THIRTY-FIVE
Country wasn’t feeling his best, but he wasn’t salty anymore. He understood what Blake was trying to say, and through him, he was finally able to see what Talia had been telling him all along—he was too close to the case. It was consuming him.
He was man enough to admit when he was wrong, and he’d allowed himself to get too emotionally involved in all of this. He couldn’t help it, though. It was his club, his brothers, his family they were talking about here. Put anyone he cared about in danger, and shit was going to go down, someone was going to answer for it.
He was still pissed, still determined to exact justice, but he was level now. He could see clearly and was ready to get back in there with a more balanced mind.
That’s why he was sitting outside the place he and Talia shared, typing out a text.
Tucker: Sugar…are you still mad at me?
Talia: What do you think
Tucker:
Tucker: Sorry. I’ve been a jerk
Talia: …
Tucker: Forgive me?
Talia: You’ll have to do better than a texted apology if you expect anything like that from me
Tucker: Come outside sugar
He smiled and put his phone away. He didn’t need to see what or if she texted back. She’d come outside eventually. Curiosity was a weakness no one could resist.
Even at this hour, just before dawn. At least the sky was light enough now that she could see his surprise well enough to garner the excitement he hoped she’d have.
When the door opened, he was watching, waiting. Talia’s scowl was apparent even at a distance, but when she spotted him below sitting on his motorcycle…and what was right beside him, her whole face lit up like the damn Fourth of July.
Tucker’s chest swelled seeing that kind of excitement on her pretty face as she squealed and rushed down to meet him. He’d done that. He’d made her happy.
Finally, he was doing something right.
“Oh my God,” Talia said as she slowed her approach and inspected the brand-new Harley Davidson Sport sitting beside him. It was trimmed out in chrome and had fine pink pinstripes running down its body—the perfect feminine touch if he did say so himself.
Hands covering her mouth, Talia looked up at him. “Can I touch it?” she breathed.
Tucker smirked. “Sugar, you can stroke it, manhandle it, rub your tits all over it. Whatever you like. It’s yours to do with as you please.”
“Really?” Her eyes were misting over, showing him just how touched she was by the gesture.
Tucker’s gaze softened. “Really, baby. It’s my way of apologizing for being such a dick these past few weeks. You were right, I got in over my head, and I’m sorry.”
Instead of throwing herself at the bike, Talia lunged at him, slinging her arms around Tucker’s shoulders and squeezing as she buried her face in the side of his neck. “I love you so much,” she cried. “You’re right, you’re a dick, but you’re my dick, and I love you. Thank you for this.”
Tucker was laughing as he hugged her back. “I’m your dick, huh?”
Drawing back, Talia wiped her wet eyes and grinned. “Is that all you got from what I just said? Seriously?”
“Sugar,” he said, pushing her short hair behind her ear, “you know you can’t say stuff like that without making me horny.”
She threw her head back and laughed, making his smile grown even wider. “I can never stay mad at you.”
“Good, because I don’t like when you are.”
Her expression sobered. “So, I can really ride this thing? Whenever and wherever I want?”
“Well, within reason. I would prefer you ride with me, and right now, until things are settled with the club, I’m going to have to ask you to hold off. I’ll give you lessons when things die down. But yeah, you can ride it wherever and whenever baby.”
Her hand smoothed over the glossy body. “This is the coolest present anyone has ever given me.”
Tucker smiled. “Well, you deserve it for putting up with me.”
“You’re so right about that.”
He squeezed her waist, crushing her body up against his chest. Damn, she was sexy, slim, and curvy in all the right places. He leaned up, nuzzling her neck. “I want to take you to bed now.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, curling around him, the bike forgotten. “And what do you want to do in that bed, mister?”
He let the question hang for a moment to build anticipation before saying, “Sleep.”
“Sleep?” she asked in disbelief.
“Oh yes. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks,” he said truthfully. “But, baby,” he said, tilting his head back to look up at her, “I want to fuck you first.”
***
Repo hit the top step of Ginger’s complex and reached the door in two long strides with his brothers right behind him. His gut was screaming that something was off; he could feel it in the air.
He was about to reach for the door when he noticed it wasn’t fully latched.
Holding up his hand, everyone stopped in their tracks.
All manner of things were going through Repo’s head as he stared at that dark sliver of space between the door and the jamb… He was praying for the best while expecting the worst.
Involuntarily, his eyes swung to the left, toward Frank’s apartment.
“I’ll check it out,” Blake offered his voice low, his tone grave.
He’d seen that Gabby’s door was open, too, and he wasn’t feeling all that optimistic either. Didn’t give Repo much in the way of warm and fuzzies, but he was still hoping.
He didn’t bother asking for backup—it just came.
With his gun out, locked and loaded, he advanced slowly, methodically, thinking all the way that this felt way too much like that fateful night at Blake’s house when Cruiz and his men had come down hard and destroyed the place.
A man never felt fear like that than when his family’s life was hanging in the balance.
Thank God everyone who mattered had come out the other side okay, and all they had to do was rebuild afterward.
But this felt different… It was like he couldn’t quite breathe as he canvased the small living room, kitchen, and made his way through to the bedroom. There were no signs of a struggle, nothing to suggest that anything bad had happened aside from the door being unlatched. But there was one thing that he could see that made all of this very, very wrong.
“All clear,” he heard Moose say as he came up behind him.
Repo was standing in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the open closet door. “Her clothes are gone,” he said, voice flat.
There was a noticeable gap in the middle of the rack, leaving only clothes he hadn’t see her wear often behind. Not her favorite?
Moose frowned and followed his line of sight, then, catching on, went to the dresser and pulled open each drawer, confirming what Repo already knew: she had left.
But was it by choice…or by force?
“She packed a bag, from the looks of it,” Moose observed. “You think she’d just walk out on us like that, no goodbye?”
“Maybe.” Repo couldn’t say for sure. His hand went to his chest, pressing over his heart before he tucked his gun away.
The ache in his chest was a manifestation of his guilt from knowing he’d damaged their fragile relationship and hurt her. The thundering pulse in his temple was from knowing that that door standing open wasn’t right. Ginger would never be so absentminded or irresponsible.
“I think there’s more to it,” Repo added. “Let’s find out what Prez has next door.”
They turned to leave when Blake came walking in. “Got nothing. If Frank was ever there, someone erased the evidence. It’s a dive, for sure, but it’s spotless. Bleach, lemon, the works. The man in those pictures didn’t strike me as the Molly Maid type.”
“No, he didn’t,” Repo agreed. In fact, the man appeared disheveled, as if personal hygiene was the last thing on his to-do list. He doubted he’d do a scrub down before disappearing into the underground.
And he didn’t like that it happened at the same time that Ginger went missing.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Moose said. “Like what are the chances the trash we’re looking for was living next door to Red, and now they’re both missing.”
“Yeah.”
There wasn’t more to say than that. Now the only thing left for them to do was find out where the hell she’d gone.
And bring her ass back.