Page 67 of Striker

“Reap’s pissed,” Viper says. “It’s a dumb move. They only have a month before the final test and Fallon won’t care if he has a broken arm. He’ll still make him go.”

I nod, catching sight of Breaker entering the yard from our sleeping quarters. Viper waves him over.

“Does he have a death wish?” Breaker asks when he stops next to Viper.

“He’s just trying to show off.” Viper glances at me, then says to Breaker, “You know he’s always trying to getsomeone’sattention.”

My jaw tightens, my gaze dropping to my boots. I feel my cheeks warm, but I don’t want them to notice.

“Leave him alone,” Reaper says, catching my expression when he stops next to me and turns to face the circle. “Hunter’s ego is bigger than the whole yard. He wants to impresseveryone.”

Viper smirks. “And one person in particular.”

A muffled grunt grabs our attention and I look up in time to see Hunter land a punch to Raid’s jaw. Wincing, I cross myarms, hope curling in my gut that maybe this will end quickly, before Raid can land too many hits.

Lunging forward, and dipping low, Hunter hooks an arm around Raid’s thigh and uses his shoulder to help lift. Raid falls backward and hits the mud with a thud. Dark water splashes up and sprays across Hunter’s gray shirt like a smattering of blood. Raid’s guttural scream of rage makes my blood freeze. Before Hunter can complete the move, Raid swings his leg, forcing Hunter to lose is grip.

“Shit,” Reaper says, already moving forward.

Raid twists from Hunter’s grasp and changes positions, hooking him around his waist, bringing both men to their knees. Like he already knows what Raid’s trying to do, Hunter releases him and attempts to hook him around his neck. Raid anticipates his movements and grabs Hunter with both arms and lifts. Hunter’s feet leave the mud as Raid stands, bringing Hunter up higher and higher.

Then I watch, air leaving my lungs as he slams him down. Hunter hits the mud with a sickening smack that sends pain through my teeth like it was me hitting the ground. The hiss of pain that leaves him as his head lands makes my eyes blur, then sharpens to focus as red colors the world around me.

The world seems to fade, all color bleeding away until it’s just hazy scarlet with Raid in the center. I feel my feet moving. Feel my hands reaching for my belt. Feel the cold metal buckle against my fingers. Hear the leather hissing as it slips from the belt loops. How my boots squelch in the mud as I stalk forward. But then all this noise gets drowned out by thethump, thump, thumpof my heart beating in my chest, pounding like war drums.

Smooth leather wraps around my hand as I wind the belt over and over, until I know it’s the perfect length, the metal buckle dangling from the end. The muscles in my shoulder andarm stretch and ache as I pull back, then release violently as I slam the leather down. The metal hits with a viciousthwackand a guttural scream breaks through the sound in my head.

The world snaps back into focus, everything around me vividly outlined. Reaper’s on one side, Viper on my other. Breaker at my back.

I do it again, feeling the hit reverberate up my arm. When I release the belt again, a slick satisfaction curls in my gut. Then again, not caring that I recognize the sickening screams as a boy’s skin slices open.

Not caring its me causing the pain this time.

I want to hurt him.

He hurt Hunter.

My chest heaves, breaths bursting from me almost painfully. The belt lands again, then again and again and there’s a part of me that’s surprised no one is stopping me. That I’m not stopping myself.

I could if I wanted to.

But I don’t.

When it lands again, Raid whimpers, and it jolts through me like a bolt of lightning.

“Striker.” Reaper’s voice blends in with the whimpers for a second, but I drop my arm, letting the belt uncoil and fall to the mud. “He’s had enough.”

“Has he?” I ask, turning my head to look at Reaper by my side. “Has he learned his lesson?”

“Please,” Raid says, his voice hoarse from screaming. He touches the thin red lines on his cheek, bruises already forming under swollen skin.

“Ah, fuck,” Hunter says, sitting up. Mud smears his cheeks and lumps in his hair. His dark eyes meet mine and teeth flash as he smiles. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch, Strike.”

My heart stutters at seeing his smile. Seeing him sitting up, then pulling himself to his feet.

I glare at him, anger making my stomach roil. “You owe me lunch.”

His laughter cuts through me sharply, but my shoulders ease when he hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me to him. We both watch Reaper offer a hand to Raid. He refuses and staggers to his feet, boots sloshing in the mud. He casts me a lethal glare.

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