Page 89 of Striker

My stomach churns, remembering how I called him Papa in front of them. They knew this entire time I was fucking Rune. They know he hurts me.

But that doesn’t explain the driver.

“What’s happening?” I ask, turning in Reaper’s arms to look at the others.

Breaker’s incessant foot tapping stops and he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as he lowers his masked head to his hands.

He’s wearing his gloves. They all are.

My teeth set on edge. They haven’t worn their gloves in weeks. They’ve pushed up sleeves and I’ve caught glimpses of tattoos and scars. Pulled masks away to eat, revealing flashes of high cheekbones and tanned flesh. I’ve seen more than I did that night in the dim club. I could identify them by these things alone.

But today, they’re covering everything up and that means only one thing.

We’re being sent back.

“Where’s Delly?” Even I hear the panic in my voice.

“She’s upstairs,” Striker says.

But then we all hear her say, “I’m right here.”

I spin in Reaper’s arms again and my gaze lands on her in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe, the other pressing to her belly, making me wonder if hers always flips and flutters around them like mine does. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as her gaze bounces between the men. She still has that slightly feral look about her. Like she’s about to come completely unhinged.

When her eyes land on the driver, she blanches. Blue eyes widen, darting to Reaper. “We’re going back?”

I know they hear the same disbelief in her voice that I do.

“Not you, Princess,” Striker says, reaching out to grasp her arm.

Not you…

Turning, I face Reaper, and grip the front of his shirt. He looks down at me and I think I see a flash of remorse in the black pools of his eyes as his jaw ticks under his mask. “You’re sending justmeback?”

He nods. My hands tingle.

“Just me?”

“Yes, Baby Girl, we have orders,” he tells me.

Orders. Like theyhaveto, not because they want to.

Panic snakes its way up my throat, curling around my neck. My fingers dig into his shirt tighter, tugging it away from his chest until he’s forced to make eye contact again.

I shake my head. “You can’t send me back.” Reaper blinks, then looks down at my hands on his shirt. His shoulders rise on an inhale as his hands cup my cheeks and he runs a gloved thumb over my bottom lip, the material so impersonal against my flesh.

Disbelief makes my fingers unfurl.They’re sending me back.They know what Rune is like, what he’s doing to me, and they’re still sending me back to him.

Maybe they don’t know all the details.

But they know enough.

My hands fist his shirt again and I tug, standing up on my tiptoes, pressing my chest to his, trying to force my words onto him so he can understand, “Icannotgo back, Reaper.”

His hands tighten on my cheeks briefly. “You have to, Baby Girl.”

“No,” I hiss, the sting of tears pissing me off as much as his words. Hisstupidityfor not understanding that I can’t go back. I tug harder, pulling his shirt down. “You know Ican’t.”

Reaper’s flinch mirrors my own as he tenses, his body turning to solid stone under my hands. His eyes dart to Delly behind me and then to the men around us.

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