SEVEN
“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, Red.” Repo’s Neanderthal grunt was playing on an endless loop across her gray matter, driving Ginger out of her damned mind! She’d spent half her life answering to a man, which ended right about the time she kicked her good for nothing, piece of shit ex-husband Hawke out of her life. Thanks for the crabs, asshole! She didn’t know where he was now, but wherever it was, she hoped he got gonorrhea and died.
Ginger had spent way too much time reclaiming her life and personal identity to turn around and hand it back over to another man. She’d have to be out of her flippin’ mind. And Repo was out of his if he thought issuing threats was going to get her to change her mind.
Not a chance in hell, pal.
Having worked the bar in the Spartan compound for most of her adult life had gifted her with experience. The kind that opened eyes and expanded minds. She held a position among the members that allowed her freedom, commanded respect, and provided her with monetary as well as emotional support—whenever she needed it. They protected her, watched her back, and in return, Ginger stroked their egos, listened to their problems, and doled out advice where appropriate. She was a friend as well as a lover, always available with open arms. She loved her Spartan men, but she wasn’t in love with them.
Truth be told, Ginger wasn’t sure she even could love anymore. Not after the trials and tribulations of living under the thumb of such a brutal man. A guy like Hawke, someone so cold and ruthless and unforgiving, changed people…and not for the better.
Ginger bore the scars of their relationship on both her body and mind. While she knew the men in the club would never harm her if they could help it, she just wasn’t willing to take the risk. Sometimes, it was just better to be alone. Her mother and her grandmother both had tried the marriage deal, and when it went south, as they tended to do, they decided life was just easier without the complications of men.
And that’s what men were: complications. Maybe there were a few good ones out there somewhere who added to their woman’s life instead of sucking their life right out of them, but she sure as hell had never met one, and if she had, he was already taken.
All the good ones were.
So that left Ginger alone, which was just fine and dandy, as far as she was concerned. Make all her own decisions? Yes, please. Never answer to anyone but herself? Sign me up! Participate in No Shave November? You betcha. Repo thought he was going to sway her, change her mind, make her his? No way, no how. Ginger didn’t need a man to lead a full and happy life, and the sooner he learned that, the better.
Which was exactly why she decided to toss out those bogus instructions to behave that he’d thrown at her and decided it was the perfect night to seek out trouble of the highest order.
Ginuwine’s “Pony” pulsed throughout the speakers of the strip club, shaking hands with the filtered red lights that lent the place a shady yet sensual vibe that always put Ginger in the right mood. She wasn’t a regular by any means, but Repo had pushed her too far, and it just so happened to be Ladies’ Night, so here she was. Soaking in the view of a trio of very hard-bodied men with angular faces and sultry eyes that beckoned her inner vixen, enticing her to come out and play with them.
Bad boys. She’d already picked out the one she wanted to spank first: the tall white boy with the thick thighs and Asian tattoo running down his ribcage beneath his right arm that was probably supposed to be his name, but more than likely said something like dumbass. Which he probably was, but she wasn’t here to issue IQ tests. She was here to prove a point: no one controlled Ginger Masterson. No one.
Dumbass noticed her staring and started gyrating her way, his banana hammock swinging like a prize fighter going for the championship belt. Ouch. Looked painful. She grimaced sympathetically, but he didn’t appear fazed in the least. Maybe the Lycra was cutting off circulation to his balls. Could explain the redness in his cheeks.
Stopping about an inch from her face, Dumbass laced his hands behind his head and thrust hard, nearly grazing the tip of her nose with his package. This close, Ginger could tell that he waxed instead of shaved, and his man meat wasn’t all that impressive. Frankly, she’d seen—and had—bigger. Cue internal sigh.
Why was life so cruel? Clearly, God had gifted the man with a bounty of good looks, but the universe demanded balance, and apparently, Dumbass was paying for it in inches below the belt. How sad was that? There was a price for everything it seemed. And she’d been ready to offer an invitation back to her place for a little action between the sheets.
Ah well. Maybe next time.
Dumbass aggressively pumped his junk in her face a few more times. Stuffing a couple singles in his G-string, Ginger took the opportunity to peek at the goods, just to be sure. And her mouth twisted up on one side.
Just as she’d suspected.
Feeling a touch sorrier for the poor bastard, she gave him an extra five and waved him away. He frowned, thrust a couple more times, but she’d already made up her mind. Hopefully, he wouldn’t try for more of her attention. She’d hate to have to let him down with the cold, honest truth: I’m into men, sugar, not toddlers.
Thankfully, a group of women barged through the doors whooping it up. The leader reminded Ginger of Gabby, all pretty and fair with a girl-next-door look about her, but the similarities ended there. She swore like a sailor and was clearly the ringleader as she reached into the center of the group and yanked a red-faced woman wearing a sheer, white veil in front of her and shoved her toward the stage.
Sensing an abundance of dollars in his near future, Dumbass and his buddies thrust, thrust, thrust their way over, ensuing mayhem.
Ugh, women. If ever Ginger found herself behaving like that, somebody, please shoot her. Right between the eyes.
She was readying for her escape, her ass lifted halfway off the chair, when she felt a presence behind her.
“You have about five seconds to run before he sees you. If you cut through the back now, you might make it.”
Ginger, brows pulled down over her eyes, regarded the waitress, Angel from the nametag positioned over her breast. “He who?” She knew too many “hes” to narrow it down without a little help. But her mind had already snagged on one name in particular. Not that she cared in the least if he knew she was here. That was the whole point, right? To make him understand that he had zero control over her.
In a hushed voice, Angel said, “Everyone knows about you. Repo’s been spreading the word around that you’re untouchable. He’s threatened…” Angel’s gaze shifted nervously somewhere over her shoulder, her words cutting off, and she gripped Ginger’s elbow as if scared for her. How sweet. “Shit, they’re right over there. Come on, I’ll help you.”
Now it was they? Ginger glared at the hand Angel had on her arm, a silent warning to remove it. She did. Then, as casually as if she were climbing into a relaxing bubble bath, she eased back down into her seat. “Another beer, please, Angel,” she cooed.
Angel blanched, disbelief written all over her young face. Whatever. She was too young and too inexperienced. She couldn’t possibly understand why Ginger wasn’t shaking in her combat boots. If anything, she was perturbed. And aroused. Wait, why was she aroused?
She wasn’t. That wouldn’t make any sense.
From the corner of her eye, Ginger saw Angel’s head lift, and a second later she was gone. Despite her silent protest, Ginger’s heart did a little gallop. As if the thing was a dog begging for a treat. She glared at Dumbass, willing him to return to her. She needed the distraction.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Red?” Garrick snarled. Yanking out the chair beside her, he plopped his delectable ass down, positioning himself toward her, and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and those big hands clasped tight together, as if he was afraid of what he might do with them.
She should be too, but she wasn’t. Garrick wasn’t like that. At least, not anymore. He might snarl and bark and snap his teeth from time to time, but cooler heads always prevailed where he was concerned. She had nothing to worry about.
Garrick’s eyes cut to the strippers, who were wrapping up their routine with some serious moves that made her consider reconsidering her nix on inviting Dumbass home with her. Size wasn’t supposed to matter, right? It was all about the motion in the ocean?
Yeah, she didn’t have anything to worry about, but if the way Garrick’s lips peeled back from his teeth was any indication, Dumbass did. Even though the woman in her loved the idea of a man fighting for her—over her—what kind of person would she be if she let Dumbass get murdered just to prove a point.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?”
Ginger’s lip curled in irritation. Keeping her eyes glued to the stripper just because she knew it would piss Garrick off, she replied, “You did. And do you recall me telling you to go fuck yourself?” She tapped a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Mmm, nope, must have forgotten to add that part. Well, let me rectify that now.” She turned caustic eyes his way and hissed, “Go fuck yourself.” Then she smiled as if pleased with herself. Which she was. Very much so.
Garrick, on the other hand, wasn’t even slightly amused. “Maybe I should have been clearer,” he said softly, dangerously. “Your place is at the clubhouse or at home, hell, hanging out with your girlfriends. Not a fucking strip club, Red.”
“I don’t have any girlfriends.” And what was with the “Red” bullshit? They’d had a deal.
“Then fucking get some!” he roared.
Every head in the house whipped in their direction. Ginger held out her hand. “Great, look what you did. The guys stopped dancing.” In fact, they looked as if they weren’t sure whether to cut the dance off early and run or wait to see how things played out. Everyone loved a good car crash.
Garrick, barely holding onto his temper, lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation. “You know where I was today?” he asked. She didn’t really care, even though she was kind of curious—mystery!—and he continued. “A bar. With strippers. Tits and ass everywhere, Red.”
“Must have been fun,” she remarked. Inside her boots, her toes curled. She was not upset. What did she care if he was around a bunch of beautiful, busty women with legs that probably fell open as if on hinges?
“No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.” He sounded as irritated as she was. Good! Leaning a little closer, Garrick placed his face inches from hers. Still, she refused to look at him. I hold the power here. Just like at the clubhouse, this amounted to a pissing contest. See who’d give in first. Well, she might not have the right equipment for the job, but she’d still win. “I didn’t touch a single one of them, and do you know why?”
“Because you had vertigo? Forgot your glasses?” Her eyes widened, and she dropped her voice. “Did you have, you know…problems?” Her gaze dropped to his crotch suggestively.
Once when Ginger was a kid, her parents had asked her what she wanted to do for dinner on her eleventh birthday. Recalling something she’d overheard about lobsters and how they turned bright red when cooked pushed her to request Red Lobster. She’d never seen a brighter shade of red before then, or after.
Until now.
Garrick was livid. Jackknifing to his feet, he grabbed ahold of her upper arm on his way up, yanking her out of the chair. “I’m not that fucking old,” he growled as he dragged her past staring patrons and a couple of grinning prospects, who must have been tagging along, through the club into the parking lot.
Score one for Ginger, though, right? Getting a rise out of the man was half the battle.
As hot as he was, as much as she usually liked the man, Ginger wasn’t really appreciating the macho bullshit act. His grip on her arm wasn’t exactly comfortable, but every time Ginger tried to plant her feet and tug herself free, he only clamped down harder, his fingers digging in painfully. Reminded her of the first time she’d been arrested, those metal cuffs cutting into her wrists. He’d probably leave little crescent moons in her flesh from his nails.
“Repo, dammit—”
“Garrick!” he snapped back.
Oh, so it was okay for him to call her Red, but not for her to return the sentiment? Fuck. That. “Repo,” she repeated as she began slapping at his hand and prying at his fingers. “Unhand me!”
“Or what? Are you going to go all Scarlet O’Hara and start calling me a brute?”
Detecting humor in his voice, Ginger lashed out, hitting him again. “If the shoe fits!”
With a powerful tug, Garrick sent her whirling. Ginger pitched forward, stumbling over herself and careening past him, unable to catch her balance until Garrick yanked her back again, counterbalancing what would have been a nasty fall flat on her face.
She stopped herself from crashing into his chest, barely. Glaring up at him, she seethed with barely restrained fury. “Asshole!”
The prospects had followed them outside and were now waiting a short distance away. Trying to be discrete? Or were they the backup? Maybe Garrick brought them along to ensure that she couldn’t run away. That would be just like him. Kidnap her to get his way.
Ignoring their audience, Garrick got down in her face, his cool blue stare sending a warm shiver down her spine rather than the frosty chill one might expect. “You wanna call names? Fine, Scarlet, I’ll show you exactly what happens to bad girls who go against their man’s wishes.”
It was the work of a moment for him to bend down, tuck his shoulder into her stomach, and lift her off her feet. Ginger was upside down with a glorious view of his tight, leather-encased ass before she knew what was happening.
Then everything suddenly came into crystal clear focus. The waistband of her jeans pressed into her belly, growing tighter by the second. The sudden draft on her buttocks was more than a little concerning. “Repo, what are you—Ow!”
The crack of Garrick’s palm was seriously unpleasant! Like someone had taken a blowtorch to her butt cheek. “That’s for calling me Repo when I clearly told you to call me Garrick.”
“You started it,” she snarled, still in shock that he’d spanked her but embracing her anger fully.
Smack! “And that’s for calling names.”
“Ow!” Seriously, he had to do it in the same spot? Raising her arm, she slapped her own palm down on his muscled backside. “That’s for being a jackass, asshole!”
Smack! “That’s for being a pain in my ass. And this”—smack!—“is for not following instructions.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, but Ginger refused to back down without a fight. “This is for treating me like a piece of property!” She brought her hand down again, wishing she were just a little bit stronger so she could make him feel what she did. Her ass burned!
All her efforts earned her was chuckling from him and his minions. Bastards! She bucked wildly, trying to break free. She’d kick all their asses or die trying.
“Let me down!”
Garrick’s hot palm caressed her burning cheek. “Not just yet. I’m enjoying the view.”
“You prick, if you don’t let me down, I’m going to scream. Try explaining to the police why you’re beating on a woman. I’ll press charges!” she threatened, knowing she wouldn’t do any such thing.
“You want us to bring the car around?” one of the prospects inquired.
Did they seriously plan to kidnap her? Now, worry was beginning to set in. “I swear to God, if you stuff me in a trunk, I will tear all your balls off…with my teeth!”
Garrick was chuckling as if he found her threats of bodily harm cute. She’d show him cute. Slapping him again, she felt the instant sting of his palm follow as if on reflex.
“You boys go on ahead. We’re right behind ya.”
“You sure, boss?”
Garrick patted her thigh. “I think I can handle this one.”
Oh, he did, did he? First chance she got, she was making a break for it. Calling the cops was still an option. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
She felt a tug on her waistband once again, then heard a jingle of keys. “Make sure to get her car back to her place. She won’t be needing it anymore tonight.”
Oooh, she was going to kill him! But there was no use fighting him now when he clearly had all the control. It was like trying to break through a cement wall. All the bucking and fist-pounding was getting her nowhere.
“Don’t move my seat! And don’t change my presets!” she shouted at whichever prospect was planning to drive her baby home.
More chuckling. Dammit. Men and their testosterone. And they claimed women were the problem? She could count a hundred ways the world would be so much better without the male species. Starting with no more kidnapping and ending with world peace. It was a good thought, in theory. Ginger had considered going lesbian once for reasons like the one she was experiencing now, but soon realized she wasn’t much of a carpet muncher and there was no good replacement for a penis. Yet. The day there was, though, watch out!
They stood there for several heartbeats, long enough for Ginger to start feeling the blood welling in her head, making the beat of her pulse in her temples impossible to ignore. When the crunching of gravel under car tires ceased, which Ginger assumed was her car driving away, Garrick addressed her. “If I put you down, you gonna play nice? Or do I have to restrain you again?”
“Ask yourself one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Do I feel lucky?” And honestly, it hadn’t come out as ominous as she’d imagined it in her mind, but really, who could compare to Eastwood anyway?
Garrick must have gotten over his slapping mood. He eased her back onto her feet, pulling her pants back up to cover her rear end. The moment Ginger was standing upright again, she launched herself at him, fists flying and banshee warrior cry echoing through the night.
But Garrick was prepared and caught her wrists before they made contact. Ginger thrashed until she grew too tired to continue, her head now a dull ache from the rush of blood. But she still had enough energy left to glare at him with the force of a thousand suns.
Those eyes. She’d never seen a more threatening blank stare in her life. Shaking his head, he tsk, tsk, tsked. “Shouldn’t have done that, Red.”
Then he dove in for a kiss, sucking the breath right out of her lungs and stealing what little was left of her sanity.