As Blaze guided Blake out with a brotherly arm around his shoulders, detailing all the fun and trouble he planned to introduce him to tonight, Blake curled his hand behind his back, showing off a middle finger meant just for Repo. Already smiling, Repo’s face split into a wide grin.
Oh man, he was going to have fun watching Blake try to wriggle out of this.
SIX
Repo hadn’t thought this through. The Tavern wasn’t just a bar. It was a strip bar. There were bare titties everywhere—in every shape, size, and color. So many, he couldn’t blink without seeing nipples behind his eyelids. Hell, he’d be dreaming of them for days. That wasn’t the problem though.
The problem was that he wasn’t even the least bit turned on by any of them. It was as if his dick was broken, and all he could think about was Ginger. Every female who sauntered over with her chest out and ass wiggling was immediately subjected to a mental evaluation, and they all came up short to Ginger.
Clearly, the head in his pants wasn’t getting enough blood flow. And hell, he’d almost accept the possibility that his age had caught up to him and he was impotent, rather than admit that his dick had up and grown a conscience. In all his forty-two years, he’d never been exclusive to a woman. Not ever. Not even after he’d married Lauren. He didn’t fuck around on her—much. To be fair, he’d intended on keeping things with her monogamous, but life as a brother back then hadn’t been very friendly to the whole monogamy sitch. It wasn’t written in the bylaws that he had to dip his wick in anything with a pussy, but it was an unspoken expectation for every man in the club to spread his attentions, take care of all the females on the premises. Or face ridicule of the highest order. He’d once witnessed a prospect get dragged behind the clubhouse by a couple of the older members and get nailed by each of them in turn for turning down one of the bunnies who’d been in heat, writhing on his lap. It didn’t matter that he’d had a woman at home waiting for him, someone he was committed to. That wasn’t looked on favorably, so Repo had learned early on to play the game if he wanted to run with the big boys. Times were different back then.
It helped a whole lot that Lauren wasn’t too shy about not keeping her legs closed either. His ring on her finger hadn’t stopped her from screwing every Tom, Dick, and Harry she crossed paths with. He was a hothead back then, young and running on high octane and a steady stream of cocaine. The only reason he hadn’t sent her to an early grave was because she’d had sense enough not to play her games with his brothers.
He wasn’t a stranger to jail time.
Damn, though. Thinking back on the “glory days,” Repo was thankful as fuck that Blake’s old man bit it and he stepped up to the table. Not that he had anything against the guy. They’d been tight for years, but the road the club had taken from its inception wasn’t a good one back then. Every single one of the OG members had spent time in the pen—it was practically a rite of passage—and having a record was nothing to be proud of. That kind of knowledge came with time and maturity. Repo had given up years of his life, along with blood, sweat, and yeah, plenty of tears. Lost his marriage too—not that it was anything worth writing home about.
Quick was a fine-ass president, though. Steered the whole club around, made it into something worth being proud of. Now, he and all the men, old and new, could hold their head high. Didn’t have to constantly look over their shoulders either, because they knew their noses were clean.
For the most part.
But none of this had anything to do with his dick’s betrayal. He stared down at the—hefty—bulge riding his inner thigh and scowled, sending a mental threat that he’d better get with the program and show a little respect.
Didn’t. Move. An. Inch.
“Disrespectful, insubordinate piece of…” Biting down on his tongue, Repo grabbed his beer and slugged it down. Unacceptable. That’s what this was. What next? His balls would stage a revolt and turn blue, demanding he run back to Ginger and hand them over to her? Maybe hook ‘em to a string so she could hang them on her rearview mirror like a pair of fuzzy dice.
Not fucking happening.
Ginger had to learn her lesson: she belonged to him. Until she got that through her fiery little head, then his dick and balls belonged to him. Not that they would ever belong to anyone but him. He was the one and only owner of his balls, thank you very much. The last thing he’d ever become is one of those guys who got castrated the minute they hooked up with a chick and then start carrying around her purse while spouting “Yes, honey’s” left and right.
Which was why his piece of shit cock needed to take a stand—literally.
“You’re an embarrassment,” he muttered.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Blake remarked, clapping him on the shoulder.
Repo jumped about ten feet, then slammed his empty bottle on the counter. “Shit! What are you, fucking Casper? Gave me a goddamn heart attack.”
Blake was laughing as he came around to lean an arm on the counter. “I said your name twice, old man. Not like I was tiptoeing it over here. Maybe we need to look into those hearing aids?”
Repo threw him a glare. “I’m not that old, asshole.” Blake made a show of scoping out Repo’s white-as-a-snowdrift hair and speckled beard. “Hair color is not indicative of age. Mine has been like this since my twenties.”
“So, what happened?” Blake inquired. “Did someone scare the piss out of you back then, too, shock all the color right out of it?”
“Fuck you, man.” Repo was chuckling, and Blake joined in. That was the beauty of brotherhood: no hard feelings. If you didn’t have the balls to take a little good-natured ribbing, you didn’t belong in the club.
Lifting his chin, Blake said, “So what’s up? You’ve turned down half a dozen cherries since we got here.”
Repo got to focusing on the scenery, those cherries now rubbing up on other males who were a lot more willing to give back, namely with the green. “Just not feelin’ it tonight.” He turned his cool gaze to his president. “What about you? You didn’t get that bachelor party.”
“Like I told Blaze, don’t need one. I got all I need back home waitin’ on me.”
“Aw, ain’t that sweet.” Repo’s smile was tilted, mocking. It was all for show, though. He admired what the brother had. Faithful, committed—on both ends. He’d spent a lot of his life living free, doing what and whom he pleased. He was more than ready to get settled, and he had his eyes on the prize, so he more than understood where Blake was coming from.
Blake wore a knowing smile. “Yeah, as if you haven’t been pining away for a certain redhead all night.” Repo’s brows popped up, but Blake shook his head, staving off his half-assed argument to the contrary. “Few weeks ago, you’d have had half these women bent over and praising your name like you’re a fuckin’ deity before the night was out. Instead, you’ve been nursing beer and a bad attitude.”
“Newsflash: I always have a bad attitude. In the words of Lady Gaga, I was born this way.”
“I’m not even gonna ask why you know who Lady Gaga is or what she has to say.” He studied Repo for a long moment, and Repo stared right back. The guy was big, over six feet, and solid. He wasn’t a killer, but he had the cold, dead stare of one, and that was enough to get most men quivering in their boots. Not Repo. He’d be solid even in a hurricane. Nothing much ruffled his feathers, ‘cause that’s what happened when you looked death in the eyes and lived to tell about it.
“Keep starin’ like that, pretty boy, and I might start thinkin’ you wanna kiss me,” Repo remarked. “Can’t say I’d blame you. I’m sexy as fuck and women can’t keep their hands off.” As if to prove his point, one of the waitresses sauntered by, trailing her hand over his arm up to his shoulder, giving him the sexy eyes.
“I go on break in five. Meet me in the back if you wanna have some fun.”
She smiled. He blinked. Then she was gone. Blake shook his head, grinning. “You’re not even going to pretend to take her up on
the offer, are you?”
Repo slid off his stool and dropped a twenty on the counter next to his empty bottles, then he made his way toward the door without preamble. “Would you, knowing what you have waiting back home for you?” he tossed over his shoulder.
What came back at him wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “Not a chance in hell, but at least I know I have someone waiting.”
Yeah, and wasn’t that the kicker. Far as he knew, Ginger wasn’t waiting for anything. Good thing he’d thought ahead and warned of death and dismemberment to anyone who even considered laying a finger on her. Problem was, he couldn’t account for every dick in the county, so she’d better pray like hell she kept her legs closed, or Garrick Stone was going to deliver her a good old-fashioned ass whooping.
Movement in his pants brought Repo’s head down, his gaze fastening on the prominent lump pressing against his fly. Well, whaddaya know. Seemed his dick wasn’t broken after all. And he liked the idea of reddening Red’s cheeks, too. His hand twitched, seconding the notion, and suddenly, Repo was eager to get back on his bike and get home. Break all the laws in the process.
In his mind, he was daring Ginger to cross him, go against his edict. Because his dick and his palm were itching to come out and play.
SEVEN
“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, Red.” Repo’s Neanderthal grunt was playing on an endless loop across her gray matter, driving Ginger out of her damned mind! She’d spent half her life answering to a man, which ended right about the time she kicked her good for nothing, piece of shit ex-husband Hawke out of her life. Thanks for the crabs, asshole! She didn’t know where he was now, but wherever it was, she hoped he got gonorrhea and died.
Ginger had spent way too much time reclaiming her life and personal identity to turn around and hand it back over to another man. She’d have to be out of her flippin’ mind. And Repo was out of his if he thought issuing threats was going to get her to change her mind.
Not a chance in hell, pal.
Having worked the bar in the Spartan compound for most of her adult life had gifted her with experience. The kind that opened eyes and expanded minds. She held a position among the members that allowed her freedom, commanded respect, and provided her with monetary as well as emotional support—whenever she needed it. They protected her, watched her back, and in return, Ginger stroked their egos, listened to their problems, and doled out advice where appropriate. She was a friend as well as a lover, always available with open arms. She loved her Spartan men, but she wasn’t in love with them.
Truth be told, Ginger wasn’t sure she even could love anymore. Not after the trials and tribulations of living under the thumb of such a brutal man. A guy like Hawke, someone so cold and ruthless and unforgiving, changed people…and not for the better.
Ginger bore the scars of their relationship on both her body and mind. While she knew the men in the club would never harm her if they could help it, she just wasn’t willing to take the risk. Sometimes, it was just better to be alone. Her mother and her grandmother both had tried the marriage deal, and when it went south, as they tended to do, they decided life was just easier without the complications of men.
And that’s what men were: complications. Maybe there were a few good ones out there somewhere who added to their woman’s life instead of sucking their life right out of them, but she sure as hell had never met one, and if she had, he was already taken.
All the good ones were.
So that left Ginger alone, which was just fine and dandy, as far as she was concerned. Make all her own decisions? Yes, please. Never answer to anyone but herself? Sign me up! Participate in No Shave November? You betcha. Repo thought he was going to sway her, change her mind, make her his? No way, no how. Ginger didn’t need a man to lead a full and happy life, and the sooner he learned that, the better.
Which was exactly why she decided to toss out those bogus instructions to behave that he’d thrown at her and decided it was the perfect night to seek out trouble of the highest order.
Ginuwine’s “Pony” pulsed throughout the speakers of the strip club, shaking hands with the filtered red lights that lent the place a shady yet sensual vibe that always put Ginger in the right mood. She wasn’t a regular by any means, but Repo had pushed her too far, and it just so happened to be Ladies’ Night, so here she was. Soaking in the view of a trio of very hard-bodied men with angular faces and sultry eyes that beckoned her inner vixen, enticing her to come out and play with them.
Bad boys. She’d already picked out the one she wanted to spank first: the tall white boy with the thick thighs and Asian tattoo running down his ribcage beneath his right arm that was probably supposed to be his name, but more than likely said something like dumbass. Which he probably was, but she wasn’t here to issue IQ tests. She was here to prove a point: no one controlled Ginger Masterson. No one.
Dumbass noticed her staring and started gyrating her way, his banana hammock swinging like a prize fighter going for the championship belt. Ouch. Looked painful. She grimaced sympathetically, but he didn’t appear fazed in the least. Maybe the Lycra was cutting off circulation to his balls. Could explain the redness in his cheeks.
Stopping about an inch from her face, Dumbass laced his hands behind his head and thrust hard, nearly grazing the tip of her nose with his package. This close, Ginger could tell that he waxed instead of shaved, and his man meat wasn’t all that impressive. Frankly, she’d seen—and had—bigger. Cue internal sigh.
Why was life so cruel? Clearly, God had gifted the man with a bounty of good looks, but the universe demanded balance, and apparently, Dumbass was paying for it in inches below the belt. How sad was that? There was a price for everything it seemed. And she’d been ready to offer an invitation back to her place for a little action between the sheets.
Ah well. Maybe next time.
Dumbass aggressively pumped his junk in her face a few more times. Stuffing a couple singles in his G-string, Ginger took the opportunity to peek at the goods, just to be sure. And her mouth twisted up on one side.
Just as she’d suspected.
Feeling a touch sorrier for the poor bastard, she gave him an extra five and waved him away. He frowned, thrust a couple more times, but she’d already made up her mind. Hopefully, he wouldn’t try for more of her attention. She’d hate to have to let him down with the cold, honest truth: I’m into men, sugar, not toddlers.
Thankfully, a group of women barged through the doors whooping it up. The leader reminded Ginger of Gabby, all pretty and fair with a girl-next-door look about her, but the similarities ended there. She swore like a sailor and was clearly the ringleader as she reached into the center of the group and yanked a red-faced woman wearing a sheer, white veil in front of her and shoved her toward the stage.
Sensing an abundance of dollars in his near future, Dumbass and his buddies thrust, thrust, thrust their way over, ensuing mayhem.
Ugh, women. If ever Ginger found herself behaving like that, somebody, please shoot her. Right between the eyes.
She was readying for her escape, her ass lifted halfway off the chair, when she felt a presence behind her.
“You have about five seconds to run before he sees you. If you cut through the back now, you might make it.”
Ginger, brows pulled down over her eyes, regarded the waitress, Angel from the nametag positioned over her breast. “He who?” She knew too many “hes” to narrow it down without a little help. But her mind had already snagged on one name in particular. Not that she cared in the least if he knew she was here. That was the whole point, right? To make him understand that he had zero control over her.
In a hushed voice, Angel said, “Everyone knows about you. Repo’s been spreading the word around that you’re untouchable. He’s threatened…” Angel’s gaze shifted nervously somewhere over her shoulder, her words cutting off, and she gripped Ginger’s elbow as if scared for her. How sweet. “Shit, they’re right over there. Come on, I’ll help you.�
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Now it was they? Ginger glared at the hand Angel had on her arm, a silent warning to remove it. She did. Then, as casually as if she were climbing into a relaxing bubble bath, she eased back down into her seat. “Another beer, please, Angel,” she cooed.
Angel blanched, disbelief written all over her young face. Whatever. She was too young and too inexperienced. She couldn’t possibly understand why Ginger wasn’t shaking in her combat boots. If anything, she was perturbed. And aroused. Wait, why was she aroused?
She wasn’t. That wouldn’t make any sense.
From the corner of her eye, Ginger saw Angel’s head lift, and a second later she was gone. Despite her silent protest, Ginger’s heart did a little gallop. As if the thing was a dog begging for a treat. She glared at Dumbass, willing him to return to her. She needed the distraction.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Red?” Garrick snarled. Yanking out the chair beside her, he plopped his delectable ass down, positioning himself toward her, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and those big hands clasped tight together, as if he was afraid of what he might do with them.
She should be too, but she wasn’t. Garrick wasn’t like that. At least, not anymore. He might snarl and bark and snap his teeth from time to time, but cooler heads always prevailed where he was concerned. She had nothing to worry about.
Garrick’s eyes cut to the strippers, who were wrapping up their routine with some serious moves that made her consider reconsidering her nix on inviting Dumbass home with her. Size wasn’t supposed to matter, right? It was all about the motion in the ocean?
Yeah, she didn’t have anything to worry about, but if the way Garrick’s lips peeled back from his teeth was any indication, Dumbass did. Even though the woman in her loved the idea of a man fighting for her—over her—what kind of person would she be if she let Dumbass get murdered just to prove a point.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?”
Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel Page 5
