Page 5 of Tucker's Strike

“You know your woman is gonna be fine. She’s a fighter.”

It was nothing but the truth. Karsyn was a survivor. She might be dainty and petite, but she’s a fighter.

Corbin nods, then shakes his head. “Enough with the pussy talking shit. Let me know if you find her. Bring her back here, and we’ll find out what the fuck she’s running from. We don’t need any surprises.”

“If she’s there.” I nod. Hell, she might not be. This could be just a dead end.”

If the tiger inside me weren’t clawing at my insides to find her, I wouldn’t even bother. I’ve been alone other than my brothers this long. It’s not like I need anyone in my life who isn’t already a part of it.

This club, they’re my family. They might not replace the ones I lost, but they’re there for me, and the same goes for me.

I pivot on the toe of my boot and make my way to my bike. I didn’t have to see the address again to know where I was heading. The little house that the address belongs to isn’t just any place in this town. I know where it is because it’s a property that belongs to me and is managed for me by a company in town that deals in rentals as well as selling houses.

Even better. I already have the key to the place. It means whoever it is that moved in will be shocked to find me walking in if they’re home.

Chapter Three

Lake

Someone’s inside.

My heart races, beating wildly. Someone is in my house.

I stare at the door to the tiny little home I rented. The doors closed, but I can feel there’s a person just on the other side of it. A shiver courses down my spine. Whoever the person is, they’re a shifter. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. I’ve always been able to tell shifters apart from regular humans.

I should probably turn and run. Leave everything I own in there and go. Get as far away from here and not look back.

However, my feet refuse to do such. Instead, I find myself creeping toward the door. I barely get my hand on the doorknob before the door is thrown open, and an enormous beast of a man is standing there just inside the tiny house. Eyes glowing gold, lips drawn back, teeth flashing.

“Mate,” he snarls, animalistically. One of his hands clamps on my wrist and yanks me through the threshold, slams the door closed, only to shove me against it and get in my space. With him this close, I not only feel his head but see the stripes licking athis skin the way it did my dad and uncles when their animal was close to the surface.

“Mate,” he says again, dipping his head down as he sniffs. He surprises me further when he lets go of my wrist and cages me with his full body against mine as he nuzzles my hair and murmurs again. “Mate.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I blurt out, not understanding him. I mean, I knew what a mate was for shifters. My mom had been my dad’s fated mate. He never found another after her. He says the love he had for her was too strong for him ever to replace it.

“Mate.”

The gruff, harsh, gravelly voice sends tendrils of sensations along my spine. Something in the back of my mind screams at me to run. However, that little voice isn’t as loud as the other one, telling me I need to lean into this man and hold on tight, which I don’t get. I’ve always run. This beast of a man, this tiger shifter, I should be fighting to escape from him.

“Found you, Mate,” he says, nuzzling the side of my neck.

“Again, why do you keep saying that? And you need to step back. Haven’t you heard of personal space,” I mutter. My survival instincts finally kick in, overriding the other sensations that want to cloud my judgment.

I press my hands firmly against his chest to shove him away. What I didn’t expect was the heat radiating from him to flow through my palms like a warm fire does when you’re cold inside.

Thankfully, he does as I want him to and steps back, though only a step. Still, it’s enough for me to get a good look at him.

The stripes on his face recede, and his dark eyes are taking me in as much as I’m taking him. His head is shaved and smooth, and I wonder if he has to wear a cap of some kind to keep the cold at bay. Shifting my gaze further, I take in the neatly trimmed but longest beard. I can feel a tingle at the thoughtof feeling how soft his beard is—and maybe having it touching another part of my body. A place where no one has ever touched me before.

At his ear, he has a bar going through the upper lobe and another circle thing. I’m not sure what it’s called at the bottom.

Thanks to always being on the run, I didn’t get to go to school or even keep up with a lot of modern things. I did at least learn from my uncles and dad. They taught me to read and to write. Use my head. I wasn’t stupid by any means, but I didn’t have time to keep up to date on all the newest stuff in the world or why people pierced their bodies or got tattoos.

This is the first time I’m actually staying in a house in a town rather than finding a no-name motel where no one asks questions. It’s different for me. Probably even stupid because I risked someone finding me. And in the end, I was found.

Just not by the ones looking for me, but a whole different type of threat. One I don’t understand just yet.

Looking farther down, I take in the leather jacket he’s wearing overtop of a black tee, the very tee I have my hands pressed against. His legs are clad in jeans, and his feet are covered in motorcycle boots. I lift my gaze back up, stopping on his chest and seeing more than just his jacket. It has patches on it, just like the ones I saw earlier in the day on the men riding motorcycles.

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