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 involved 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.
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.