a call,” I shouted back.

“Sidewalk, woman. I have eyes on you all the time!” Tex kept booming.

I lifted a hand and waved my assent, head down, phone up. I pushed open the door and stopped on the sidewalk, but before I could call Brody to tell him to check to see if he’d been hacked, it rang and the display told me Ren was calling.

I put it to my ear but didn’t say “hey” because Ren was speaking when I got it there.

He was not speaking to me but he was pissed.

“I don’t give a fuck. Do it. Now.”

Uh-oh.

“Ren, what’s up?” I asked cautiously.

His attention came to me. “Ally?”

“Yeah, honey. Is something wrong?”

“Santo was tailing you,” he stated strangely.

“Okay,” I replied.

“He called Lucky, did a hand off, and now I got this pink fuckin’ book on my desk.”

Hmm. He seemed as angry as Indy. The thing about that was, her having sex with Lee on his kitchen counter and everyone reading about it was (maybe) something to be angry about.

But why was Ren angry?

In order to give him the opportunity to explain his emotion, I repeated, “Okay.”

“And this bitch has a website,” he told me.

“What bitch?” I asked.

“Kristen Ashley.”

My head shot up and I blinked at Broadway.

“What?” I whispered.

He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he said something a whole lot scarier.

“Coming soon,” he spoke like he was reading. “Rock Chick Rescue, the story of Eddie and Jet.”

Oh shit.

Unfortunately he kept going.

“Rock Chick Redemption, the story of Hank and Roxie.”

Oh shit!

He went on, “I’ll cut to the chase, babe. The last on this list is Rock Chick Revolution, the story of Ally and Ren.”

Fuck!

Chills slid down my spine and I whispered, “Our story hasn’t been written.”

“Babe, our story isn’t a story,” Ren clipped.

This was true.

“They have them all?” I asked.

“Every last one,” he answered.

“This isn’t good, Ren,” I said quietly.

“No, babe. It is not fuckin’ good. It’s really not fuckin’ good. You and your girls got eyes on you from somewhere and I don’t need my woman to have eyes on her. I also don’t need eyes on me. Especially not now.”

Especially not now. What did he mean by that?

I opened my mouth to ask, but he got there before me.

“Your brother on this?” he asked.

“Which one?” I asked back.

“I don’t give a fuck. One, the other, but both would be better,” he answered.

“Well, we were kind of busy freaking so I’m uncertain that information has filtered down. Though, Fortnum’s is wired to Lee’s offices so I expect incoming Hot Bunch imminently.”

Ren was silent.

“Zano?” I called.

“That place is wired?” he asked in a scary soft voice.

Oh man.

“Well…” I paused. “Yeah.”

“How long has it been wired?”

Oh man!

“Uh… since Indy’s thing.”

The receiver was not at his mouth when he bit out, “Fuckin’ fuck me,” but I still heard it.

He came back to me and asked caustically. “You think you might have wanted to mention that?”

“Zano, you’ve hardly ever been here,” I pointed out.

“You think your girls haven’t discussed my shit, your shit, our shit, my shit with Ava and anything in between?” he returned.

Hmm.

He had a point.

I heard the roar of a bike, looked that way and saw Vance approaching on his Harley.

I watched Vance (Vance was very watchable), but into the phone, I said, “I need to call Brody, get him on it, see if the feeds were hacked.” My eyes on Vance, and particularly the unhappy expression he was wearing, I told Ren, “Vance just got here, and I’m getting the sense this is not a random drop in. I’ll phone Lee and Hank after Brody, but I suspect they’re already on it and likely both heading this way.”

“I’m also on it,” Ren told me. “This shit needs to get shut down. You see your brother, Ally, you tell him he needs to find the source before me. Are you with me, babe?”

I had a feeling I was, though I thought it might be prudent to get particulars.

“Maybe we can discuss this tonight over dinner,” I suggested.

Vance was in the store and my eyes were aimed down Broadway, where I spotted a black Porsche approaching.

Luke.

“I’m not in the mood to cook,” Ren replied. “I’ll pick up Chinese.”

“That works for me. But I can also pick it up,” I offered.

“That works for me,” Ren agreed. “You know what I like.”

I was feeling weird, freaked, something was gnawing at my gut, but still, Ren pointing out I knew his Chinese preference still made my insides warm.