Ginger thought about the offer for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I think we’re covered. Just lock the door on your way out?”
He gave her a friendly smile. “You got it. If you need anything, just call. Fish and I can be back in a jiff.”
She returned the smile. He was a good kid, following in his uncle’s footsteps. He’d make a good Spartan someday. “Thanks, hon. I’ll keep that in mind.”
With that, he left, and Ginger turned around, prepared to retrieve Garrick before she ended up having to pick him up off the floor, but there was no need.
Standing in the bathroom doorway, Garrick was watching her with an intensity that she’d seen too often from various members of the brotherhood. Shaking her head in disbelief, she smirked as she went to his side and tucked herself under his arm. It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t place any of his weight on her again. “You can get that idea right out of your head,” she scolded as they made the long trek back to the bed.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you do,” she said with a light laugh. “You need rest.”
“I’ve had plenty of rest,” he argued. “Besides, I’ll heal faster my way,” he said as he eased down onto the side of the bed, pulling her down onto his lap.
Ginger didn’t bother to fight him. She knew he was doing well just by looking at him, but that didn’t stop her from scooping up his pills and holding them out to him. He took them without argument and tossed them back. She gave him the bottle of water next, waiting until he swallowed some before opening the crackers and handing him one.
Then she leaned in and granted him the kiss he was searching for. Which quickly turned heated as his hand slid inside her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb skating back and forth across her nipple.
She moaned into his mouth, giving into his touch and the pleasure he delivered. “We shouldn’t do this,” she said, dropping her head back as his mouth traced a path down to her neck, and his hand dipped between her legs to rub her clit through her thin cotton jeggings.
He tossed the cracker back on the table. “Yes, we should. We so should.”
He demonstrated by pulling at her waistband and dipping his hand inside. His fingers found her pussy quickly and pushed between her already saturated folds, spreading her juices around before delving inside her hot, wet core.
Ginger’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and she moaned into his mouth as he once again began kissing her in earnest. He pumped his fingers into her until her body tightened down against them, coming hard.
Then, without wasting a second, Garrick lifted her up and turned them around, depositing her on the bed. His voice husky with desire, he told her, “Get naked, babe,” while he, too, stripped down to his birthday suit.
Ginger tore at her clothing, her eyes glued to his tall, hard frame lined with slabs of muscle and the finest dusting of hair. The remnants of his injuries were apparent, angry fuchsia scars that made her heart weep in remembrance of how close she’d come to losing him, but she forced herself to look past them to the virile man before her. He was a total silver fox, the sexiest man alive, hands down.
Spreading her legs, she gave him an unimpeded view of her swollen pussy. His eyes were on fire, roaming over every inch of her as if he wasn’t sure where to start.
Grabbing hold of his cock, he worked the shaft up and down until a bead of pre-cum oozed out, beckoning her to lick it clean, but he had other ideas.
Kneeling on the bed between her thighs, he brought the thick head to her entrance.
“Are you sure?” she asked him, afraid he might push himself too far too fast.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?” He gave her a lopsided smirk that sent her blood on fire. As he began to push his way inside her, slowly filling her, he looked into her eyes and said, “The only thing you need to be worrying about right now, babe, is where you want me to cum.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, arching beneath him as he slid in deeper, stretching her.
“Do you want me to paint these gorgeous tits,” he asked, leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth. “Or inside your tight little cunt?”
Hearing his dirty words in her ear, Ginger’s whole body shivered, and her legs constricted around his hips, pulling him in deeper.
Reaching down, Garrick hooked her legs one by one, bringing her knees up to her chest. Meeting her gaze, he gave her the sexiest smile. “I’m going to make a mess out of you.”
And he did. By the time Garrick was through with her, Ginger was dirty inside and out.
***
Ginger was a good woman. He’d always known that, but getting shot only made it even more apparent. He couldn’t have handpicked a better choice for an ol’ lady. And better still, she seemed to be warming to the idea…or at least to him.
She hadn’t fussed at all when he’d told her she was coming to stay with him, which had shocked the shit out of him. But he was smart enough to know when not to ask questions. And he had several.
Something had changed with her. He just didn’t know what. Maybe it was his near-death experience that had her rattled. Hell, he was rattled, too. But he wasn’t about to rock the boat or look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever the hell appropriate saying applied to the moment. Garrick was going to run with it.
Ginger had finally let him have her tonight, something she’d promised not to do, so he was taking it as a win. And man, it had been fan-fucking-tastic to be inside her again. Her body was rockin’, made for his hands, mouth, and cock. He’d fucked her several times over the last few hours, leaving his mark inside and out, filling her with his cock and then his cum repeatedly until they were both too tired to continue.
Then she’d rolled over, turned on the TV, and set the channel to some Walker, Texas Ranger re-runs.
Carefully, he picked the remote from Ginger’s hand, turned off the television, and set it aside. She’d fallen asleep watching his favorite show. He’d been surprised she’d even turned it on, considering the endless complaints she always had at the ready before. But she’d been willing to do it for him, knowing he liked it. And she might have fallen asleep because it bored her to tears, but her effort and willingness to please him was what stuck out. It touched him to know that she cared about him like that.
Maybe they were finally getting somewhere.
The dull pain radiating from his gunshot wounds were a throbbing heartbeat in his soft tissue, making Garrick wince. He’d overworked himself. Getting shot was always a bitch. He hadn’t felt anything of its caliber in over a decade, thanks to Blake and his determination to dig the club out of its seedy past. Funny how it always seemed to catch up though. But Ginger had done a good job taking care of him, and he was almost fully healed. A few more weeks and he’d be right as rain again.
Sitting in the dark, propped up against the pillows, Garrick replayed that night, trying to scrape together any details he might have missed, no matter how small.
His thoughts were still foggy though. He remembered fighting with Ginger, then riding out, pissed as hell, and determined to forget. Sitting at that stoplight, the black sedan rolling up on him…then the gunshots.
Whoever had been riding in that car had been careful to keep themselves hidden. When that window rolled down, all he saw was the muzzle of the gun before the flash of fire that followed the sound of the bullet exploding from the barrel.
He’d had no chance. Thank fuck he always wore his vest. He didn’t need the doctor telling him how lucky he was to still be breathing. They’d emptied a whole clip into him, half boring straight into the chest, leaving deep bruises.
Garrick reached up and covered his left shoulder where one of the bullets had torn through him. It hurt like a bitch, but the surgeons had done a good job repairing the damage. He wouldn’t lose much range of motion, and he’d still be able to ride.
Yeah, everything could have been much, much worse.
R
ubbing absently, he looked down at the sleeping beauty beside him and marveled at how such a seemingly hopeless situation had come together. And all it took was him getting shot. Ha, go figure. I should have gotten shot sooner, he mused, brushing a strand of hair back from her forehead.
Ginger was truly beautiful. She had the fine, delicate features of a woman and the heart and attitude of a lioness. Every time he looked at her, he felt a twinge in his chest. It was a feeling he’d been ignoring for years, ever since the first night they’d spent together.
He just couldn’t shake her, so he was done trying.
And now he just might have her.
She wasn’t kicking and screaming, at any rate. And he hadn’t had to kidnap her or tie her to his bed to get her to sleep with him, so things were looking up. Garrick knew one thing for certain: they’d come too far to turn back now. If she woke up with other ideas in mind, he’d just have to work harder to convince her otherwise, make her see things his way.
Sliding down under the blankets, he lifted his arm, ignoring the nagging residual pain in his shoulder and side as Ginger snuggled up against him, resting her head on his chest and curling her arm and leg over his body.
A perfect fit.
TWENTY-THREE
Taco sat at the bar with a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. It hadn’t made a sound all day. He checked again, but nothing new.
What the hell?
He’d never been one to dwell on missing texts, but for some reason, he was all twisted up inside over this one. He needed that text. The profound disappointment was uncomfortable for him, making him feel like a pussy—something he wasn’t used to.
Never in his life had Taco placed any value on whether a woman responded to his texts. He just wasn’t the kind of guy who got attached like that.
Love ‘em and leave ‘em. That was his way. Kind of like Country used to be. Which, shit, had him worrying about his mental health.
No way was he falling for a chick. That just wasn’t in his wheel house. Didn’t want it in his wheel house. Taco had no use for monogamy. Women were a complication, something to have fun with and move along afterward. Getting attached was like shooting yourself in the foot. It just wasn’t practical or advisable.
He took a drink of his beer then checked his phone again. Still nothing. He scowled, pissed at her and even more with himself. Was she ignoring him? Had something happened? The possibilities were vast and annoying the shit out of him.
He didn’t have time for this kind of aggravation.
Repo was still home recovering from the attack, leaving them a man short, and Blake had everyone operating on high-alert. More hands on deck, more men on the streets, more ears to the ground. Country had them all outfitted with vests in case of another drive-by, and the women and children were on lock-down, prospects running errands for the families so they weren’t put in unnecessary danger. Everyone was on edge.
Who the fuck had it out for them? The only logical conclusion to jump to was Cruiz and his band of bastards. The only problem with that theory was Cruiz was deader than a doornail, leaving his bastards running around like chickens with no heads.
Organizations like his took time to come back together after such a big event. His death should have crippled them for at least a few months while they fought each other for his position. So, Taco was inclined to believe it was someone else at the fore…but who?
They’d been clean for so long, he couldn’t think of a single person or group who’d have a beef with them. The Spartans no longer dealt in arms or drugs, keeping everything above board. If anything, they had friends.
So where was this coming from?
Again, his thoughts returned to Cruiz, but he couldn’t make the pieces of the puzzle come together.
The shit was enough to give him a headache. He squeezed the phone in his hand a little tighter. The silence was pissing him off. He’d been spending time with that woman, day and night, knowing the risk he was taking, and she was ghosting him? Better not be, that’s all he had to say.
If she thought for a second she was going to just fuck him over after everything he’d done for her, all the pieces he’d picked up, all the trouble he’d gone through just to be together at all, even for a single damn night, then she was mistaken. Taco was old school enough that he didn’t take that kind of shit lying down.
She’d better be dead or dying before she thought about chucking him into the wind like what they’d been up to was nothing. Otherwise, he’d make it clear as a church bell what he thought about that. Say what you gotta say to his face, that’s what was up. Simply put, Taco didn’t appreciate being ignored. He demanded and got respect.
Holding up two fingers, he summoned the temporary bartender, a pretty little number with small but perky tits, no bra needed. She was on top of it, popping the top off another cold one and setting it down in front of him. Despite that bright smile and fresh face, he missed Red standing on the other side of that counter. Nobody brought warmth to the place like she did. Something about that woman…
Repo was a lucky bastard staking claim to her. Smart too. Someone someday was going to snap her up. Might as well be him. Honestly, Taco would have done it ages ago, but Red was like a wild stallion or some shit. Spirited in a way that he wasn’t sure he could break—not that he had any interest in doing so. Something as free and majestic as her? Nah, that was something to behold. No changes necessary.
He hoped to damn sure that Repo understood that. Else he might have to put a hurtin’ on the man. And that was not a fight he’d look forward to.
Fuckin’ scary devil eyes. Gave him nightmares.
No wonder Red wasn’t so keen on signing on with him, but Taco didn’t see where she had much choice. If a woman could be castrated, Repo had effectively done that to her. One word from him, and no man would touch her. She was floating out to sea without a life preserver now, so it was either align herself with him, or diddle herself straight into the nursing home.
Personally, Taco didn’t know which the worse punishment was.
But, from the whispers he’d been picking up tonight, it sounded like Red might be coming around to Repo’s way of thinking. She’d been sticking to his side like glue this past month, but Taco wasn’t big on trusting the rumor mill. Those tended to embellish. He did know, however, that she’d been required to see to his care after the man left the hospital, and he’d witnessed her fear and anguish firsthand right after he’d been shot. The woman had been beside herself with grief. But he didn’t know if that was more because they had history, or because she was genuinely having feelings for the man.
Hard to tell sometimes with women.
Taco just knew he missed her face around the place.
Sick of listening to himself inside his own head, Taco slugged back his beer and checked his phone again, even though it hadn’t made a sound since the last time he’d looked at it. Still nothing. Whatever. He wasn’t going to chase her down. Tonight.
He was in no condition to ride out anywhere. But tomorrow was another story.
“Hey,” he called to the girl behind the counter. “If the prez needs me, I’ll be in my room.” Then he jerked his thumb behind him as he stood, only teetering on his feet a little.
She nodded, her eyes flashing that familiar look that he recognized well. But Taco wasn’t in the mood to extend an invitation. She just didn’t do it for him.
Which, come on, was a warning in and of itself. Taco had never been a picky eater. But apparently, his tastes had changed.
What the fuck ever with that too. He wasn’t in the mood for self-analysis.
Sleep. That’s what he needed. Sleep and a clear mind, then he was going to tackle the hell out of this little…issue in the morning.
***
Tucker hadn’t been sleeping well. Hell, how could anyone be expected to sleep when there were nefarious fuckers roaming the city shooting at his bros? He wanted to track them down and draw blood, but he was holding back, keeping
his shit together. For now.
Talia wouldn’t allow it anyway. Going off half-cocked wasn’t allowed. She made that very clear. Tucker was listening to the little woman: one, because he loved her and he’d do anything to make her happy, and two, because she was watching his ass like a hawk. He literally couldn’t get up for a drink of water without her eyeballs tracking his every move.
That was going to make sneaking out hard. Not that he was planning to. Just…he liked having options.
“It’s late, sugar. Aren’t you going to go to bed?”
“I will when you will,” Talia said in a conversational tone that belied the argument just waiting to happen. She was spoiling for a fight, ready to throw down some words at the drop of a hat.
He knew that stubborn look of hers all too well—tight jaw, lips thinned, unblinking stare. And those arms crossed under her tits, pushing them up high and drawing his eye, even though she had zero intention of giving him any of that sugar.
Cue internal sigh. It was a good thing Tucker was a—somewhat—patient man. He would wait her out, then he’d punish her later. Maybe a good paddling would relieve the tension. Oh yeah, he could already see her tight little ass over his lap, cheeks red with his handprint.
Damn.
He shifted his hardening cock, smirking when Talia’s gaze flashed on the movement. She didn’t look the least bit enticed.
Hell, he was going to try anyway. “You wanna fool around?”
“No.”
Sliding in closer, Tucker draped his arm over her shoulders, ignoring how stiff she was. “You mad at me, sweets?”
“No. I’m just waiting for you to piss me off.”
He chuckled. “Baby, if you wanted to fight, all you had to do was say so. I’ll help you blow off some steam.” He nuzzled the side of her head, inhaling the sweet fragrance of her hairspray or shampoo or whatever frilly woman stuff she was currently using.
Vigor: A Spartan Riders Novel Page 15
