TWO
Something shady was going on. Ginger knew it like she knew that fat fucker at the bar was going to try to stick his hand up the back of her skirt on her next pass. Every man in attendance was giving her a wide berth. Extra friendly, but not flirty. Every invitation she gave was either ignored or turned down flat. Even the prospects, who were damn near sure things, were avoiding her like she was diseased. Was there something she was missing? Did she offend? As discretely as possible, she lowered her head and sniffed her armpit, but all she smelled was baby powder fresh.
Something was off, but what?
Caught up in her own thoughts, Ginger almost didn’t catch the movement of a meaty, hairy paw in her peripheral. At the last possible second, she swung wide, avoiding creepy bar guy. “That was your last damn warning, shit for brains,” she growled as she rounded the bar and faced him head on. “Get the fuck up and get out. You’re done here.”
Goddamn civilians. For some reason she’d never understand, they thought that a biker party was the place to be, and for some fucking lunatic reason, they also thought that the women were all sluts and easy lays just for being there. This was exactly why she always said civilians had no place on club property. They didn’t get the rules and they damn sure didn’t abide by them.
Not that the rules were stringent. They weren’t. But she didn’t appreciate being treated like trash. Her boys gave her respect. She sure as hell wasn’t about to allow some outsider to treat her with anything less.
“We got a problem here, Red?” Moose, big lug that he was, moseyed on up, his eyes glued to the back of Tub-of-Lard’s head as if he’d like nothing better than to crack it open like an egg. All he needed was a reason. Behind him, his cousin, Tanner, a long-standing Spartan prospect stood watching, taking notes, and ready to back up his fam if need be. But Moose was a beast. If he ever needed backup, shit was serious. This, though, was a cakewalk.
Glaring at the turd nugget whose sweaty jowls and pudgy cheeks were now drained of color, she tried to decide how close he was to pissing himself. If he did, it’d leave a mess that she didn’t feel like dealing with. Sure, a prospect would handle the cleanup, but it’d put a damper on her tip jar.
“Do we have a problem?” she asked the man, the message clear in her eyes and tone. She wanted him gone, pronto.
His beady little eyes shot from her to Moose, who stepped in closer, placing one of his giant hands on the bar top, hemming the guy in with his solid and imposing frame. She almost felt sorry for the little guy.
Okay, not really.
“Uh-um-uh n-n-no problem,” he stammered, slowly sliding off his stool like a puddle of melting marshmallow. “I-I-I was just leaving.”
Moose backed up a single step, forcing turd nugget to squeeze around him as he made his escape. Ginger withheld her laughter until he was out of sight before letting it rip.
“Thanks, hon.” She popped the top off a beer and handed it over. “There’s always one douchebag in the bunch.”
Moose’s smile was wide and warm, just like the man himself. “Anytime, babe.”
She liked when he called her that. Cocking her hip out, Ginger decided to test the waters. “Hey, you busy tonight? Party for two in my room. I’ll bring the booze if you bring the cock.”
By now, none of the guys were phased by her forwardness. Any why would they be? She was practically one of the guys. Chuckling, Moose scratched his fingers through his grizzly beard. “Sorry, babe. I already got a piece for the night. But if you need me to scare off any more douchebags, give me a shout. I’ll be around. Next one will get a complimentary root canal.”
She tried not to let her disappointment show. “Oh, promise?”
Winking, Moose strolled off, leaving Ginger to her work. It was late, real late, and the party was finally starting to wind down. Not that it would be stopping anytime soon. Those who couldn’t hang past midnight had already left. Come two, the herd thinned a little more. Now there were just the few remaining that either didn’t have jobs to get to in the morning or just didn’t care. The bonfire had dimmed but still crackled with enough heat to keep the few bodies gathered around it warm, and there was plenty of booze still on tap to last a few more hours.
But she was wiped. It’d been a long ass day, and she’d been going since the crack of dawn to help set up for Blake and Gabby’s wedding. Ten years ago, she’d be ready to go another twenty-four hours, no problem, but age was catching up with her, and she was getting too old for this shit. Guess the saying was true: it was all downhill after thirty.
Granted, it was fun to hang out with everyone, have a few drinks, listen to good music, and enjoy some conversation, but twenty-four hours was her limit. And that was stretching it.
As she started cleaning up what she could around the bar, Ginger thought about how different her life might have been now. How different it would have been had it been Blake and her walking down that aisle, instead of him and Gabby. She’d spent a lot of years regretting that they hadn’t worked out, but she was over it now. Mostly.
Truth be told, she’d accepted that they were never going to be together again a long time ago, and Blake was living a great life as the president of the club with a new wife and baby on the way, but she still took a walk down memory lane from time to time when she was feeling nostalgic or lonely.
Which was more often than she liked to admit.
The thing was, it wasn’t so much Blake that she missed as it was missing having a guy in her life. Oh, she had several. Any of the Spartan men would warm her bed with the snap of a finger, but Ginger wasn’t interested in just any man. A few years back, she’d found the man she wanted, the man who could take her on and be strong enough to hold her steady through any storm, but it just didn’t work out.
She’d been too young at the time, too naïve. And they were poles apart. Summer and winter. And he was fresh off a rocky marriage.
Then she’d run off and gotten hitched to Hawke in a moment of youthful impulsiveness. Yeah, that turned out about as fantastic as anyone could imagine. They’d been ill-suited from the start. Hawke was bullheaded and domineering. Ginger was not a pushover. They’d battled it out with words and fists because she gave as good as she got—always.
It wasn’t until Hawke had finally gone too far, putting Ginger in the hospital, that she’d finally gotten up the courage to say enough was enough. With the full backing of the club, she’d gotten her divorce without having to look over her shoulder in fear of her life.
Hawke was a brutal man with all the charm of a viper preparing to strike. She didn’t doubt for a second that without the club’s protection he’d come back for her. They were the only thing standing between her and a death sentence.
Call her paranoid, but sometimes she still searched the shadows, and she always triple checked the locks on her doors and windows just to be sure. That’s why she preferred the safety of the clubhouse most nights to her own home.
Replacing the trash can with a fresh bag, Ginger hauled the oversized bundle across the yard, putting her back into it just to drag the bastard the twenty or so feet and praying all the while it didn’t bust open on the way. She’d leave the mess if it did.
“Hey, Red, lemme get that.” She looked up to see Curtis “Taco” Nash headed her way with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his face. “Sexy lady like you shouldn’t be doing the heavy lifting. Leave the dirty work to the men.” He was a total flirt, especially with her. They’d had a few romps, but it wasn’t anything serious. Just two friends scratching an itch.
She held up her hands, allowing him to heft the garbage over his shoulder and walk it the rest of the way to the dumpster. “Thanks, hon,” she said as he swaggered back over, lighting a cigarette as he did.
He was sexy, she had to admit. Young, fit, tall, and slim. He had a little muscle under all that leather and denim, and he knew how to work his stick like a pro. He’d be a perfect bedtime snack, she mused.
Squinting as he blew out smoke, he scanned her face. “Kinda past your bedtime, no?”
Plucking the cigarette from his fingers, she brought it to her lips and took a drag. She wasn’t a smoker, per se, but he loved when she did that, so she did it just to fuck with him.
“Damn, Red…” He grunted as if in pain. And sure enough, he reached down and shifted a rapidly hardening cock.
“What do you say to a threesome,” she offered with a sultry smile. “You, me, and my bed?”
His grin was wicked, and he stepped into her, tall enough to force her to tilt her head to meet his eyes. Bumping the tip of her nose with his, he reclaimed the cigarette and wrapped his lips around the lipstick print she’d left behind, taking a long, contemplative puff as he held her stare. When he blew it out, his voice was a harsh rasp that shot tingles of awareness straight to her core. “Normally, I’d be all over that, but I’m not looking to get my dick rerouted to my ass.”
Alarms went off in her head. He started to walk away, but Ginger grabbed onto his arm, towing his shapely ass back. “What the hell does that mean?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he flicked a look at her hand, waiting until she released him to respond. “Word is you’re taken, babe. Not a man in here is gonna risk touchin’ that sweet pussy unless he’s looking to get gutted with his own toenail.”
Stunned, Ginger watched him as he joined up with some random chick—probably a civilian groupie. Taken? By whom? The last thing Ginger was, was taken. She might entertain dreams of being exclusive from time to time, but that didn’t mean she was crazy enough to do it. That’s how women got trapped into a loveless and completely one-sided relationship. She’d been there once, and she’d be damned if she went there again. It was so much nicer being responsible for just one person, never having to answer to anyone about anything.
So, who the fuck was spreading lies about her? Staring at the clubhouse walls, her brain worked overtime trying to puzzle it out. No one she could think of would have the inclination nor the balls to pull this kind of bullshit unless he was certifiable or a complete asshole with a god complex—
Repo.
Her first reaction was to dismiss the thought entirely. He wasn’t any more inclined to settle down than she was. Except…
When was the last time she’d seen him take another woman to his room? Had to be months. And when was the last time they’d had sex together? A couple days ago. And it’d been happening more and more lately. Last time, after she’d finished sucking his cock, he’d even offered her to stay the night in his bed, something he never did.
And tonight…He was the only man to touch her. The only man willing to. And then he’d all but told her to get lost. With a fucking smile on his face.
Sonofabitch! Her gaze fell on the bar once more. More specifically, to the bucket nestled below it. Her upper lip curled back from her teeth in a dark smile as a plan was hatched.