Page 38 of Striker

Reaper. And he looks furious.

Chapter 16

Delilah

It’s like he poisonedmy body against me. The way it just reacts to him makes me wonder what the fuck he did to me that night in the club.

Onyx eyes rake up and down me, as invasive as his hands and mouth were last night.

“If you pull that stunt again, I’ll lock you in the basement where there are no windows to break,” Reaper says, pushing off the wall at the back of the room but he stops in the center of the dining room next to the long table. Even several feet away, he feels like he’s invading my space. “Then you’ll just freeze to death and you won’t be a problem anymore.”

“I’m about to freeze to death in my room,” I snark.

“You really think after your attempt to break a window, we’re going to trust you with a fire in your room?” Viper laughs. “You’d try to burn the whole house down to escape.”

He’s not wrong.

“This place has radiators.” My smile is coated with venom. “I’m sure between all of you, there is enough brain power to get them up and running.”

Breaker chuckles.

“Again,” Reaper says, large, stupidly sexy shoulders tensing, “When you decide to stop tearing your room apart looking for weapons and I know you won’t try to somehow use the radiator to murder us, I’ll adjust the boiler so you have heat.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse, Kitten.” Reaper points to the table. “Now sit down.”

Next to me, Breaker pulls out a chair and settles down. He pats his lap in invitation.

Yeah. I don’t think so.

Before I can voice the thought, he tugs me onto his lap. I cry out a surprised peep, and land awkwardly, my hands flying out to catch myself with the edge of the table.

“Now it’s time to eat,” Viper says, and that’s when I notice my usual tray laden with food sitting in the center of the table. “Be a good girl and listen to Reaper.”

Breaker’s arm wraps around my middle, and he adjusts me on his lap, pressing my back to his solid, warm chest. I sit upright, my fingers curling into the tabletop, my spine ramrod straight. This is the first I’ve been close to any of them and my heart hammers, feeling his long fingers dig into my hip, squeezing me like he can’t help himself. Like maybe he’s constantly flooded with memories of that night, too.

“Hands on the table,” Reaper says, leaning over to drag the tray of food toward him as he moves closer, stopping so he’s towering over me, his belt level with my eyes.

Shit. He’s big. Everything about him is large. The thought sends heat shivering through my belly, pulling my lip down in annoyance.

My eyes lift from the black metallic buckle up to his black eyes. Something flickers behind them. Anger. Disdain. Something else, some other emotion I can’t place. He shifts, his thumb hooking on the belt. My gaze snag on his long fingers, and the dark ink on the back of his hand. He’s not wearing his gloves again. I focus on his bare hand, and that’s when I notice it.

He’s hard.

Theybothare.

My entire body goes rigid. I grip the table and try to pull myself up, something fluttering weirdly, low in my belly as Breaker’s thick cock digs into my butt. Reaper’s hand slams down on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

“Stay,” he growls.

I grind my teeth, glaring up at him, knuckles turning white as I try to keep from shoving them both away and refusing to listen. But I’m not sure what they’ll do if I try to move. The angry stare I’m getting from Reaper right now tells me it’s pointless to fight them. There’s four of them and one of me.

They’re going to win.

Behind me, Breaker grunts from the pressure of my ass on his hard dick when I shift again, trying to avoid sitting on his erection, but that’s just impossible. I remember vividly what he looked like as he fucked Cora.

A chair scrapes across the wood floor, breaking the tension as Striker sits to our right. Reaper’s hand drops from my shoulder and he places it flat on the table. He taps on the wood top with one finger, and my eyes track his movements, drawn to the tattoos. I caught a glimpse of his tanned flesh and the ink over the back of his hands last night, but now I see the skull’s below his knuckles on each finger, the one on his index finger slashed over with a red mark, and the intricate details of the flowers and vines snaking up to his wrist and disappearing under the shirtsleeve.

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