Page 100 of Striker

He shakes his head, and a lock of hair falls around his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, because I have zero control over my mouth right now.

The corner of his full lips curl up, making my belly dip. I’d probably be sleeping with him too, if I wasn’t so busy havingan existential crisis downstairs. I can see why Delly was a bit overcome and—

I press the back of my hands to my eyes, sucking in a breath, trying desperately to get my thoughts under control. My head spins, emotions flinging every direction at once, so it feels like I’m spiraling downward. So much has changed in just twenty-four hours. I know my brain’s still playing catch up.

I’m mortified they know the details of Rune, humiliated that I allowed it to happen for so long, and relieved someone knows. I don’t have to carry the burden of hiding it anymore.

A part of me always wanted to scream from the top of my lungs until my throat was raw and he was exposed, but I was scared. Too scared of Delly finding out. Too scared I’d be seen as weak for allowing it. Worried I’d not be believed.

Terrified, Delly would think I did something to warrant his sick attention.

Deep down, I know it’s just fear and my own warped thinking that kept me silent. But I don’t have to worry anymore. She knows.Theyknow.

“Pretty Little Flower,” Strikers says, cupping my cheeks.

Shit. I can’t even think straight when he pulls my hands down and kisses the tears away from the back of my hands.

“No more tears,” Striker says, and I nod, eating up every detail of his face, his neck, the white scars on his forearms.

Scars. Like his mask. “What are those from?” I ask.

He releases me, crossing his arms over his chest, gripping each forearm. His eyes drop to my mouth. In this light, they’re a dark amber, flecked with a deep brown.

“I did it when I was locked in the cold room,” he says quietly, the words slipping out like a secret. “I was trying to keep myself from falling asleep like I did before when my mother left me in darkness.”

My fingers splay out with the memory of my own fingers raking down the wood door. He told me about being left in a closet like me, but I don’t know what he means by the cold room, so I ask, “Was the cold room different from the darkness?”

A small smile, more a grimace than anything, tugs at the corner of his mouth. My heart actually flutters at the sight. “They were similar, but I came out of the cold room a different person.”

I want to ask more, but I don’t think I want to know. The way his brows knit and his eyes lose focus tells me he doesn’t want to remember. Lifting my hand, I run a finger along one of the thicker scars, thinking about a boy so scared of dying that he tore himself apart to stay alive.

“I have scars too,” I whisper. Striker unfolds his arms, letting them drop to his side. “Mine are all inside my head.”

“They leak out when you dream,” he says, reaching for my hand. “But you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“Viper told me I’m staying.” I drag my gaze all over him again. I wonder if the other men are this beautiful. This damaged, carrying scars under their clothes and inside their heads like we do.

“You’re safe here.” Cupping my jaw, his thumb grazes my bottom lip as he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. The soft kiss burns, making me lean into him, pressing his mouth to me harder, trying to ease this fire flaming across my skin.

God, this is all so insane. He was obviously just fucking Delly. I’ve been fucking Delly. We all fucked just weeks ago. They kidnapped us. We are supposed to be scared, and hate them, and here we are sitting in a bathroom, the man responsible for stealing and saving me, peppering me with soft kisses and all I want to do is wrap myself around him so he doesn’t stop.

“You both need rest,” Striker says when he backs away. “And I need to talk to the others.”

I nod, watching his lips form the words.

“Little Flower?”

I glance up at his eyes. Iknewthey weren’t bad. I know evil men, and I felt with every fiber of my being, they weren’t the same.

“Are you okay?”

I lick my lips, tasting his kiss, wondering if his mouth had been on Delly. If he just kissed her or if he licked her cunt like I did just last night.

“Why was I going back?” I ask.

He blinks and looks away. When he steps back, I watch his hands, the cords of muscles in his forearms and the scars his life has left on him as he pulls his pants away from his body and tugs up the zipper. The urge to stop him, move his hand and reach into his pants and free him is so strong that I grip the edge of the counter to stop myself.

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