SEVENTEEN
“The place is crawling with them. They know I’m here,” he hissed into the phone. He always knew it’d be a problem living next door to the bitch. Anyone associated with the Spartans was a threat. But that was the point, wasn’t it.
The bartender. Surrogate mother of the Spartan brotherhood. The redhead was his biggest threat. And they were taunting him.
“Calm down, pendejo. They don’t know shit.”
“How do you know. You’re not here. The place is crawling with them.” He peeled back the corner of the heavy, harvest gold drapes with a finger.
Yep, they were everywhere. Bikers. He couldn’t get away from them.
He hadn’t signed up for this level of stress.
“You looking out that window again?” Manuel barked. “Jesus fucking Christ, cabrón! That’s what’s going to get you noticed. Get out the fucking window!” He issued a slew of Spanish that was probably a load of insults.
“Look, you have to get me out of here.” He couldn’t take it anymore. Being cooped up in that apartment day in and day out was driving him insane.
Manuel sighed. “Not yet.”
“When?” he demanded.
“Soon.”
That’s what he always said. It wasn’t good enough. Ever since he’d gotten in deep with the former leader, Ricky Cruiz, his life had steadily declined. Empty promises and buckets of lies, it was nothing they’d said it’d be. Being on the run from the government and spying on a gang of bikers was not how he’d envisioned his life at forty. No, he was supposed to be lying on a sunny beach in the Riviera with a Corona in one hand, a pair of tits in the other, and his pockets lined with cash.
Instead, he was holed up in a shit apartment with no money, no car, and his every move monitored. And not by the cops. He would be relieved if that were his only problem. But he had the focus of the cartel on him, making demands and issuing threats if he didn’t deliver, and where was his payoff? When did he get what was due him?
“You promised. You said it would all be taken care of.”
“And it will be,” Manuel drawled with that lazy fucking accent that was starting to grate on his nerves. “You just have to be patient.”
“I’ve been plenty patient!” he snarled. “I want out of here. I want what’s mine.” He’d done enough for the cartel, as far as he was concerned. It was time they delivered for once.
There was a long pause in which he wondered if he’d finally pushed Manuel too hard, and that made him nervous. Manuel acted as the go-between, bringing him food and supplies. He was his only source of communication with the outside world, and he was the one who dealt directly with the new leader of the cartel because when you cut the head off the snake, there was always another ready to take its place.
It hadn’t taken more than a few days after Cruiz’s untimely demise before his operation was under new command and running as fluid as water again.
“What have I told you about taking that tone with me.”
Shit, he’d fucked up again. Heart pounding, he said, “I—”
“Fuck your excuses! You ever speak to me like that again, I’ll cut your fucking tongue out of your head and feed it to my dogs. Now you listen up. You’re gonna sit pretty like you were told, and you’re going to keep your fucking mouth shut. Watch that bitch and her boys, and then you report back to me. And for fuck’s sake, keep that ugly ass mug out of the goddamn window. You’re not a fucking dog waiting for the mailman.”
Thoroughly shamed, he scrubbed a hand through his ratty hair—he needed a cut so bad. Dropping his arm, he lowered his head on his shoulders and closed his eyes. “Okay, Manuel, I hear you. I’ll sit tight. But please, please tell your boss I need out of this place ASAP. I can’t be here much longer. I’d be more useful out in the field. I know people, I have connections. I can get whatever intel you need. I just need out of here,” he intoned, hoping to impress upon Manuel the importance of him getting the hell out of there.
“I hear you. I’ll put in a word, but I ain’t making any guarantees.”
A note of relief had his shoulders sagging. “Thanks, Manuel.”
The line went dead. Manual never was very good with goodbyes. Leaning against the wall between the window and door, he listened to the ruckus going on next door, and, out of habit, he reached for the curtains before remembering Manuel’s harshly spoken words.
Yanking his hand back, he forced himself to walk away instead. The television. If he was lucky, he might get a station to come in on the rabbit ears. If he was really lucky, maybe some scrambled porn. Having no visuals sucked, but at least he could hear what was going on, and that was good enough for his imagination to get things done.
***
“So, who’s your buddy?” Moose asked as he built a mammoth taco. There was zero chance in hell he’d ever get that tortilla to close.
After the brothers brought her a new stove and set it all up, Ginger saw no better way to thank them than to cook them a meal. Men were always hungry, and she didn’t mind taking care of her boys. The look of pure satisfaction as they shoveled food into their mouths, moaned their approval, and generally made a mess of her home was actually pretty damn great.
Wiping her hands on a napkin—the only one being used—Ginger glanced at the wall separating her from her neighbor.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met him.”
Moose’s brows popped up. “Never? Not even a hello in passing?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think he leaves much. We’ve never crossed paths.”
“Well,” Taco said as he tucked a piece of shredded lettuce back inside his tortilla then went back to staring at his phone, “that’s not strange at all.”
“He’s probably a psycho killer on the run from the law,” Country suggested ever so helpfully as he darted a curious glance at Taco. The man and that phone had been inseparable all day. Even Ginger was growing curious about who he was talking to.
Ginger glared at Country. “Thanks so much for that. I’m sure I’ll sleep just great tonight.”
“Just stating facts.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure Mr. Claus wouldn’t mind letting Mrs. Claus sit on his lap all…night…long,” he drawled, a wicked gleam making his eyes shine.
Feeling Repo’s blue-eyed stare on her, Ginger glanced over at him then immediately away again.
Since she’d kissed him—voluntarily—she could feel that things were different between them. Maybe they’d never really changed. She just knew that she felt more connected to him than ever now, like she enjoyed having him around…which totally went against her whole I’ll-never-bow-down-to-him spiel. And she wouldn’t. Of course not. But it did kind of put a damper on all her arguments to date.
She looked over at him again. Found him staring again. When one side of his mouth turned up, she knew she was in trouble. I’ll never shake him now.
She wasn’t quite she sure wanted to either.
Gathering her empty plate, she stepped away from the counter they’d all been standing at and walked over to the sink to rinse it. “I’ve been living alone for a few years now. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Who said anything about babysitting?” Country asked. “I was talking about good old-fashioned—”
“Shut your mouth,” Repo interjected.
“Well, not that,” Country continued. “The mouth is actually a very important tool if you want to pleas—”
“Zip it, or I’ll happily knock every one of your pearly whites down your throat,” Repo growled, except Ginger could hear the smile lurking in his voice—the only kind he really wore.
“Whoa, old timer,” Country placated, “no need to get testy. Assuming they haven’t shriveled up, am I right?” He chuckled, nudging Taco with his elbow.
Taco, smart enough to know better than to rile the grizzly, crammed the last of his taco into his mouth and muttered something intelligible as he left the counter to join Ginger. When he flared his eyes, she stifled a laugh.
If Country wasn’t careful, he was going to get his ass kicked.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today,” Repo told him as he brought his own empty plate over to the sink.
“You are?” Country asked in surprise. “How can you tell?”
Ginger moved out of Garrick’s way, but he placed a hand on her stomach, stopping her. Once his plate was in the sink, that hand turned into a hook and drew her back to his side. Leaning down, he kissed her temple…and it was the single, gentlest act he’d ever displayed that Ginger could only stand there, dumbfounded.
Taco and Country, along with a couple of the other guys who’d taken notice, had a similar reaction, their faces resembling a fly trap. Turning to face his friends, Repo took up a stand against the edge of the counter between her and Taco and slung his arm over her shoulders.
“Okay, so that’s what a good mood looks like.” Country nodded. “Good to know, except, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, please keep your good moods away from me. The only kisses I want are from my lady.”
Country’s gaze slid to Taco, who was holding up the counter as he fired off another text, his attention completely rapt on his phone. “Okay, who the fuck are you talking to?”
Repo and Ginger were watching too, equally interested.
Taco’s gaze flipped up and around, noticing that everyone was watching him now. “Huh? Oh, yeah. No one. Just a friend.”
“A friend that has you smiling like a fuckin’ douche canoe and living on your own private island? I’m calling bullshit!” Country shouted, arms in the air as he looked around seeking backup from the other brothers.
A few who’d been paying attention—and a few who had no clue what the hell was going on—shouted “bullshit!” in return.
As if the man needed any extra encouragement. Ginger just shook her head…and attempted to slip out from under Garrick’s arm. His giant hand fastened tight to her shoulder, holding her in place.
Damn.
“You’re not getting away that easy, Red,” he murmured in her ear. His thumb rubbed the top of her arm, taking the edge off his words, and Ginger felt herself relaxing into him.
“What’s her name?” Country was saying. “Do I know her?”
“Her name is Nonya,” Taco replied dryly as he stuffed his phone in his back pocket and crossed his arms over his chest—a defensive position if ever Ginger had seen one.
“Nonya?” Country stroked the scraggly beard he’d been working on growing. “Nope, don’t think I’ve met her.”
Ginger laughed. “He means none of your business, stupid.”
Country’s eyes darted back and forth between her and Taco a few times before it clicked. “What the fuck. Not cool, man. And thanks, Momma. Always got my back.” He winked at her and Ginger felt Garrick’s body stiffen.
Without thinking, her hand went to his chest, and she gave him a soothing pat. When she realized what she’d done, she dropped her arm back to her side and rubbed her palm on her pant leg, as if she could remove evidence of the touch.
Noticing the exchange, Country’s eyes were alight with mischief as he walked over to them with his plate. “You two… I can’t wait to see you in a penguin suit, my man. That shit is going to be immortalized on every wall in the compound.”
“Watch it, redneck,” Garrick warned, but strangely enough, his words lacked fire.
Reaching past them, Country set his plate down with the rest. “I prefer Southern gentleman. The ladies prefer it.”
“You mean Talia prefers it,” Ginger corrected him.
His eyes wide and full of feigned innocence, he said, “That’s what I said, wasn’t it? Anyway,” he continued without taking a breath, “I have to skedaddle. The lady is making dinner, and she’s going to have my balls if I don’t make it back on time. Old battle-axe, am I right?” He nudged Taco again, then shrugged when all he got in return was a deadpanned stare.
Pointing at Ginger and Repo, Country called out on his way to the door, “You two kids have fun now, ya hear. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Laughter rolled throughout the apartment. There wasn’t much left on the planet that Country wouldn’t do. He was a connoisseur of…well, sex.
It took a moment before Ginger realized that Garrick’s grip had tightened. Glancing up at him, she found she couldn’t read his stony expression any better than she ever could, but when she looked down, she realized why.
Garrick was rock hard.
Oh my.
“So, uh, yeah,” Taco said, his voice sounding strange, “I should take off too. Plans,” he offered as explanation.
From his strained expression, Ginger figured he’d probably taken note of Garrick’s erection too and decided it was high time to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Okay, honey, see you later,” she told him as he fled out the front door.
Garrick’s hand loosened and rubbed the now tender skin. “We need to get the rest of these fuckers out of here, now.”
“What? Why?” Ginger asked, not wanting that at all. In fact, they could stay forever. Anything to keep Garrick from doing what he had in mind.
“Because I’m going to lay you out and fuck you right here on this counter, and I’ll be damned if these puissants are going to see what’s mine.”
There was some throat clearing, and that’s when Ginger realized that Garrick had spoken loud enough for everyone to hear him. Quickly, every man in the room deposited their dish in the sink and bolted out the door.
She and Garrick were alone in under a minute.
Ginger swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but judging by the hunger in Garrick’s eyes, she’d better figure it out…fast.