THIRTY-THREE
Being home had never felt so lonely. Normally, Ginger enjoyed her solitude, but not anymore. Being Repo’s captive, even if only for a day, had been unbearable. But now she was longing for that time back.
When she left his house after their fight, she knew it would be hard to see him at the clubhouse, but she hadn’t anticipated how hard. He’d sat there at that bar watching her like a hawk, and it’d been all she could do to hold back her emotions and pretend like she didn’t care.
She couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of a man who seemingly had none. That would just be like rubbing salt in an open wound. Ginger had spent much of her life being weak when it came to the opposite sex, and it’d never served her well.
To start now would be taking several steps back, and she was determined to always keep moving forward.
She loved Garrick; she knew that. She just didn’t want to bow to his every whim. How dare he act as if he owned her? How dare he expect her to play the dutiful housewife when she wasn’t even wearing his ring—or his patch! Ginger flat out refused to become another ol’ lady without rights.
Granted, the Spartan men were so much better than most bikers and most men in general, but she still refused to lose her identity, no matter how much she loved him.
She’d gone through too much to lose any part of herself again, and that was just something Garrick needed to realize and accept, otherwise they just couldn’t be together.
As she pushed her broom around the kitchen floor, Ginger tried to lose herself in music to take the focus off her troubled mind. “Despasito” was blowing up the charts, and it made her laugh because she’d loved the song well before it ever became mainstream. It made her want to dance, to shake her booty all over the place, and that was an excellent way to blow off steam. Better than exercise, for sure.
Not better than sex, though.
The thought brought down her mood again as she reflected on the way Garrick’s mouth had felt on her, his fingers inside her. That had been, hands down, the best way she’d ever been woken up. He had a talented tongue, and she missed it terribly.
She always had her mind on the way they’d been together in the past, how he’d always managed to make her feel special, and she’d hoped for that again. This time more permanently, and it saddened her that it probably wasn’t going to happen.
Sometimes life was just so unfair. While everyone else was falling in love and having kids and getting married, she had to wonder…where was her slice of happiness?
Garrick’s determined statement of putting a baby inside her made her stomach flutter, and thinking back on that moment and how she’d felt that flare of excitement that was quickly diminished by the way he’d delivered it upset her. She could see that future so clearly, and she wanted it. Damn him. Why did he have to be such a jerk anyway? Placing her hand on her abdomen, she wondered if he was right and she was already pregnant, but she shrugged that notion off. She didn’t feel any different.
Getting upset, Ginger paused over the pile of dirt she’d collected and wondered if maybe the problem was her. She’d accused him of being too set in his ways, but maybe she was too. She had, after all, gotten used to being alone and doing everything for herself. Maybe she’d stopped being malleable, and that was something a person had to be if they hoped to be in a healthy relationship.
Was she being too hard? Did she need to be the first to bend?
Or would she just being, give up her freedom if she did?
It was such a hard position to be in, and she wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Why couldn’t anything ever just be easy? Where was the writing on the wall when she needed it?
Just thinking about a repeat of today at the clubhouse, seeing Garrick every day from here until forever, possibly with other women, hurt her heart. She didn’t know that she could take that. Before it had been easier, because she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the possibility that they were ever going to be a thing, but now that she’d had a taste and allowed hope to enter her heart, it was impossible to ignore that that’s exactly what she wanted.
So how was this going to work? Was she really going to make herself stick it out for a paycheck? Sure, she loved the guys. Everyone was family to her, even some of the women, but how could she stay? How could she torture herself day in and day out and expect herself not to break?
Maybe what she needed was a change of scenery. Maybe she’d overstayed her welcome, and it was time to move on to new pastures.
Would anyone even care that she was gone? Would they even notice?
Looking at her phone on the counter, she recounted how many calls she’d gotten in the last month. One. The one it took for Gabby and Talia to meet at the café. She didn’t have any real friends, no family to speak of, and no one reached out to her—ever—just to see how she was doing.
So maybe she was just kidding herself. She was just another bunny—an aging one at that—who didn’t really make a difference in the grand scheme of things.
Sighing, Ginger reached a decision. It was the hardest one she’d had to make in a while, but it was necessary. She couldn’t see any real way around it.
Well, she thought to herself as she looked around her ratty old apartment, at least I won’t have to wake up in this dump anymore.
***
Manual watched from the sidelines as the cleaner did his job making the apartment look spotless—well, as spotless as a piece of shit efficiency built during the fifties could ever be. His opinion? The owner should cut his losses, burn the place to the ground, and collect the insurance.
He’d do it himself as a favor, but he didn’t feel like expending the energy. Luciana had him running errands for her left and right like he was her personal whipping boy. He’d complain, but hell, she was loco. Crazy bitches were something he didn’t fuck with.
Except he did fuck her. Crazy pussy was the best, and that puta knew some tricks in the bedroom that got his balls tight just thinking about it.
The way she’d taken out that white boy made him smile. Zero hesitation. Just lethal efficiency. Exactly how he would have done it. Except he would have stared the man in the eyes and watched his soul bleed out of him.
So maybe he was a little crazy, too.
As the cleaner collected all of Frank’s personal effects and stuffed them into a heavy duty black garbage bag, Manuel thought about the way Luciana rode his cock after she’d killed the poor bastard. Right there in the middle of that room, not ten feet away from his lifeless body, and with her personal guards standing watch.
Damn, she was wild. Completely untamed. He enjoyed that quality about her. Sure, she was dangerous, like a viper, but he’d always found it thrilling to fly close to the sun.
“I think I got everything.”
Manuel blinked and looked up at the cleaner. The man was older than him by at least twenty years. He was of Spanish descent, but he couldn’t place from where exactly, had graying hair and sunlines around his eyes, cheeks, and mouth. And he had eyes that were flat, lifeless. He’d seen things, and it didn’t faze him. He was a good worker, stuck to the script, and did a good job.
Manuel didn’t know any more about him than that, and he didn’t want to.
“You think or you know?” Manuel uttered. In this line of work, it was critical that everything was done just so. Any small detail was overlooked? The ship would sink. Manual was there to make sure that didn’t happen. The Glock in his waistband was his backup.
“I know,” the old man grunted as he heaved the bag over his shoulder.
Manuel moved aside to let him pass through the door and haul the bag down to the waiting car. He never got his hands dirty. Menial labor was below his paygrade—another perk of the job.
He stepped deeper into the apartment, his Ferragamos out of place against the matted and stained orange carpet that’d been installed sometime back in the sixties. Way before Manuel was even a twinkle in his father’s eye.
His dark eyes scanned the room, checking for anything that might have been missed, but the old man had done his job well. The place appeared untouched as if it’d been empty for a while.
Even the sink and shower had been wiped dry, leaving behind only the brown stains of age and filth.
Satisfied, Manuel passed back through the way he came and, with a cloth in his hand, pulled the door closed behind him.
He hadn’t taken a step when the door to the apartment next door opened and that Spartan bitch stepped out. She was carrying a suitcase and had a deep look of sorrow on her pretty face like she’d just gotten bad news.
Manuel smirked, an idea forming.
He was about to deliver even more bad news. Luck had just fallen into his lap, but her night was about to take a turn for the worse.