Page 36 of Striker

I mentally swipe the thought away, not letting the memory settle. In the late hours, I spent too much time replaying how he bent me over the bed for it to be healthy. My body thrumming, wanting the feeling of him touching me again, need throbbing my clit to the point I almost touched myself, but I knew they’d be watching.

When I reach the door, I pause, taking a deep breath. Clenching my teeth, I step out into the hall. To my left, the long corridor is lined with more doors, ending with a massive window and a door leading to a balcony. To my right, the hall ends at an enormous set of wooden stairs with marble pillars and iron railings leading up, another set going down. When I see no one, I rush to the row of large windows across from my bedroom door and peer outside.

My entire body stiffens at the sight. I place my hands on the cracked sill, pressing my face to the window, trying to absorb everything I’m seeing.

Open lawn sprawls out for several yards before ending at a line of trees. Right below me are pathways weaving around an old garden lined with pillars and empty pots. I can see what I’m guessing is the main part of the mansion to the right. It’s like I’ve been plucked from the lobby of the modern world and placed down in a vintage photograph of an old French estate.

I need to find Cora.

I rush to the door down the hall from mine, but it’s locked. Even though I know she’s more than likely not being kept anywhere near me, I check all the rooms lining the hall as I make my way to the staircase. They’re all empty or locked, with no sign that anyone has been in them for some time. My gut tells me she’s not in this part of the house. For the last week, I’ve heard no other sounds except for the occasional groan of a pipe. There’s no noise at all.

When I reach the end of the hall, I peer up the huge spiral staircase and see a large domed ceiling with a faded mural two floors above. My gaze falls to the staircase that curves down to the landing, and I lean over the railing, but only see more empty space, more pillars, and ornately inlaid wood floors.

My hand lightly slides down the rough railing as I descend, my socked feet making no sound. As my feet hit the bottom step, I stop, leaning forward to peer through the massive doorways flanking the entry. On one side looks like a formal living room, but furnished with only a few settees and a table with no lamp. The other side is possibly a library or study of some sort. In front of me is a huge double door with large floor to ceiling windows on either side, sunlight like a gauzy mist pouring in through the milky white leaded glass.

My belly flutters and I leap off the step and run to the door, skidding to a stop as I grip the knob and pull. It groans as it swings open and a blast of frigid air nearly steals my breath.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you.”

My scream catches in my throat, my hand flying to my mouth as I spin, the dregs of my cry echoing in the large, empty space. Striker leans against the doorframe leading to the sitting room, arms crossed over his broad chest. He looks exactly as I remembered him. Skull mask with the scar over the eye. Tight black shirt and fatigues that hug his muscular legs. Black gloves and belt.

I swallow, pressing my hand harder to my throat, but that only makes me remember the way he did and my belly dips.

“Where’s Cora?”

No answer.

My chest heats, anger flaring like firecrackers, my fists curling at my sides. Now that I’m standing here with him, the rage at what they’ve done to us breaks free and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. From lunging forward and punching my fist into his fucking jaw, hidden behind a fucking mask like a coward.

His brown eyes move from my mouth up to my eyes. That night with them, they looked dark in the dim light, but now I can see they are lighter than I thought. Gold, woven with amber flecks, like a lion. Or a wolf. My cheeks heat, remembering the way he looked at me as I sucked his dick.

The way his gaze drags over me right now tells me he’s thinking the same thing, those gold eyes slipping over every inch, making it feel like he’s seeing under my clothes, remembering the shape of my breasts and the curve of my hips.

“If you want to keep the privilege of leaving your room, you won’t try to run,” he says finally.

I have no response because I can’t even try to escape until I find Cora.

He uncrosses his arms and steps toward me. Instinctively, I step back. Striker moves forward, darting toward me, and I back away even more, but he grips my arms and tugs me to himbefore my foot can pass over the threshold. Shoving me aside, he slams the door shut, glass rattling, then turns to face me. Up this close, I’m reminded of how crazy big he is. Muscles and chest and height.

How very male he is.

I clear my throat, his words from a moment ago finally settling in my head. “Privilege?”

I swear he smiles. “If you try to run, we will catch you.”

We. Them. Allfourof them.

“There are terrible creatures out there.” Striker steps forward. My feet move of their own accord, my left foot sliding back to keep him from closing the few inches separating us. “Bears. Wolves. Dangerous things.”

“There are terrible things inhere,” I say, but it comes out shaky.

His right arm shoots out so fast, I gasp, then he’s gripping the back of my neck, dragging me to him. My hands land on his warm chest and I realize my entire body is shaking from the cold. Fear.Him.

“It would be wise for you to remember that.” He lowers his head until his masked mouth is next to my ear. “Promise me you won’t try to run.”

I inhale sharply as his grip on my neck tightens, making everything down low clench.

“Do you know what happens to naughty girls who try to run?” Striker shifts so his leg moves between my thighs, the long dress sliding up my calves. His thigh hits the space that’s aching from his nearness. “They are caught and tied up. Wrists bound so tight it’ll make your pussy wet.”

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