Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel

by J.C. Valentine

  “I was married once,” he pointed out.

  “And look how well that turned out.”

  He resented that. It wasn’t his fault it didn’t work out—not entirely. “You have a lot of room to talk.” Pushing off the bed, Garrick began shedding his clothes.

  “Okay, so she was a bitch and did you dirty, but even as young as I was, I saw how you acted. I see it now too,” she said to his back. “You want a woman who will sit pretty and clean your home and raise up the kids while you ride around the country, taking off whenever you please, no questions asked, no answers provided, and expect dinner on the table when you return. You want the homemaker, doting wife who will keep her mouth shut and get down on her knees on command. In case you haven’t noticed, Repo, I’m not that woman.”

  Jaw tight, Garrick ground out, “Garrick. I told you to call me Garrick.”

  “And I told you to call me Ginger, but all I’ve been hearing is Red and babe. Fair’s fair, old man.”

  His fists clenched on a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Yanking it off the shelf, Garrick jammed his legs into them, the waistband snapping against his hips. “I’m barely ten years older than you. Therefore, not old.”

  He bent down then to pick up his dirty clothes. Both knees crackled and popped, sounding like a box of Rice Krispies.

  Ginger giggled. “Riiiiight. If you say so.”

  Carrying his clothes into the adjoining bathroom, he ignored her. He was not going to play into her insults. “Are you hungry?”

  She thought for a moment. “You know, now that you mention it, I have this inexplicable craving for cereal. Do you have any Rice Krispies by chance?”

  The tendon in his jaw jumped, and his eyes narrowed on her. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  NINE

  “You do realize that Walker Texas Ranger dates you,” Ginger commented as she poured herself another bowl of Rice Krispies and added the milk. The satisfying hiss and pop brought about another one of Garrick’s trademark scowls that amused her far more than words could ever say.

  When she’d been tied to his bed, she’d come to realize that very little could get under the skin of a man who spent his life not caring, not feeling. That wasn’t to say that Garrick was a cold-hearted bastard, even though every shred of evidence she had suggested he was. In actuality, he was a sweet guy. He just didn’t allow much past that barbed wire, steel enforced exterior.

  But as she’d mentioned before, she knew the Spartans. She knew what made them tick. She knew their worries and doubts, and yes, even some of their most closely guarded secrets. Men liked to say that women were gossips? Give them an orgasm and use a soft enough voice and their jaws came unhinged just. Like. That.

  It was like taking candy from a baby.

  So yeah, she knew exactly where the chinks in Garrick’s armor were, and the first chance she had, she took it. Worked like a charm.

  Garrick Stone, hard-as-nails killer and VP of the Spartans from back in their heyday when they raised all kinds of hell and followed zero rules, was a sensitive soul when it came to his age. He was one of the oldest members in the club, a one-percenter who would eventually age out once the day came when he could no longer ride.

  That day was very far away, but she knew it weighed on him. There was nothing quite like watching young, fresh blood continually being introduced to drive the point home that you were getting older by the day. Garrick was a victim of his own mortality, an awareness that everyone faced at some point in their lives.

  Which made Ginger wonder if maybe the reason for him latching onto this asinine idea that she was somehow his property, or should be, had something to do with that. Was he in the midst of a mid-life crisis? Feeling the pull to give his life meaning before he bit the dust?

  If he was in that mindset, then he was crazy, no matter how much she understood where he was coming from. Garrick Stone was easily one of the sexiest, most beautiful men she’d ever known. He was honest and true to his word, even when that truth could gut you. He didn’t believe in mincing words or sparing feelings. He told it to you straight, every time. He was loyal to a fault. Sweet when he wanted to be, which was rare, but that made it all the sweeter when it did happen. He was also wise, which was hard to come by in a man, at least in her experience. The best thing about Garrick was his moral compass was rock solid. He had a standard of living and never wavered from it. If something didn’t fit his standard, he ended it on the spot or walked away. It was that simple.

  She admired so much about him, and yet he was hung up on something as silly as age. Well, even though she might rib him about it, she didn’t think he was old at all. And all that white hair? It made him appear distinguished…and made her weak in the knees.

  Back when Ginger was eighteen, she’d had the biggest crush on him. A friend had made her come along to one of their notorious parties, and even though she’d been uneasy, the instant she’d laid eyes on Repo, every intelligent thought flew out the window. It hadn’t mattered that she’d once dated Blake, Repo’s president’s son, or that she’d taken his virginity or that he’d thought he was in love with her. All she’d known in that instant was an undeniable attraction to the towering man dressed in head-to-toe leather with a killing look in his eye drinking his beer. He’d glanced her way, and the natural predatory look in his eyes enraptured her.

  Nothing had ever been the same for Ginger, from that moment on. She’d done everything in her power to make herself known to him—hanging around a lot, flirting, wearing next to nothing—until he’d finally approached her one night. The party was out of control, made her nervous, but he was her main focus, always was. He’d saved her that night, then without a word, just a silent exchange in the meeting of their eyes, he’d pulled her inside the clubhouse and taken her to bed.

  He’d changed her life that night. Meaning, his subsequent rejection and her guilt over hurting Blake sent Ginger careening in the wrong direction. Hawke had seemed to appear out of nowhere, and she’d leaped onto that crazy train heedless of the direction it was headed as an escape. Total disaster, as it’d turned out.

  Funny how one night could change everything.

  Well, Ginger wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. There was a reason for everything, of that she was certain. That Garrick had disregarded her like yesterday’s trash when she’d valued their connection far more than it was apparently worth said a lot. It said that she would be a lunatic to ever make herself vulnerable to him like that again.

  So, he’d finally come across time for her? Well, sorry, Kyle Fucking Reese, but this wasn’t a movie, and no one but her was her savior. Much like Sara Conner was by the second Terminator movie, she’d more than learned how to watch out for her own ass, and she would be damned if she ever weakened herself for another man.

  Garrick could tie her to every bed in the state, he could rock her world from here to Timbuktu, issue every command in the book and hold her prisoner indefinitely, but she’d still never agree to wear his patch. There were just some compromises she wasn’t willing to make, and being an ol’ lady was at the very top of that list.

  Garrick, clearly unamused by her comment, stared at the television as if it had insulted his mother. He was just as tough and rugged as she remembered from that first night they met, but, like a fine wine, he was somehow even better now than back then. Time had been very good to Garrick.

  And that train of thought was exactly what was going to get her into trouble.

  Shoveling another spoonful of cereal into her mouth, Ginger actively set about annoying the shit out of him. Her theory? If she could really, thoroughly piss him off, maybe he’d do them both a favor and cut the crazy, return her to her life, and they could laugh this off as temporary insanity.

  “You know, I really love this show. You could say that Walker roundhouse kicked his way into my heart.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  Ginger shrugged. “I’m just saying that Walker could roundhouse his way around
my house any time,” she said, adding a suggestive wink that didn’t make Garrick smile in the slightest. But she did. “Did you know that he once brought a lamb back to life only to roundhouse kick it back to death, because the good Chuck giveth and the good Chuck taketh away.”

  “Are you finished?”

  Ginger looked at her empty bowl thoughtfully. “I could probably use another bowl. Then again, the amount of sugar I put in it is going to end up going straight to my thighs…”

  “Did you consider not dumping so much in? I’m surprised you don’t have diabetes with the way you consume that shit.”

  Ginger looked at him, aghast. “Have you ever eaten this stuff without sugar? Bleh! No flavor whatsoever.”

  Eyebrows popping up, Garrick said, “Then why the hell did you eat two bowls?”

  “Why does the sun shine? Why is the sky blue?” she asked rhetorically.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He glared. Really and truly glared. Which pleased her more than words could ever describe. Ginger gave him a flirtatious smile. At this rate, he’d be taking her home by morning. Earlier if she could swing it.

  And she had the perfect motivator for him.

  As the end credits rolled for the show, she snatched the remote from the table before he could reach for it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Finding something good to watch.” Pulling up an app on his very nice, very large flat screen, Ginger scrolled through the list of available movies. When she found what she was looking for, she hit play.

  “What is this?”

  “If you don’t know what it is, then I’m not going to blow the surprise.”

  “Is it a chick flick? Because I don’t do those and that’s what this looks like.”

  “Oh, honey,” she said with a tilt of her head, “by the time this is over, you’re going to be asking yourself why you waited so long to watch it. It’s gonna change your life.”

  “Is there action in it?”

  “Sure, why not.” She focused on the screen now, silently laughing to herself and hoping he didn’t notice.

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I don’t know, Garrick. Why don’t you?”

  He didn’t have a ready response, for which she was grateful. The last thing Ginger wanted from him was another cutting remark. Whenever he issued one her way, which was rare, it hurt more than it should.

  Which was exactly why she was going to enjoy this.

  TEN

  “This is not a damned action flick.”

  Pressing her hand between her pert breasts, Ginger looked the part of equally shocked and guilty as hell. “You don’t say?”

  “You knew it was a romance and you lied to me,” Repo accused.

  “Well, to be fair, the title alone should have tipped you off.”

  “The Notebook could have been anything. Like a list of Mafioso names.”

  “And don’t even get me started on the cover,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken a word.

  “You can’t trust those things!” he defended. “Everything is geared toward sex these days.”

  She pointed at him, eyes widening. “Now that sounded old, even from you, gramps.”

  A muscle in Repo’s jaw ticked. He wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. Ginger had been mocking him all night, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was taking jabs at him just to piss him off.

  What pissed him off…was that it was working.

  Damn her. The woman knew how to push all his buttons. He wanted to be pushing her buttons. The only thing he’d gotten since bringing her into his home was a headache, and he was seriously beginning to question if he had made the right decision taking possession of her. Maybe what Ginger needed wasn’t force to convince her, but seduction. Maybe, after all this time, she’d hardened her mind and heart because she wasn’t used to being treated properly by the men in her life.

  Sure, the brothers all treated her with respect, and she held a position within the club that was about as high as one could reach as a woman, but at the end of the day, she was nothing but a glorified bunny. Ginger ran the roost. She held down the fort when the men were away. She guided and taught the women who stayed. She had the ear of every brother, and the respect to go along with it. But she’d been run through the wringer a time or two, and even he knew what a toll that took on a person’s psyche.

  There came a point when people broke and stopped trying, stopped looking for the silver lining, for the happiness they deserved. That’s when they started believing they didn’t need anyone but themselves.

  They were wrong.

  Everyone needed someone to soften life’s blows. Someone to anchor them to the world, give them purpose, give their lives meaning.

  That’s what Repo missed most about marriage. Even though his had been shit, he was needed. Even if it was only for his wallet, the security he could provide. He’d just given all of that to the wrong woman.

  Instinct told him that Ginger was the kind of woman who would hold that responsibility in a firm but gentle grip, care for and nurture it. He just had to dig a little deeper to reach that soft core.

  She had one somewhere. He knew she did.

  Shifting to face her, Repo studied a face that was all delicate slopes and angles. Hair that rivaled the most brilliant sunset. She’d never been more stunning than in that moment, there on his couch, looking just a little bit smug and a touch nervous. He liked that he had that effect on her. For all her hard-as-nails posturing, Ginger was still just a woman who needed the love of the right man. He was that man, and going by the flare of interest in her eyes and the way her breathing had sped up, he was pretty sure she knew that too.

  “What are you scared of?”

  She jerked in surprise. Not what she’d expected? Good. Diverting her gaze, she considered the question. “Sharks, spiders, planes, and roller coasters. In that order.”

  A beat of silence, and then a burst of laughter erupted from him. He rubbed the space between his brows to temper the reaction. “I meant, what about me are you scared of?”

  “Nothing.” Her glare could have been lethal if he actually feared her. But for as hard as she liked to play it, Ginger was a softie beneath it all. In that way, she was just like his brothers. They all had a soft underbelly they didn’t want anyone else to see. But just like Blake, all it would take was the right person to come along and scratch it to bring it to the surface.

  “I like how you lie, Red. It’s going to make figuring you out a lot more fun.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out, Garrick. I don’t want you. The sooner you learn that the sooner we can end this charade and get back to business.”

  “And what business is that, sweetheart.”

  “For me? Taking a shower and going to bed. Being tied up all afternoon like cattle has a way of tuckering me out.”

  She was off the couch and disappearing into his bedroom in the amount of time it took to blink, and Repo just sat there, looking at the indent of where she’d sat, the empty bowl she’d eaten from on his table, and listening to the sound of the shower running in the background.

  All he could think of was how good it was to not be alone. To have some life back in the house after all this time.

  He liked having Ginger under his roof. Liked the idea of her eating his food and using his furniture. Liked knowing she was sleeping in his bed.

  He didn’t care what it took, how much time he had to spend. He planned to keep her. It was as good as done already. He’d give her tonight to get used to the idea of being under his thumb. After that, he was going for the kill shot. She’d bend for him of her own will, or he’d find a way to make her.

  Repo stood from the couch, prepared to go into that bathroom and make his presence known when the phone in his pocket vibrated. For just a second, he considered not answering it, instinct telling him it wasn’t anything he wanted to hear or be inv
olved with.

  By the third buzz, he knew he couldn’t let it go. The only time that phone made any sound was when it involved club business, and the club was his business. He’d lived and breathed the life, so it didn’t matter what his dick wanted. He was answering that call because he couldn’t not.

  “I’m going to regret this,” he mumbled as he pulled out the phone and keyed in his passcode. Bringing it to his ear, he barked, “This had better be good.”

  “You in the middle of somethin’ important,” Country asked with a chuckle.

  The man was a true Southern gentleman, but he was also a damn good brother. Knew his shit, did his time, earned his trust. Repo would never let him know it, but he respected the hell out of the guy. “You can say that,” was his tight reply. “Whaddaya want.”

  There was a clearing of his throat and then, “Blake’s calling church. I’m letting everyone know. First thing tomorrow morning at his place.”

  “Why the house?” It wasn’t their normal venue. Church, traditionally, had always been held at the compound. It was the only place they could be positive was free of listening ears and prying eyes.

  Until the Feds stuck their noses in where they didn’t belong, that is.

  “Ask him when you see him. I’m just the delivery boy.”

  “How the mighty have fallen,” Repo mocked.

  “Was that a joke?”

  Country couldn’t see the faint smile Repo wore, but it was there, hidden beneath his ‘stash. “Call it what you want. Tell Blake I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “Noon.”

  “Always is.” He hung up without preamble. Then Repo just stood there, in the middle of the living room, staring at the door to his bedroom while clutching his phone in his hand, and wondering what the hell to do next.

  Church was always a way to sort club business, set down boundaries, dole out jobs, catch everyone up. And like any good service, it was almost always held on a Sunday. This wasn’t a Sunday. Which had Repo’s hackles up. Something wasn’t right, and he had no way of knowing what that was for several more hours.