Page 37 of Striker

At some point, his other hand slid around my back and I’m now pressed flush against him, feeling every inhale. Butterflies dance in my belly as his fingers dig into the small of my back. His nose presses to my hair and he inhales slowly. The same way hedid in the club. I wish I would stop flashing on the memories of him. Of how he felt. How he made me feel. The feel of his lips, pulling, eating, sucking at my clit. The way the fingers pressed to the small of my back felt moving inside me. How badly I craved him. All of them.

“Then,” he whispers, his voice breathy, like he’s struggling to get enough air in his lungs. “Once you’re dripping wet and begging for our attention, you’ll be punished.”

The way my clit throbs tells me I spent way too long alone in that room.

I bite my lip, trying to keep the question in my mouth, but I fail and ask, “You get off on threats?”

“I get off on teaching a particular bratty Princess to behave. Maybe you’ll get the belt until your pretty ass is raw and red. Whatever we want to do to you, you’ll endure.” He leans back and his eyes catch mine. “Be a good girl and stay inside where it’s safe.”

He releases me. I stumble back. The cold hits me everywhere. I wrap my arms around my chest. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.

His gaze drops to my belly and his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, exasperated breath. “You’ve not been eating properly.”

“I wonder if it has anything to do with being held hostage,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words.

Striker snatches my wrist. I attempt to jerk away, but he grips me tighter, tugging me through the large entryway toward the back of the house. My heart leaps, hope blooming that maybe he’s taking me to Cora.

“Where is she?” I ask, my eyes darting in every direction, taking in not only the stunning sight of the old mansion, but where we are going, trying to remember the route we’re taking. “Will you please tell me if she’s safe?”

Striker stops suddenly and turns to face me, dropping my hand. We’re outside a vast room with a black grand piano and an empty table holding a lamp. Like the rest of the house, it’s old, worn, but still clean.

His gold eyes land on my face. They look softer than just a few minutes ago and I wonder if saying please is what made him turn nice. I wish I could see his face.

No. I take that back. If I see his face, that means I’m dead. They’ll never let me go if I can identify them.

“She’s safe,” he says and turns, continuing to walk to the back of the mansion. “Follow me.”

Relief floods my entire body, making the tension in my shoulders ease. I don’t know why I believe him, but I do.

“When do I get to see her?” I ask, rushing to keep up with his long strides. “Can I see her now?”

“Do not ask me again.”

“Striker.”

He spins, tension apparent in how his shoulders stiffen and his tilts. “Do not ask me again, Princess. You’ll only anger me.”

“Why are we here?” I ask instead. “Ransom? Did you take us to get my father…” my voice trails off, remembering Reaper’s words. “What did Reaper mean when he said my father took something from him?”

Without answering, Striker grips my arm again and pulls me along. Instead of asking anymore questions he obviously will not answer, I focus on absorbing the details of the mansion, my father’s lesson flashing through my mind.

Don’t be distracted by flashyclothes and money. You want to see what’s underneath the facade. That’s how you outsmart them.

The mansion is massive. Old. Reminding me of those huge gilded mansions from the late 1800s. The house is in not reallydecay, but sitting dormant. Unused. Unloved. Like a museum capturing a fraction in time but allowed to rust and collect dust.

The lack of furniture or other decor and the fact the place isn’t maintained makes me wonder again about ransom, but then Reaper said revenge.

But my father said collect.

My head swims, trying to piece everything together. We reach a large dining room and I freeze in the doorway.

“Hello, Tiny Thing.”

My entire body jerks at the sound of the voice behind me and I stumble into Striker, who catches me by the waist.

“You’re little tantrum got you what you wanted,” Breaker says, moving around me to stand next to Viper, who leans against a huge wooden dining table. Striker shoves me ahead of him into the room.

That’s when I see him.

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