Page 6 of Striker

Hope spreads through my chest. That means there is a way out of this. My father will stop at nothing to save Cora and me, even if it means paying an exorbitant ransom or unleashing his wrath upon whoever is behind this. I can almost feel Rune’s rage burning inside me, urging me to hold on because he will come for us. He will find us. My father will make them suffer. He’ll use any means necessary to track us down and kill whoever is behind this.

Theywillfind us.

Clyde will burn the fucking world down to get Cora and me back. He may already be on his way here, frothing at the mouth to exact revenge on the people who took us.

But who?

Who had these guys take us?

And who the fuck are these guys?

The way they stormed the lobby and took out the guards means they’re trained. And trained well. Their fatigues and masks were no costumes the other night in the club. Their code names and efficiency screams of military training. Soldiers of some sort, but not like the ones Rune or my father’s associates employ. These guys possess too much skill to be regular security detail or henchmen. They were too brutal. Everything they did was precise. Planned.

Including the way they fucked us.

My stomach roils and I curl in on myself, drawing my knees up to my chest. I clench my teeth, trying to keep the burning rage from erupting as my emotions spiral. This shouldn’t feel so devastating, but it does. The betrayal cuts intome deep, a sharp blade slicing through my chest, leaving behind a searing ache.

How could they have planned to ambush us like this? Last night, they had the chance to strike. Instead, they chose to bide their time, deceiving us so brutally by gaining our trust enough that we willingly spread our legs. Then, they waited for the perfect moment to take us.

In front of my father.

“Fuck!” I scream through clenched teeth.Fucking assholes.They waited on purpose. The men wanted my father to see us taken away from him. They wanted him toknowwe’d fucked them. Reaper’s sick words slam into me and I think I may actually vomit.

A tear threatens to break loose, but I cannot lose control. “Assholes,” I murmur through clenched teeth. “Fuckingassholes.”

“Rather unladylike of you.”

I scream, jerking so violently that my legs kick out. His familiar voice curls around my neck the way his hand had. I suck in air, trying to calm my breathing. I didn’t even hear him nearby.

“Then again, the way you choked on my cock wasn’t becoming of a lady.”

“Fuck you,” I seethe.

“Oh, don’t worry, Princess, you will.” Striker’s boots scrape over the wood floor as he steps closer. “If I remember correctly, you really liked my cum sliding down your throat.”

I clench my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms to keep from responding. That’s what he wants and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

I hear more shuffling and then the scent of earth and something else I can’t place hits my nose. Something slightly acidic but sweet. Like a cleaner. I didn’t detect it before, so he’smoved closer, or came into the room without making a sound. Now, I hear the faint sound of leather creaking and sense him close. Too close and immediately that bubbling panic tries to return, but I shove it down.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll untie you and you can have my cock again.”

I bite back another useless retort. It won’t do any good to let him get me riled. That’s all he’s trying to do. Get under my skin. Everything they’ve done to us has been a mind-fuck.

I open my mouth to ask where she is, but stop myself. I cannot let them know she’s important. Men like them will use this information against me. I know because it’s exactly what my father taught me to do. Exploit any and every weakness.

“I have to pee,” I say instead.

Nothing.

“Hope you have a mop,” I say, my throat tightening, cheeks flaming that he may actually let me soil myself. “Because I’m about to piss all over the floor unless you let me use the bathroom.”

A hand lands on my arm, and my entire body jerks before I freeze, fear tingling in my arms and hands. My heart skips in my chest as his hand slides down and he grabs my wrists, yanking them up. I’m forced onto my stomach, pain shooting through my arms. His knee presses into my back between my shoulder blades, and an instant later, my hands are free, but the weight of his knee doesn’t go away. My hands fly out, palms pressing to the cold wood, my chin hitting the floor as my blood pulses, sending sensation back to my limbs.

“You’re going to cooperate,” Striker says, his velvety voice right next to my ear, making my pulse quicken oddly. “When we tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. You will not fight us, scream, or cause any problems.”

His gloved hand slips under my chin, and my head jerks back, breath rushing out. My eyelids flutter in the hood’s darkness as fear laces its way down my spine. My bladder contracts, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to piss myself.

“Do you understand, Princess?”

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