Page 20 of Striker's Yield

Then again, I know there was no getting out of it. He’s my only way out of here. After everyone left, which happened just a few minutes before Lila rushed out of here with her fake yawn, I knew it was coming.

“Fine,” I finally say with a huff, though I close my eyes because I don’t think I could keep them open if I tried.

“Mama?” he murmurs.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask, unable to keep the sleep out of my voice. I couldn’t hide it if I wanted to.

“Because I can,” he remarks, seemingly amused.

“Whatever,” I mumble.

Striker doesn’t say anything, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling his body shake with laughter, which I ignore because, for the first time in God knows how long, I decide to give in to the exhaustion. Mostly, I just let the scent of leather and cologne lull me to sleep.

“Rick, you can’t do this.” I bang on the door once again, flat palm and jerk at the handle.

“She’s fuckin’ mine, and you took her from me.” Rick whirls around, waving the gun in my direction with one hand, holding my sister to him by her neck in the other. “I’m not going to let you or anyone else take her from me.”

Avery’s eyes meet mine, and I see the knowing fear in hers. She knows what he’s going to do. I know what he’s going to do. He’s going to kill her like he’s threatened to do more times than I can remember.

“Rick, we can talk about this.” I try once again to get him to calm down. “Just put the gun down, and we can talk about this. You know you don’t want to hurt her. If you love her, you won’t kill her.”

“The hell I won’t.” Rick turns the gun back to my sister’s head. “She’s mine. If I kill her, no one can take her from me again.”

Tears roll down Avery’s cheeks. “Don’t let him kill me, Autumn. Help me.”

“I’m trying,” I scream, struggling with the door.

Rick laughs, and the gun goes off. Avery’s body falls, eyes staring up at me. “You didn’t help me. I thought you loved me. That you’d always protect me. That’s what sisters are supposed to do.”

“I tried,” I cry out. “I really tried. I swear it.”

“Mama, wake up.”

I jerk upright at the voice, my breathing erratic, my eyes feeling like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. Worse, the feeling of needing to throw up is nearly overwhelming. I scramble away, escaping the arms holding me, and rush out of the bed, my hands covering my mouth as I search the dark for the bathroom.

A soft glow fills the room, and I immediately see the dark entrance to the bathroom. I rush, barely making it, before dropping to my knees and vomiting.

“Fuck,” Striker curses behind me and comes closer, stroking my back while using his other hand to brush my hair out of the way. I don’t know how it got out of the messy bun I had it in or how I got to Striker’s bed. The last thing I remember was falling asleep curled up to Striker on his couch.

When there’s nothing left to throw up, I collapse and sob right there on the bathroom floor. There’s no way I couldn’t. The dream is still fresh in my head.

I find myself being lifted off the floor and set on the counter. Water comes on, and Striker comes in my blurred vision. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t bother either. He stays silent while bringing a washcloth and cleaning my face. He then surprises me by tossing it in the sink and pulling out a fresh toothbrush.

“I can do that,” I finally say, not about to let him brush my teeth for me when he hands it over with the toothpaste on it.

“Have at it, Mama,” he murmurs, far too gently.

I pop the toothbrush in my mouth and slide off the counter to turn toward it, all while brushing the taste of vomit away. Once I finish, I rinse my mouth and the toothbrush and, without thinking, put the toothbrush in the holder next to Striker’s.

“Thank you,” I say without looking up. There’s no way I can face Striker, not without humiliation.

“Not a problem,” Striker mutters and curls an arm around my waist. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

I nod, agreeing, and let him guide me there, though all I want to do is run and hide.

Striker scoops me off my feet and lays me on the bed, climbing in next to me.

“Better?” he asks, curling himself around my back.

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