SIX
Repo hadn’t thought this through. The Tavern wasn’t just a bar. It was a strip bar. There were bare titties everywhere—in every shape, size, and color. So many, he couldn’t blink without seeing nipples behind his eyelids. Hell, he’d be dreaming of them for days. That wasn’t the problem though.
The problem was that he wasn’t even the least bit turned on by any of them. It was as if his dick was broken, and all he could think about was Ginger. Every female who sauntered over with her chest out and ass wiggling was immediately subjected to a mental evaluation, and they all came up short to Ginger.
Clearly, the head in his pants wasn’t getting enough blood flow. And hell, he’d almost accept the possibility that his age had caught up to him and he was impotent, rather than admit that his dick had up and grown a conscience. In all his forty-two years, he’d never been exclusive to a woman. Not ever. Not even after he’d married Lauren. He didn’t fuck around on her—much. To be fair, he’d intended on keeping things with her monogamous, but life as a brother back then hadn’t been very friendly to the whole monogamy sitch. It wasn’t written in the bylaws that he had to dip his wick in anything with a pussy, but it was an unspoken expectation for every man in the club to spread his attentions, take care of all the females on the premises. Or face ridicule of the highest order. He’d once witnessed a prospect get dragged behind the clubhouse by a couple of the older members and get nailed by each of them in turn for turning down one of the bunnies who’d been in heat, writhing on his lap. It didn’t matter that he’d had a woman at home waiting for him, someone he was committed to. That wasn’t looked on favorably, so Repo had learned early on to play the game if he wanted to run with the big boys. Times were different back then.
It helped a whole lot that Lauren wasn’t too shy about not keeping her legs closed either. His ring on her finger hadn’t stopped her from screwing every Tom, Dick, and Harry she crossed paths with. He was a hothead back then, young and running on high octane and a steady stream of cocaine. The only reason he hadn’t sent her to an early grave was because she’d had sense enough not to play her games with his brothers.
He wasn’t a stranger to jail time.
Damn, though. Thinking back on the “glory days,” Repo was thankful as fuck that Blake’s old man bit it and he stepped up to the table. Not that he had anything against the guy. They’d been tight for years, but the road the club had taken from its inception wasn’t a good one back then. Every single one of the OG members had spent time in the pen—it was practically a rite of passage—and having a record was nothing to be proud of. That kind of knowledge came with time and maturity. Repo had given up years of his life, along with blood, sweat, and yeah, plenty of tears. Lost his marriage too—not that it was anything worth writing home about.
Quick was a fine-ass president, though. Steered the whole club around, made it into something worth being proud of. Now, he and all the men, old and new, could hold their head high. Didn’t have to constantly look over their shoulders either, because they knew their noses were clean.
For the most part.
But none of this had anything to do with his dick’s betrayal. He stared down at the—hefty—bulge riding his inner thigh and scowled, sending a mental threat that he’d better get with the program and show a little respect.
Didn’t. Move. An. Inch.
“Disrespectful, insubordinate piece of…” Biting down on his tongue, Repo grabbed his beer and slugged it down. Unacceptable. That’s what this was. What next? His balls would stage a revolt and turn blue, demanding he run back to Ginger and hand them over to her? Maybe hook ‘em to a string so she could hang them on her rearview mirror like a pair of fuzzy dice.
Not fucking happening.
Ginger had to learn her lesson: she belonged to him. Until she got that through her fiery little head, then his dick and balls belonged to him. Not that they would ever belong to anyone but him. He was the one and only owner of his balls, thank you very much. The last thing he’d ever become is one of those guys who got castrated the minute they hooked up with a chick and then start carrying around her purse while spouting “Yes, honey’s” left and right.
Which was why his piece of shit cock needed to take a stand—literally.
“You’re an embarrassment,” he muttered.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Blake remarked, clapping him on the shoulder.
Repo jumped about ten feet, then slammed his empty bottle on the counter. “Shit! What are you, fucking Casper? Gave me a goddamn heart attack.”
Blake was laughing as he came around to lean an arm on the counter. “I said your name twice, old man. Not like I was tiptoeing it over here. Maybe we need to look into those hearing aids?”
Repo threw him a glare. “I’m not that old, asshole.” Blake made a show of scoping out Repo’s white-as-a-snowdrift hair and speckled beard. “Hair color is not indicative of age. Mine has been like this since my twenties.”
“So, what happened?” Blake inquired. “Did someone scare the piss out of you back then, too, shock all the color right out of it?”
“Fuck you, man.” Repo was chuckling, and Blake joined in. That was the beauty of brotherhood: no hard feelings. If you didn’t have the balls to take a little good-natured ribbing, you didn’t belong in the club.
Lifting his chin, Blake said, “So what’s up? You’ve turned down half a dozen cherries since we got here.”
Repo got to focusing on the scenery, those cherries now rubbing up on other males who were a lot more willing to give back, namely with the green. “Just not feelin’ it tonight.” He turned his cool gaze to his president. “What about you? You didn’t get that bachelor party.”
“Like I told Blaze, don’t need one. I got all I need back home waitin’ on me.”
“Aw, ain’t that sweet.” Repo’s smile was tilted, mocking. It was all for show, though. He admired what the brother had. Faithful, committed—on both ends. He’d spent a lot of his life living free, doing what and whom he pleased. He was more than ready to get settled, and he had his eyes on the prize, so he more than understood where Blake was coming from.
Blake wore a knowing smile. “Yeah, as if you haven’t been pining away for a certain redhead all night.” Repo’s brows popped up, but Blake shook his head, staving off his half-assed argument to the contrary. “Few weeks ago, you’d have had half these women bent over and praising your name like you’re a fuckin’ deity before the night was out. Instead, you’ve been nursing beer and a bad attitude.”
“Newsflash: I always have a bad attitude. In the words of Lady Gaga, I was born this way.”
“I’m not even gonna ask why you know who Lady Gaga is or what she has to say.” He studied Repo for a long moment, and Repo stared right back. The guy was big, over six feet, and solid. He wasn’t a killer, but he had the cold, dead stare of one, and that was enough to get most men quivering in their boots. Not Repo. He’d be solid even in a hurricane. Nothing much ruffled his feathers, ‘cause that’s what happened when you looked death in the eyes and lived to tell about it.
“Keep starin’ like that, pretty boy, and I might start thinkin’ you wanna kiss me,” Repo remarked. “Can’t say I’d blame you. I’m sexy as fuck and women can’t keep their hands off.” As if to prove his point, one of the waitresses sauntered by, trailing her hand over his arm up to his shoulder, giving him the sexy eyes.
“I go on break in five. Meet me in the back if you wanna have some fun.”
She smiled. He blinked. Then she was gone. Blake shook his head, grinning. “You’re not even going to pretend to take her up on the offer, are you?”
Repo slid off his stool and dropped a twenty on the counter next to his empty bottles, then he made his way toward the door without preamble. “Would you, knowing what you have waiting back home for you?” he tossed over his shoulder.
What came back at him wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “Not a chance in hell, but at least I know I have someone waiting.”
Yeah, and wasn’t that the kicker. Far as he knew, Ginger wasn’t waiting for anything. Good thing he’d thought ahead and warned of death and dismemberment to anyone who even considered laying a finger on her. Problem was, he couldn’t account for every dick in the county, so she’d better pray like hell she kept her legs closed, or Garrick Stone was going to deliver her a good old-fashioned ass whooping.
Movement in his pants brought Repo’s head down, his gaze fastening on the prominent lump pressing against his fly. Well, whaddaya know. Seemed his dick wasn’t broken after all. And he liked the idea of reddening Red’s cheeks, too. His hand twitched, seconding the notion, and suddenly, Repo was eager to get back on his bike and get home. Break all the laws in the process.
In his mind, he was daring Ginger to cross him, go against his edict. Because his dick and his palm were itching to come out and play.