“Hey!” I offered a halfhearted protest and playfully stretched my hand out for the bottle, which he held out of reach.
“Mind your manners, woman. No means no.”
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes and snorted before I could stop myself.
“Somebody needs to be reminded who’s in charge,” Tuck interjected, smirking at Ripper.
Well, fuckety-doo-dah. I forgot myself for a handful of seconds—forgot that I was playing to an audience—and I triggered Tuck’s snark. I had to tread cautiously around him, encourage his habit of deference to a Janissary, not undermine it.
Ripper shot him a dirty look. “Mind your own business. I can keep my old lady in line.”
“Just saying. I wouldn’t let any woman of mine mouth off like that.”
“Nobody asked you, so fuck off.”
Tuck raised both hands in an I surrender gesture.
Ripper turned his eyes to me. “You gonna be good?”
I bobbed my head, searching his face for any sign of my Ripper, of the man who built me up, who never brought me down. I couldn’t see him behind the implacable mask he wore, but I knew that he was there.
“Sorry, baby,” I mumbled.
“All right.” He pulled me across his lap. My legs straddled his waist, and my face hovered mere inches from his. “How about you show your old man what a good girl you can be?” His fingers tightened on my hips.
I nodded, signaling my compliance. “Whatever you want, Ripper.”
A slow smile crept across his face, and his hands gripped my ass. His mouth swooped down, and he captured my lower lip between his teeth. He nipped hard, as if reminding me who was boss, then pressed a firm kiss against my mouth. He released my ass, and strong fingers tangled in my hair. With one hand, he cupped my nape and held me tight. With the other, he palmed my breast.
I squirmed, stoking the erection that pushed against my denim-covered sex. Ripper arched his hips and we rocked together, swaying back and forth while he ate at my mouth. When he pinched my nipple, I gasped, tearing my lips away from his. We were both breathing hard. His pulse pounded against his throat. I touched his skin. His heartbeat drummed against my fingers.
Ripper’s dark eyes hooded. “Come here.” He yanked my head forward and locked his lips on mine once again.
Only a few months ago I’d told Ripper that we didn’t fit. I’d never be a fun party girl. I’d never drink alcohol. I’d never do anything sexual in public. Yet here I was, beer on my breath, grinding against him in full view of onlookers. The good girl who wanted a safe and predictable world was cutting loose in front of people she despised.
A safe and predictable world. Even during the best of times—before the pandemic—those notions were little more than a comforting conceit, a tantalizing delusion aimed at staving off existential panic. The new world demanded that we face reality. And my reality was good. Ripper loved me, and I loved him. We had friends. We mattered. We all hoped to build a future together. I couldn’t ask for more than that, could I?
I kissed my man back with abandon.
The front door flew open. Dwight and Darryl stormed into the room, dragging a woman between them. Wild eyed and struggling frantically against them, she managed to plant her knee in Darryl’s crotch. He bent over double and dropped her arm. She swung at Dwight, who blocked the blow and strong-armed her into a headlock.
Her long red hair flew around her face as she fought back.
“Feisty little thing,” Tuck observed.
She flailed in his grip, clawing at his hand. When that didn’t work, she threw an elbow into his side. Darryl scrambled to his feet.
“What have you boys been up to?” Jerrilyn demanded.
“We came across her in town when we were scrounging for booze,” Darryl said. “She was hiding out in the back of the church.”
“We offered her a bed, food, and a safe place to stay. Figured she’d be grateful,” Dwight added.
“Grateful enough to put out?” Tuck asked.
“Well, yeah. Quid pro quo, you know,” Darryl said.
“You two plan to share her?” Tuck asked.
“Sure, why not.”
The woman threw her head backward, slamming her skull into Dwight’s nose.
“Dammit,” he roared, tightening his hold on her neck. Her face turned red, and the fight began to go out of her.
Ripper tensed and squeezed my arm. His eyes met mine for a few seconds, and I saw something flicker in their depths. Regret, perhaps. Or resolve. Before I could figure it out, he lifted me off his lap and settled me next to him on the sofa. He rose to his feet.
“Just one problem with that plan,” he said. “I got a prior claim to this woman.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Kenzie
I got a prior claim to this woman.
Everyone in the room froze. For a good twenty seconds, I stared at Ripper. Months ago, I’d confessed to him that I didn’t think I was his type, a concern he’d dismissed. My gaze shifted back to the redhead.
She was gorgeous with a tough-chick style that I could never hope to emulate. Lavish, colorful tattoos covered her arms. Her hair was a bold burgundy, a striking, attention-seeking color not found in nature. Black, cat-eye liner highlighted her green eyes. Her lush lips were tinted an unrepentant red. Who wears makeup during an apocalypse? Leggings and a ribbed tank top clung to her hourglass figure. Big breasts, a tiny waist, and hips that flared out into a generous ass. Va-va-voom, Uncle Mel would have pronounced. She could have walked out of one of my romance novels, all curves and sass and undeniable sex appeal. I could imagine her draped over a hot biker at some club party.
And she was in trouble. Dragged kicking and screaming into the room by the doofus brothers.
I got a prior claim to this woman.
Certainty settled in my chest.
“Ripper, do you know this woman?” I whined, deliberately using his name.
“Hey, Ripper.” The woman caught on fast. Her voice was a low and sexy purr that betrayed not a hint of anxiety over her plight. “Long time no see.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, clutching jealously at Ripper’s arm. He shrugged off my hand, focusing all his attention on the voluptuous redhead.
“My name’s Nyx Petrakis. Before the pandemic, I owned a tattoo shop in Portland.”
“Did you do the Janissary tattoo on Ripper’s back?” I asked, infusing a hopeful quiver into my voice. “Is that how he knows you?”
She smiled. “No, sweetheart. Ripper and I met at a party. We’ve been hooking up off and on for a couple of years.”
I blinked, and my confidence wavered. That was entirely plausible. Why wouldn’t two beautiful people hit it off and become casual fuck buddies? But...if Ripper had recognized Nyx, surely he would have reacted the second they dragged her into the room.
“I never seen you at the clubhouse,” Tuck chimed in, frowning.
Nyx swept her gaze up and down his body, from his scuffed boots to his scraggly beard, lingering for a moment on his cut. Her expression telegraphed her disdain. “Do the Janissaries invite the bush league clubs to all their parties?”
Bush league. Burn. Maybe he should think twice before calling a kidnapped woman a feisty little thing and wondering aloud if her captors intended to share her. I’d tiptoed around Tuck, obsequious, trying to hide my deep contempt for the man who abused women. Watching Nyx verbally take him down was a glorious thing.