Ginger’s lip curled in irritation. Keeping her eyes glued to the stripper just because she knew it would piss Garrick off, she replied, “You did. And do you recall me telling you to go fuck yourself?” She tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Mmm, nope, must have forgotten to add that part. Well, let me rectify that now.” She turned caustic eyes his way and hissed, “Go fuck yourself.” Then she smiled as if pleased with herself. Which she was. Very much so.
Garrick, on the other hand, wasn’t even slightly amused. “Maybe I should have been clearer,” he said softly, dangerously. “Your place is at the clubhouse or at home, hell, hanging out with your girlfriends. Not a fucking strip club, Red.”
“I don’t have any girlfriends.” And what was with the “Red” bullshit? They’d had a deal.
“Then fucking get some!” he roared.
Every head in the house whipped in their direction. Ginger held out her hand. “Great, look what you did. The guys stopped dancing.” In fact, they looked as if they weren’t sure whether to cut the dance off early and run or wait to see how things played out. Everyone loved a good car crash.
Garrick, barely holding onto his temper, lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation. “You know where I was today?” he asked. She didn’t really care, even though she was kind of curious—mystery!—and he continued. “A bar. With strippers. Tits and ass everywhere, Red.”
“Must have been fun,” she remarked. Inside her boots, her toes curled. She was not upset. What did she care if he was around a bunch of beautiful, busty women with legs that probably fell open as if on hinges?
“No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.” He sounded as irritated as she was. Good! Leaning a little closer, Garrick placed his face inches from hers. Still, she refused to look at him. I hold the power here. Just like at the clubhouse, this amounted to a pissing contest. See who’d give in first. Well, she might not have the right equipment for the job, but she’d still win. “I didn’t touch a single one of them, and do you know why?”
“Because you had vertigo? Forgot your glasses?” Her eyes widened, and she dropped her voice. “Did you have, you know…problems?” Her gaze dropped to his crotch suggestively.
Once when Ginger was a kid, her parents had asked her what she wanted to do for dinner on her eleventh birthday. Recalling something she’d overheard about lobsters and how they turned bright red when cooked pushed her to request Red Lobster. She’d never seen a brighter shade of red before then, or after.
Until now.
Garrick was livid. Jackknifing to his feet, he grabbed ahold of her upper arm on his way up, yanking her out of the chair. “I’m not that fucking old,” he growled as he dragged her past staring patrons and a couple of grinning prospects, who must have been tagging along, through the club into the parking lot.
Score one for Ginger, though, right? Getting a rise out of the man was half the battle.
As hot as he was, as much as she usually liked the man, Ginger wasn’t really appreciating the macho bullshit act. His grip on her arm wasn’t exactly comfortable, but every time Ginger tried to plant her feet and tug herself free, he only clamped down harder, his fingers digging in painfully. Reminded her of the first time she’d been arrested, those metal cuffs cutting into her wrists. He’d probably leave little crescent moons in her flesh from his nails.
“Repo, dammit—”
“Garrick!” he snapped back.
Oh, so it was okay for him to call her Red, but not for her to return the sentiment? Fuck. That. “Repo,” she repeated as she began slapping at his hand and prying at his fingers. “Unhand me!”
“Or what? Are you going to go all Scarlet O’Hara and start calling me a brute?”
Detecting humor in his voice, Ginger lashed out, hitting him again. “If the shoe fits!”
With a powerful tug, Garrick sent her whirling. Ginger pitched forward, stumbling over herself and careening past him, unable to catch her balance until Garrick yanked her back again, counterbalancing what would have been a nasty fall flat on her face.
She stopped herself from crashing into his chest, barely. Glaring up at him, she seethed with barely restrained fury. “Asshole!”
The prospects had followed them outside and were now waiting a short distance away. Trying to be discrete? Or were they the backup? Maybe Garrick brought them along to ensure that she couldn’t run away. That would be just like him. Kidnap her to get his way.
Ignoring their audience, Garrick got down in her face, his cool blue stare sending a warm shiver down her spine rather than the frosty chill one might expect. “You wanna call names? Fine, Scarlet, I’ll show you exactly what happens to bad girls who go against their man’s wishes.”
It was the work of a moment for him to bend down, tuck his shoulder into her stomach, and lift her off her feet. Ginger was upside down with a glorious view of his tight, leather-encased ass before she knew what was happening.
Then everything suddenly came into crystal clear focus. The waistband of her jeans pressed into her belly, growing tighter by the second. The sudden draft on her buttocks was more than a little concerning. “Repo, what are you—Ow!”
The crack of Garrick’s palm was seriously unpleasant! Like someone had taken a blowtorch to her butt cheek. “That’s for calling me Repo when I clearly told you to call me Garrick.”
“You started it,” she snarled, still in shock that he’d spanked her but embracing her anger fully.
Smack! “And that’s for calling names.”
“Ow!” Seriously, he had to do it in the same spot? Raising her arm, she slapped her own palm down on his muscled backside. “That’s for being a jackass, asshole!”
Smack! “That’s for being a pain in my ass. And this”—smack!—“is for not following instructions.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, but Ginger refused to back down without a fight. “This is for treating me like a piece of property!” She brought her hand down again, wishing she were just a little bit stronger so she could make him feel what she did. Her ass burned!
All her efforts earned her was chuckling from him and his minions. Bastards! She bucked wildly, trying to break free. She’d kick all their asses or die trying.
“Let me down!”
Garrick’s hot palm caressed her burning cheek. “Not just yet. I’m enjoying the view.”
“You prick, if you don’t let me down, I’m going to scream. Try explaining to the police why you’re beating on a woman. I’ll press charges!” she threatened, knowing she wouldn’t do any such thing.
“You want us to bring the car around?” one of the prospects inquired.
Did they seriously plan to kidnap her? Now, worry was beginning to set in. “I swear to God, if you stuff me in a trunk, I will tear all your balls off…with my teeth!”
Garrick was chuckling as if he found her threats of bodily harm cute. She’d show him cute. Slapping him again, she felt the instant sting of his palm follow as if on reflex.
“You boys go on ahead. We’re right behind ya.”
“You sure, boss?”
Garrick patted her thigh. “I think I can handle this one.”
Oh, he did, did he? First chance she got, she was making a break for it. Calling the cops was still an option. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
She felt a tug on her waistband once again, then heard a jingle of keys. “Make sure to get her car back to her place. She won’t be needing it anymore tonight.”
Oooh, she was going to kill him! But there was no use fighting him now when he clearly had all the control. It was like trying to break through a cement wall. All the bucking and fist-pounding was getting her nowhere.
“Don’t move my seat! And don’t change my presets!” she shouted at whichever prospect was planning to drive her baby home.
More chuckling. Dammit. Men and their testosterone. And they claimed women were the problem? She could count a hundred ways the world would be so much better without the male
species. Starting with no more kidnapping and ending with world peace. It was a good thought, in theory. Ginger had considered going lesbian once for reasons like the one she was experiencing now, but soon realized she wasn’t much of a carpet muncher and there was no good replacement for a penis. Yet. The day there was, though, watch out!
They stood there for several heartbeats, long enough for Ginger to start feeling the blood welling in her head, making the beat of her pulse in her temples impossible to ignore. When the crunching of gravel under car tires ceased, which Ginger assumed was her car driving away, Garrick addressed her. “If I put you down, you gonna play nice? Or do I have to restrain you again?”
“Ask yourself one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do I feel lucky?” And honestly, it hadn’t come out as ominous as she’d imagined it in her mind, but really, who could compare to Eastwood anyway?
Garrick must have gotten over his slapping mood. He eased her back onto her feet, pulling her pants back up to cover her rear end. The moment Ginger was standing upright again, she launched herself at him, fists flying and banshee warrior cry echoing through the night.
But Garrick was prepared and caught her wrists before they made contact. Ginger thrashed until she grew too tired to continue, her head now a dull ache from the rush of blood. But she still had enough energy left to glare at him with the force of a thousand suns.
Those eyes. She’d never seen a more threatening blank stare in her life. Shaking his head, he tsk, tsk, tsked. “Shouldn’t have done that, Red.”
Then he dove in for a kiss, sucking the breath right out of her lungs and stealing what little was left of her sanity.
EIGHT
Well, wasn’t that a pretty sight. Garrick admired his handiwork from his vantage point at the foot of the bed. His bed. Where he’d brought Ginger after deciding she’d have too many people who might come to her aid when her screams became too loud.
Yeah, she’d be screaming, and it wouldn’t only be because he was giving her the best sex of her life. Which he would. Ginger had made it clear on multiple occasions between the strip club and clubhouse that she planned to put up a fight, so he’d made a call, let the prospects know there’d been a change of plans and to inform Quick neither of them would be back till morning, then turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction.
His home was a two-story cabin in the woods, separated from the city by a few good miles and positioned in such a way that the landscape would absorb her screams.
A devious smile crept across his face as Garrick observed his little devil. She was wild, untamed, and stunningly beautiful. He’d always thought so, even as a kid when she’d hang around like all the other kids, hoping to be noticed; and like a fine wine, she’d only gotten better with age.
“Release me, and I’ll suck your cock so good, your eyes will cross. I promise I won’t even try to bite it.”
“Well, how can I say no to an offer like that?” The short answer? Easily.
The instant she’d realized what he had planned for her, Ginger had lost her mind. She’d fought him with surprising strength, rivaling some of the men he’d known over the years. She punched, kicked, and even bit to get free. By the time he’d managed to get her inside and tied to his bed, spread eagle—because that was the only way he could keep her somewhat under control—he’d been covered in angry red welts, some places even beginning to turn colors which would later be a bruise.
Now, she was flipping the game, playing nice. He’d almost buy it if she didn’t look like a lunatic. Red hair matted and sticking out in every direction, pieces of it clinging to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her bottom lip showing signs of swelling from where she’d banged it against his shoulder, and there was no mistaking the gleam in her eye. This calm was a trick, like the eye of a storm.
Her hands, tied to the bedposts at the wrists, motioned him over, but Garrick just smirked and shook his head. “I’d have to have been born yesterday, Red.” He had to admit, though, seeing her spread out like a buffet made his mouth water to crawl up her thighs and bury his face between them.
“Oh, ye of so little faith.” Ginger sighed as if truly put out. Turning her head, she inspected her manicure. “Probably for the best.” Her brown eyes shifted toward him. “I would have bit.”
“I know.”
“Well, let it never be said you’re stupid.”
Thanks? He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Actually, he did. “Since you’re not ready to play nice, I’m going to grab myself a beer and catch the game.” He turned and headed for the door.
“You’re going to leave me here, like this?” Ginger called after him.
Continuing, Garrick said, “Yep.”
He heard her thrashing around, the mattress springs giving protest. “Get back here, dammit! You untie me right now, Garrick! Right-damn-now!”
Pausing in the doorway, he looked over his shoulder and gifted her with a smile. “Is that any way to speak to your captor? You catch more flies with sugar, honey.”
“FYI, flies eat shit. Also, a bit of helpful information, vengeance runs deep in my blood, so I’d advise you to think carefully about what you do next.”
Pursing his lips, Garrick pretended to think on it. “The game should only be a couple hours. I suggest you use your time wisely and think about your behavior while I’m gone.”
And that’s when the screams began in earnest. Laughing to himself, Garrick shut the bedroom door to dampen the worst of it. Tonight promised to be even more fun than he’d planned.
***
Did women ever get tired of hearing their own voice? If it wasn’t nagging and complaining, it was…well, screaming. Over an hour had passed, and Ginger was still going strong. She wasn’t even hoarse yet, which was puzzling. She should have lost her voice by now. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Hell, she had more stamina than a toddler.
Garrick had tried ignoring it, then roared along with her just for shits and giggles, which only seemed to piss her off more. He tried pretending it was just background noise, even fitting it to some of the plays on the TV. That’d helped for a short time, but now he was back to trying his damnedest to ignore the banshee in the next room. Hell, much more of this and he’d just cut her ass loose. If this was indicative of what he had to look forward to once he tamed her—which he would—then he wasn’t sure he had the wherewithal to survive. He had to hand it to the woman, though. She had fight, and he respected the hell out of her for it.
It was one of the reasons he wanted her. A man like Garrick Stone needed a strong woman by his side, someone who knew her own mind, knew how to hold her own. He also needed a woman who knew how to let her man lead. That was something they were going to have to work on, clearly.
But first, he had to make her realize he was her man. Once she accepted that she belonged to him, they could work on the rest.
“Fucking bullshit,” Garrick barked in response to the bad call by the ref. “No way was he out of bounds.” With a huff, he clicked off the television and tossed the remote on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe he should check on the little wench and see if she was ready to chill the fuck out before she had an aneurism.
Or maybe she needed an exorcist. Surely, she was possessed. Sometime in the last few minutes, she’d switched from screaming and issuing threats to laughing maniacally. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
Blowing out a breath, he stood and headed for the bedroom, stopping just outside the door. What was the plan? He didn’t have one. It was probably too much to hope that she’d accept an olive branch. Maybe a drink of water and a bite to eat? She had to have worked up an appetite with all the calories she’d burned. Then again, maybe her hunger was for blood. His blood. He’d been around enough angry women in his time to know a murderous one when he saw one. At least she was bound, so he was safe from attack.
Steeling his jaw, Garrick pushed his way inside…and paused. “Oh…ba
be, really,” he breathed, holding back the laugh that begged to be let free.
“Shut your mouth,” Ginger growled.
“What did you do to yourself?” This time, he didn’t bother holding back. Laughing so hard his vision blurred, he strode to the bed and began untangling her from her self-imposed prison of linens. It looked as though she’d thrashed around so hard she’d somehow managed to get the sheets wrapped around her ankles and one of her legs in such a way that one of her feet was twisted around, her knee turned in toward the other. Her torso was in the same condition, and she’d managed to get herself stuck in such a way that her top half was facing down, her bottom half sideways and up toward the ceiling, with her head tucked beneath her arm so she could shoot daggers of hate at him.
“This is your doing, Repo. I wouldn’t be in this predicament if you hadn’t kidnapped me and tied me to your bed!”
As he freed her of the blanket prison and righted her on the mattress, Garrick sat down beside her and shook his head. “If you hadn’t been acting like a psycho, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. If you had the sense to stop fighting me every step of the way, we’d be having amazing sex right now instead of arguing.”
“Typical,” she said with a lift of her chin. “Blame the woman. It’s always the woman, is it?”
“When the woman is batshit crazy? Yeah,” he said, softly touching one of her legs. She didn’t appear to notice.
“What makes me crazy? That I don’t want to be a prisoner, or that I refuse to bow down to your ridiculous demand that I give up my freedom and turn myself over to you? Or am I crazy because I don’t jump on the chance to ride the Great and Powerful Repo’s cock at the snap of a finger?”
“Do I have to pick just one?”
She was not amused. “You might be a nice guy, in general, Repo, but you’re not the settling down type.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.”
Her brows shot into her hairline, and she jerked at her restraints. “I know the only crazy person in this room is you. And I also know that I’ve worked long enough with the Spartans to learn how each one of you ticks. You, Repo, are not a man who settles down.”
Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel Page 6
