Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel

by J.C. Valentine

  She hadn’t slept much because of it. Yet, she couldn’t say the experience was completely unpleasant. If at all. Hell, she was smiling thinking about it. When was the last time she’d been held through the night? Back during the honeymoon phase with Hawke, before they’d started using their fists instead of words.

  But Repo—Garrick—was nothing like Hawke. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He was overbearing and macho, headstrong and kind of a jerk when he put his mind to it. He was also pushy and foulmouthed and a real dick. But he was sweet and kind and generous too. Something her ex-husband never was. He’d give the shirt off his back to help another person out, but he was no pushover either. Garrick was a good man, plain and simple.

  So why was she resisting him so hard? Why was she denying his claim on her? Any other woman would have leaped at the chance to belong to him, so why was she running the other way?

  Simple: Ginger Masterson was owned by no man. After Hawke, she’d vowed to never again wear a patch. It meant too damn many things, came with too damn many rules and expectations. She couldn’t be her own person with a patch. She’d have to consider someone else’s needs, answer to someone else about where she was going and what she was doing. Her thoughts and actions would no longer belong to her and her alone. She’d have to share her life, give up control to someone else. In the club, the man ruled supreme.

  So, no, maybe the Spartans weren’t like some of the other clubs out there. The men respected their women, some even putting them on a pedestal—like Blake did with Gabby. But men were men, and that meant that there were always bad seeds among the good. That’s how she’d gotten mixed up with Hawke. He’d spit good game, reeled her in with his macho attitude and sheer masculinity. She’d assumed they’d all be like Blake: kind and gentle and strong and loyal. Boy, had she been wrong.

  Garrick had been around long enough that she knew he wasn’t like Hawke in that way. He’d never raise a hand to her, but he had been married when they’d first had sex, so she couldn’t completely trust him either. That was a deal breaker as far as she was concerned.

  And anyway, she had no intention of ever being anyone’s property again. She didn’t care how good they were.

  The fact was, Ginger enjoyed her life the way it was. She liked being able to handpick who she shared her time with, and she liked that it came with an expiration. She liked experiencing different men, different personalities. She liked the challenge they presented, the change in atmosphere, the excitement that surrounded it all. Maybe it was odd for a woman to be thinking these things when a man like Garrick—a real man’s man—was looking to settle down, but she’d never been much for following rules.

  No, Ginger had a good thing going. She had the respect and adoration of all the men in the club, and all the other women looked up to her, came to her for guidance and support. The men did too, in fact. She was in a position to know much more than the average bunny or wife. Had she been born with different equipment, she’d have been right there at the round table with them when they held church. She’d have a bike out there next to the others.

  But that was the luck of the draw. Ginger had tits and a pussy, and that made her second class. She resented it, but still, her life was pretty damn good regardless. The Spartans fed her, clothed her, gave her a roof over her head when she needed it, and watched over her. They were more her family than her own blood.

  As she soaped up her breasts, Ginger recalled the way her body responded to Garrick’s when he’d rubbed his hard cock against her hip and felt an answering bolt of arousal between her legs. He was trouble with a capital T, especially now that he had his mind set on having her for his own.

  What had gotten into him? He’d always seemed just fine with their arrangement. They hooked up from time to time, they were good friends. She’d had a crush on him when she was a kid, but she’d grown up a lot since then. Ginger didn’t do crushes anymore. Yeah, he was sexy, carrying that dark and dangerous vibe around like a weapon that sometimes made her weak in the knees if she let her guard slip, but that didn’t mean anything. She had an appreciation for the man, respected him, even cared for him, but she wasn’t in love with him.

  He could give you all the things you want though, a little voice in her head whispered as her soapy palms ran circles around her abdomen.

  Like what, a kid? And what the hell would she do with one of those? Ginger shut that thought process down hard. No need to think about little Garricks running around, or how they’d have his smile or that bullheaded, cocky attitude. Definitely no need to think about how he’d look with a baby in his arms or an adoring toddler on his shoulders. And she certainly didn’t need to wonder what it’d be like to feel his lips on hers every day of the rest of her life.

  No need for any of that.

  Because Ginger relied on only herself. She had no need for anyone else in her life.

  Really.

  Tired of being in her own head, she turned off the water and reached for a towel. Instead, the towel reached for her. The scream was unintentional and leaped out of her mouth before she could push it back.

  “Sorry, didn’t know you were the skittish type.”

  Garrick was standing there with a wide grin, not appearing to be the least bit sorry at all. Ginger yanked the towel from his hand and leveled him with a glare. “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you’ve mentioned.”

  And she’d mention it a lot more, too, until it finally sunk into that thick head of his. “I thought you left.” Just as she’d finally fallen asleep, he’d gotten up, announcing that he had to ride out to God knew where. Since she had a vagina, she wasn’t privy to that kind of information. Insert mental eye roll.

  “I almost had. Then I remembered I forgot to kiss my woman goodbye.”

  She scowled as she stepped out of the shower, the towel wrapped tight around her, and brushed by him. “Then shouldn’t you be somewhere else looking for her instead of wasting your time here?”

  He turned to face her in the mirror, his large frame folding around her as he leaned down to frame her with his thick, muscular arms. His eyes on hers, he turned his lips to her ear, his warm breath a sweet caress that raised goose bumps on her arms. “I’m going to wear you down, Red. You think you can resist me, but you’re wrong.”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I accept your patch, Garrick. And I told you to call me Ginger.”

  Turning his face into her neck, he breathed her in, his eyes drifting closed as if she were the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled. Ginger had to fight not to close her eyes, too, not to get lost in the warmth of his body pressed up tight against hers. “I’ve got time. For you, Ginger, I’ve got time,” he murmured. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her throat, over her thundering pulse.

  Pausing in the doorway, his wide shoulders rose and fell with every breath he took. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, Red.” Turning his head, he met her eyes once more over his shoulder and stared her down for what felt like an eternity, making sure she got the message.

  She did, loud and clear. Garrick Stone was not a man who gave up easily. But neither did she. If Ginger planned to stay single, then she was going to have to stick to her guns, and come hell or high water, that’s exactly what she intended to do. Garrick “Repo” Stone did not own her, and that was a lesson he was going to have to learn.

  FIVE

  “What’s goin’ on with you and Red? Anything I should be worried about?”

  Repo popped the kickstand on his bike then climbed off, sparing his president a brief, bored look that didn’t invite answers. Still, he’d known the kid a long time, so he spared him a couple words out of respect. “My personal life is nothin’ anyone should be worried about.” It was as much a statement of fact as it was a warning. He didn’t appreciate people prying into his personal business.

  Blake shook his head, far from being offended. “Gotcha.”

  They started walking toward the gas station with the wooden Indi
an posted out front. It was owned by a fellow MC, one they did business with from time to time. Garrick liked the rustic vibe of the place, the way the owners kept it true to its history. With the random memorabilia, sometimes it felt almost like walking back in time. There was something about good old-fashioned charm that Repo appreciated.

  “It’s just that I’ve been hearing some things around the clubhouse.”

  “They’re all true if that’s what you’re beatin’ around the bush about.” There, out in the open. That should cut the bro talk out one hundred percent so they could focus on the task at hand.

  “So you did stake a claim on Red?”

  Apparently not. Repo tipped his head in confirmation.

  “And what did she say? I’m sure that didn’t go over too well. Red’s a firecracker.”

  Jesus. Rolling his eyes to the sky, Repo breathed in deep and let it back out slow. “I didn’t realize you’d suddenly turned into a relationship counselor, Dr. Phil.”

  Blake cracked a smile. “The man knows his shit. So…what happened?”

  “I’m sorry, but since when did my life become so damn interesting?”

  “Since I got hitched. Gabby needs a daily dose of female drama to feast on, and the well is running dry, my brother.”

  “So, you’re using me as fodder.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And also, because you’re a gossip.”

  “That too. Now tell me everything. Are you going to patch her?”

  “Soon.” He just had to chisel that chip off her shoulder first.

  “You know the brothers aren’t too happy you cock blocked them. Those who have a personal relationship with her, anyway.”

  “Well they can suck a bag of dicks,” he snarled. They could boohoo their bullshit somewhere else because they didn’t own Red. He did. They’d just have to get used to it.

  “She’s always been there for them. An ear, a shoulder. To provide comfort.” Blake cut him a searching look as if measuring his reaction.

  Repo’s fists were tightly balled at his sides, his temper flaring his nostrils, and his teeth were threatening to crack under the pressure of his clenched jaw. The very idea of Ginger with another man made his blood boil. Never again. She’d never know another man’s touch but his own.

  “Again, they can suck a bag of—”

  “Dicks, right,” Blake cut him off. “Got it. But you have to know that it’s not gonna be an easy transition. You claim Red, there are bound to be some problems that crop up. Crossed signals, brothers who didn’t get the message because they’re either too new or haven’t been home in a while.” He stopped outside the station’s wood-framed screen door that squealed whenever it was opened and turned to face Repo, his expression serious as a heart attack. “What I’m saying is I don’t want any bloodshed on my property, and I don’t need any of my men doing jail time or ending up in the hospital.”

  Repo didn’t have to ask to know what was on Blake’s mind. He was still worried about the police presence in the area. Far as they knew, they were still under surveillance, although Country couldn’t confirm it one way or another. So, they’d been playing it safe, flying under the radar.

  Not that they had any damn thing to hide. They kept their noses clean, had for a long time. If anyone wanted to question it, they could dig all they wanted. They wouldn’t find a damn thing.

  But he heard what Blake was saying. They didn’t need any problems. Not when they were still trying to pinpoint where the hell the leak was. A few months back, when Blake’s woman, Gabby’s, past caught up with her, it brought a host of problems, including drug kingpin Ricky Cruiz and the FBI down on their heads. The bullet Country’s woman, Talia, an FBI agent who’d been working undercover investigating the Spartans at the time, put between Ricky’s eyes cleared up that particular problem, but it shined a hell of a spotlight on the club itself.

  Talia’s insider knowledge put them on alert that they had someone working on the inside, feeding Cruiz information about the club and its inner workings. The FBI had their suspicions, but since Talia was hooked up with a brother, they weren’t inclined to share. She theorized the leak came from her former partner who’d disappeared around the time of the raid, and while that held merit, they had yet to find solid proof, so it was still just a theory. Nothing solid to go off. Hence their efforts to lay low and the reason for this little road trip today.

  Repo understood the threats, understood the level of severity. He’d been a brother more than half his life, had been there since the beginning, riding alongside Blake’s father when he was president. Which was why Repo was the VP. Didn’t get more dedicated than that.

  “You got no worries from me. I know how to handle my business.”

  “Without using a blade?”

  Repo chuckled at the reference to his skills in the field. When information needed to be extracted, he was the one they called in because of his ability to wield his pocket knife with surgical precision. They didn’t call him Repo for nothing. “That all depends on them.”

  “Repo…”

  “Quick.” His tone was firm. He wasn’t going to be questioned anymore.

  Blake stared him down, held his eyes, which was a challenge for most of the men Repo had ever faced, unwavering. Repo respected that about the man. He had balls. “Out of respect for you and the club, I promise to give a warning if anyone steps out of line. One. After that, I promise I’ll keep the bloodshed to a minimum.”

  Shaking his head again, Blake sighed. “I guess that’s as good as it gets. Let’s just keep it out of the hospital then, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Now, Repo was ready to get down to business. “Brains before beauty.”

  “Nah, brother, it’s age before beauty.” Blake made a sweeping gesture. “After you.”

  “No, after you.”

  He pursed his lips, withholding laughter. “Fine, let’s go.” Taking the lead, Blake reached for the door, swung it open. Repo was on his heels, so when Blake suddenly stepped to the side, Repo found himself stumbling over the threshold to avoid mowing him over. “Told you, age first.”

  Repo belted out a laugh. “Motherfucker.”

  “Every single day.”

  Approaching the counter, Repo tapped the little silver bell for service, then crossed his arms over his broad chest and waited. Blake stood beside him, mirroring his stance. In the little wall of cameras behind the counter, Repo saw they made one hell of an imposing team. Any normal person, brother or civilian, would take one look at Blake’s stout frame and hard, tanned face and Repo’s white hair and beard set against what had been called otherworldly ice blue peepers and hightail it in the opposite direction.

  But Blaze Andrews wasn’t a normal person. He was six and a half feet, and two-hundred-fifty pounds of red-blooded Indian who carried a tomahawk in his waistband rather than a pistol, and that deep, James Earl Jones voice was enough to give any man pause.

  Blaze was a character. He enjoyed playing up his heritage almost to a disrespectful degree. But Repo wasn’t a Native, so he couldn’t really speak on such things. Today he was dressed in his usual brown leather vest with delicate beadwork and a pair of Wranglers. He had an armband with fringe wrapped around one beefy bicep, and his hair—down to the middle of his back—appeared freshly washed as it dripped steadily onto his shoulders.

  “What took you so long? Rain dance?” Repo questioned, earning him a scowl. He smirked right back.

  “Repo. Quick. Didn’t realize the pussy brigade was rolling into town; otherwise, I mighta put on a fresh pot.”

  “No need. We won’t be staying long.”

  “Business?” Blaze guessed.

  Blake nodded grimly. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the heat on my club recently.”

  “There have been whispers. Sounds like you have your hands full. Making business tough?”

  Repo grunted. Business hadn’t been tough since Blake took over the head of the table and cleaned their shit up. The only thing they h
ad to do was keep it that way.

  “Business isn’t the problem,” Blake replied. “We think there might have been a rat. Nothin’ that’ll gain the attention of the boys in blue, but it seems some sensitive information about the inner workings of my club were leaked. Head count, money in and out, things like that. Seems whoever was leaking the info was helping to prime Ricky Cruiz for a turf war slash takeover.”

  “No shit?” Blaze’s arms folded across his chest to mirror their stance now. What a picture they must make. Repo’d bet money if a female walked in right now, she’d cream her panties. “We’d speculated on Cruiz, ‘specially after word came down the line he was taken off the grid, but we had no idea. What do you need from us?”

  “Nothin’ much. Just keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground. Lemme know if you or your men hear anything noteworthy, like any new players in the area.”

  “Consider it done. But, Quick, my man, tell me you didn’t ride all this way just to say what could have been said in a phone call.”

  At this, Blake quirked a smile. “Can’t be too careful these days. Never know who’s listening. Besides, you got the best international beer on tap this far west of the Mississippi.”

  “You got that right. Give me a sec to close, and I’ll ride over to The Tavern with you. You’re gonna love the new tits Lou hired.” He held cupped hands a good foot from his own chest, eyes wide and suggestive.

  Blake chuckled. Repo grinned. But both of them knew neither was going to accept the offer. Still, Repo couldn’t help giving his brother a hard time.

  “Did you hear Quick got hitched?”

  “You don’t say?” Blaze flicked a look of surprise at him.

  “Yep. Happened so damn fast, he didn’t even have a bachelor party.”

  “Because I didn’t want one,” Blake gritted out.

  Blaze clomped over and clapped Blake on the shoulder. “We’re going to remedy that tonight, my brother, don’t you worry. I got the perfect stack of double Ds for you. Nipples like little raspberries. Mmm! You gotta get a taste.”