Any other night, any other time, he’d have jumped on his motorcycle and rode out to Blake’s house to demand answers that no one else would get until he was damn good and ready to give them, but tonight…
Tonight, he had somewhere else he’d rather be. And it wasn’t on the back of his bike.
ELEVEN
Sweet freedom. There was no telling how long it would take for Garrick to figure out that she’d slipped out the bathroom window, but Ginger was free now, and she was going to run as fast as her size ten feet could carry her.
Which was hard since apparently, he didn’t believe in concrete driveways. Being in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest, the terrain was about what you’d expect: sharp stones, pine needles, and pitfalls everywhere. She was going to be on crutches for the next month, no doubt. And it was all his stupid fault for being a caveman.
What did he think she was going to do, fall over onto her back with her legs in the air and bend to his every whim? As tempting as it sounded, Ginger was not and never would be a pushover. She simply wasn’t born to serve a man. Unless it was a beer from behind a bar. Garrick needed to learn that he wasn’t going to get his way just because he said so. She was an independent woman with an independent mind. She wasn’t about to take his bullshit lying down, standing up, or sideways.
If it was a fight he wanted, she was ready to serve it up.
“Ouch! You sonofabitch.” Grimacing, she plucked another needle from between her toes and continued, hop-stepping along as fast as she could without breaking anything.
If only it was light out, she would be better able to navigate the path, but being that she was currently on the run, she was glad for the dark. If he came after her, then she’d have a heads up, and there were plenty of places she could hide, trees to duck behind and ditches to flatten herself in.
When the beaten path finally gave way to asphalt, Ginger nearly fell to her knees to kiss the ground, but there was no time for that. She had to keep going, find shelter.
And the only shelter she would be running for was her own. In a town like hers, where bikers ruled, and everyone knew everyone and everything, she couldn’t afford to trust anyone. If she found a house, they’d only need to be asked to turn her over to the Spartans, and then she’d no doubt be right back to square one.
Because she knew those men. They had each other’s backs in all things, and if Garrick was determined to make her his own, then no doubt more than one of the brothers was on his side. She’d bet money that Blake was in the know. As the president, he was privy to everything that happened in and around the club and with his men.
So, she was going to avoid the likes of him.
Assholes. Every man in the world seemed to have an agenda, and she was so sick and tired of finding herself on the wrong end of them. First with Hawke and now with Repo. Well, if she didn’t love her life so much, she’d just blow them all off and move, find a new bar to tend with normal, level-headed people.
But she loved her friends and her life, so that wasn’t an option. She just needed to find a way to make Garrick understand that she wasn’t going to change for him, nor was she going to commit to him. They weren’t going to be together the way he wanted, and that was that.
A casual hook up? Sure. Long-term, answer to his every command? Not a chance in hell.
“Dammit!” Limping, Ginger lifted her foot and swore as she picked a fragment of rock from her heel. She really should have thought ahead and taken her shoes. But when she’d gone into the bathroom, she hadn’t been planning ahead. She’d simply started the shower with the intention of relieving her tension with hot water when she saw the sliver of window set high into the wall and hatched her escape.
It was probably the only reason she was free now. Had she planned it all out, she might have given something away, and Garrick would have smelled her deception a mile away, and she’d still be stuck prisoner in that house.
At least he wasn’t completely psychotic, though. She knew that he would come after her, but he’d never hurt her. Not in the traditional sense anyway. Not how Hawke would have. No, Garrick would probably rip her clothes off and fuck her into next week as punishment.
Her core clenched at the thought.
All things considered, it wasn’t an unappealing thing to imagine. He had a rockin’ body and a gorgeous face. That rough and tumble look was devastating, and that craggy voice in her ear would be orgasmic. Aside from random and brief encounters over the years, she had one epic night to compare it to, to call up all her fantasies on a moment’s notice, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine how the encounter would go down. He’d probably just sweep her up, toss her over his shoulder, then throw her into bed before climbing on top and going to town all over every inch of her body, clear into the morning hours.
It was almost tempting enough to turn back and hand herself over. But Ginger would never do that. Never.
He was going to own her over her dead body.
It took about ten minutes to reach anyplace in town no matter where you started from. It ended up taking Ginger thirty at least, with her bruised feet, to reach her shitty apartment complex. She hobbled her way up to the second floor and was relieved not to find Garrick waiting on her. Which meant he either hadn’t realized she was gone yet, or he was on his way.
Maybe it wasn’t the smartest plan to go home, the most obvious place to look, but she had nowhere else to go and no one to trust but herself. At least she had neighbors and walls and locked windows and a door to barricade herself behind. And the steel baseball bat in her closet was a guaranteed knee-breaker if things got dicey.
Once she reached the landing in front of her door, Ginger issued another curse. No keys. Yet another reminder of how poorly planned her daring escape was. But she was still grateful she had taken the chance when she had.
The curtains in the apartment next door rustled, catching Ginger’s attention for a brief moment. She’d never seen the tenant move in, and whoever he was, he was kind of creepy the way he stayed holed up in there day and night, but at least he was quiet. The only movement she ever saw was the curtains moving whenever she left or returned. But it’d been over a month, and he hadn’t spoken a word to her nor did anything else that got her hackles up, so she was starting to dismiss him as just an odd and lonely soul, maybe someone with a mental problem. She wasn’t going to judge. As long as he left her alone, they were cool. Live and let live, as they said.
Remembering the bobby pins in her hair, holding on by a tangled thread, she smiled and got to work picking her own lock.
It was a damn good thing she had picked up some handy skills in her time with the Spartans. They may not allow women to ride or rule in any way, but they’d taught her a lot. Like how to start a fire with her compact mirror. She could also change her own oil and fix her POS stove whenever it decided to be an asshole and quit working.
They were good for a lot of things. Just another reason to continue hanging around. Although, Garrick was making that mighty difficult, wasn’t he?
It only took a moment to jimmy the lock. Although her bobby pin was ruined, Ginger was happy to be in the safety and comfort of her home again.
With a quick glance at the desolate parking lot for any sign of bikers, she quickly locked the door and set the chain. As she limped her way through the apartment toward the bathroom, she kept the lights off—one could never be too careful. The last thing she wanted to do was announce that she was, in fact, home.
Playing it safe had never been so oppressive, she thought as she wet a washcloth and seated herself on the closed toilet lid. It was difficult to see clearly in the dark, but the nightlight provided enough illumination to see that the soles of her feet were a mess—black as tar and covered in debris. Gently, she wiped the warm cloth over her tender and bruised skin, revealing several small lacerations, some bleeding and some superficial.
Why did feet have to be so sensitive she wondered once she was finished cleaning up and placed pressure
on them as she stood. Now that the adrenalin had worn off, her heels felt like a pair of testicles that had been used as punching bags.
As Ginger crept into her bedroom, the fluffy carpet only barely relieving some of her discomfort, she dreaded the knowledge that she’d have to call into the club the following evening and let them know she wouldn’t be making it in for a few days.
There was no way she could tend the bar with her feet feeling like they’d been put through a meat grinder. Assuming everyone already knew that she’d been kidnapped by Repo, it was going to raise some red flags. No doubt she’d have motorcycles parked outside her apartment within the hour, too, men in leather determined to drag her back into captivity post haste.
Bah! How had she gotten into this mess? Ginger had been diligent about not leading anyone on when she took them to her bed, treating them as they did any random woman. So why did Repo have to go and get a case of the feels? And why for her?
She supposed any other woman would feel blessed, even flattered by the attention, but she just felt smothered.
My lord, he’d kidnapped her! That wasn’t flattering. That was psychotic. Thinking of Hawke, she asked herself if she just attracted the deeply damaged or if all men were just chauvinist buffoons.
A yawn caught Ginger off guard, and she let herself fall back onto the bed. It’d been a long ass day, and she was exhausted—emotionally and physically. Thanks, Repo! All she wanted to do was close her eyes and get lost in dreamland, and when she woke up, she wanted tonight to be nothing but a bad dream.
She was drifting to sleep when she heard the low rumble in the distance. To the layman, it could easily be mistaken as thunder from an approaching storm.
But rain wasn’t in the forecast. Eyes snapping open, Ginger knew exactly what the source of the sound was, and it only became clearer the closer it got.
The only storm that was approaching tonight was clad in leather and rode a Harley.
Ginger could lie and say she was scared, but the truth was…she wasn’t. A fresh wave of adrenalin pumped through Ginger’s veins as she sat up and stared at the empty doorway looking out into the dark hall, her need for sleep forgotten. There would be plenty of time for sleep when she was dead…which might very well be sooner rather than later.
Sitting in silence, still as a statue, Ginger listened to the sound of the motorcycle pull up outside, followed by the heavy stomp of boots up the stairs, then the gentle clicks of the front door’s lock being unlocked—the jerk had her keys. She’d have smiled if she wasn’t so irritated by the audacity of her intruder.
Her head finally began to pound once he was inside, and her ears tracked his strong, confident movement as he made a beeline for her room. Like her, he didn’t turn any lights on, and like something out of a nightmare, Repo was suddenly filling her doorway, his mass taking up the whole damn thing as he glared at her.
Lifting her chin, Ginger figured she might as well be the first to speak, assert her dominance. Her tone casual, almost bored, she said, “Took you long enough.”
“You snuck out on me.”
“I wasn’t exactly quiet about it,” she informed him as she scooted herself back farther onto the bed and crossed her feet at the ankles. “If you weren’t so hard of hearing, you might have heard me.”
“I hear just fine,” he growled.
“Old men say what?”
“What?” he asked with a frown.
A smile exploded across her face. “Too easy, old man.”
“Call me that again,” Repo warned her, taking a threatening step into the room.
Never one for being threatened, and spoiling for a fight, Ginger sat up, her fists pressing into the mattress on either side of her. “Old. Man.”
The only thing that came out of her mouth after that was a scream.
TWELVE
Repo had her pinned and immobile beneath him in the span of a heartbeat. How was that for old! He had energy in spades, and one of these days, he was going to prove it to her—all night long.
“I’ve about had it with your mouth, Red,” he growled, staring down into her warm, vibrant brown eyes.
“That’s the first time a man has ever said that to me,” she said with a put-upon frown that was as fake as the lashes on the last bunny who’d made a pass at him at The Tavern.
Repo was not amused. “Don’t talk to me about other men. Ever.”
“Just speaking the truth. I’m not a nun, Repo.” She wiggled her hips beneath him, rubbing her mound against his balls in a way that made them draw up tight. “But you know that already, don’t you?”
“You tempt me, woman, to your own peril.”
For someone who acted as if it were a death sentence to be claimed by him, Repo couldn’t understand her persistent need to push his every single button. If she wasn’t running from him, she was testing the limits of his patience…something he lacked severely with anyone else.
“Oh, Repo—”
“Garrick,” he reminded her.
“Isn’t that what I said? Anywho… You and I both know you’d never lay a finger on me.”
Repo’s eyebrows popped up. Currently, he was laying parts of himself all over her. Hell, his dick was wedged right up tight against her pussy, and it was lamenting its inability to get closer to all that heat.
Rolling her eyes, Ginger said, “You know what I mean. You’re not a violent man.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
“I’m not talking about your job. You don’t hit women. You would never hurt me.”
“How can you be so sure.”
“Because I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not that kind of man. And besides, the brothers wouldn’t allow it.”
She was right. The Spartans had cleaned up a lot over the years, and they stood for much more than they had at the beginning. Blake would tan his and anyone else’s hide if he thought any one of them had hurt a female. That’s how Hawke lost his position in the club, after all.
They might not be perfect, and they certainly weren’t angels, but the Spartans were respectable. Despite his dislike that she had him pegged so easily, Repo felt pride knowing that she trusted him with her safety and security. And when he looked into her eyes, his belief about her was right—no fear. Not a single drop. That was a hell of a good foundation to build on.
“You know,” Repo mused as something occurred to him, “I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
Ginger’s light red brows pulled together in the middle.
“When you break a horse, for example, you have to be relentless, corner it, force it into submission.”
“I’m not a damn horse,” she snapped back.
“Yes, exactly. I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.” Relaxing his hold on her wrists, Repo lowered the rest of his body down onto her, allowing the fullness of his weight to hold her in place. Framing her head with his hands, he brushed her wild mane back from her face.
“I don’t think you need to be broken, Red,” he said, his voice rough and full of gravel. “You’ve already been broken. What you need is a gentle hand.” To demonstrate, Repo transferred his right hand to her hip, skating his palm down the outside of her thigh. As her breathing began to escalate, he knew he was on the right track and curled his fingers around her leg, pulling it free from beneath him and hitching it up around his waist.
His hips settled between hers, and he took full advantage of the new position, rocking his rock-hard cock against her molten core, so there was no mistaking his intentions. When her lips parted on a soft, nearly silent gasp, Repo’s lips twitched in satisfaction.
“You need someone to show you what it’s like to be treated like a woman, like someone who matters.”
“I get plenty of that from every man I’ve ever been with,” she said defiantly.
But Repo wasn’t fooled. Her bravado was all about hiding the pain. He understood that all too well. “Red, babe, those men were using you just as much as you we
re using them, and you know it.” Lowering his head, he stuck out his tongue and licked the seam of her lips. A whimper of noise leaped from her, and she jerked her head back, pressing deeper into the pillow. Just like a frightened mare, he mused once again.
“Don’t you think it’s about time to know what it feels like to have the focus of one man, a man who knows what he wants and gets it? A man who will see to your safety and treat you with respect, never raise a hand to you, provide for you.”
“A man like you, you mean.” She glared at him as if the very idea was abominable.
“Yes, Red, me. Wear my patch, and you’ll never have to worry about anything again. I’ll take care of you.”
“For the small price of my submission, right? If I promise to shut my mouth and defer to you in all things?”
“Being an ol’ lady comes with some strings, yes, but—”
“Not interested,” she cut him off. “I won’t give up my freedom and become some Stepford wife just so I can have some man take care of me. FYI: I don’t need caring for. I do that just fine myself.”
“And I admire that about you, babe. You’re not out there like the rest of them trying to hook a brother just to get into his pockets. You fund yourself, and that’s sexy as hell to a man like me.”
“Then why would you want to take care of me?”
“Because I’m a man, and a man takes care of what’s his.”
She glanced away briefly, and Repo smiled inside, sensing victory. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve already claimed me, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, in your eyes, that makes me yours already.”
“That’s right.”
If possible, her glare deepened. “Then why haven’t you paid my rent yet? Or my car payment? And I don’t see you buying groceries to fill my fridge. And I’m guessing you claimed me days if not weeks ago, considering everyone at the compound knew about it before me, so from where I’m standing, you’re not doing a very good job of holding up your end. So, again, I’m not interested.”
Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel Page 8
