Page 127 of Striker

They both look my way.

I slip back under the sheets.

“Get cleaned up,” Striker says, stalking across the room toward the bed. I eat up the strong hard planes of his body, the way the jeans hug his dick and how muscles move in his arms.

I wonder, watching his eyes darken as he moves forward, dragging me from the bed, and pushing me toward the bathroom, if what Reaper said is true.

If we belong to them and they’ll never let us go, I wonder if that means they’re ours too.

Because I think I like the idea of them belonging to me.

Think I really, really like the idea of these four men belonging to Cora, who needs someone strong, someone dangerous and edged with violence to keep her safe.

Chapter 49

Breaker

The red flowers inthe cracked pottery gleam in the early morning light, the dew slightly frozen on the petals glistening like drops of blood. Winter sunlight creates deep shadows and brilliant highlights in the garden below. The entire world looks overly saturated this morning, last night's rainstorm washing away the dirt and dry leaves, leaving the world brighter. Crisp with a frigid chill that makes the air taste clean.

Fitting after last night. It’s like the sun rose on this day, knowing we needed a fresh canvas. Knowing that after all the dark days and uncertainty about what we set out to do would work, after all the terrible things revealed, we needed this brilliant morning to remind us that the years we planned this were worth it.

Last night proved it was.

“No!” Cora’s shriek of laughter brings me back to center, and I lean over the balcony peering down to where she’s standing with Delilah and Striker in the center of the back garden. He grips her arm, pulling her to his chest, his mouthdescending on her like he’s done this a million times. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. Like we didn’t keep them locked away for weeks, forcing them to bond with us.

“Do you think they wanted this?” Viper asks from behind me. I grip the railing as he steps up next to me, my chest constricting. It always does when he’s close. It tightens, making it hard to breathe. “Do you think it actually worked and we Jedi mind-fucked them into wanting us?”

I asked myself that same question over and over last night after I carried Cora and Striker carried Delilah upstairs. In the darkness of my room, I laid in my empty bed, wondering if they gave themselves over to us so easily because they had wanted us all along or if we really succeeded with our mission and molded Delilah, and Cora too, into wanting us, believing us, needing us.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. I don’t admit I’m not sure I care. We have them both, and that’s all that matters.

He steps up close, letting his arm brush mine. He always does this, touches me, and I’ve learned over the years he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s like some unconscious thing where his body wants to be connected to mine in any way possible.

Viper pulls at his mask, adjusting it around his neck, then crosses his arms as his hip hits the railing. My eyes fall to his hands clasped over his massive biceps.

Fuck. He’s so fucking sexy and he has no idea.

“I would like to think that they made this choice of their own free will and not because we did that captive syndrome thing with them,” he says. “Last night sure felt real.”

Last night was amazing. It would have only have been better if we didn’t have to wear these masks anymore, but I don’t know if we’re ready just yet. Striker may trust that the girls will remain loyal to us, but I’m unsure. Even after last night.

“Stockholm,” I say, my eyes gravitating back to the garden below. “It’s called Stockholm Syndrome after that bank heist in Sweden.”

“Whatever it’s called, do you think that’s what it is?” Viper asks, clearly distressed at the idea we coerced the girls. What he doesn’t realize is that all we did is show them the truth. What he cannot see is that we saved Cora from Rune without even knowing it, and when Delilah discovered we would rather break orders to keep her best friend turned lover safe, we earned her trust.

“No,” I say. “I think what happened is exactly what Reaper had planned. We showed them the truth, and they made a choice.”

What I don’t say is that I had seriously doubted Reaper in the beginning. That I had thought his hatred for Rune was clouding his judgment and he was determined to make someone, anyone, pay, even if it was a small woman with red hair who had nothing to do with Hunter’s death. Or that he was so hellbent on revenge he was blinded, unable to see his own lust for Delilah, that it turned into something dark and depraved.

What I don’t say is that I should have trusted him, like we’ve all trusted Reaper our entire lives, because he knew what he was doing. He was freeing Cora and convincing Delilah.

The asshole knew too that if he let Cora sit in her fear for a tad too long, I’d snap, break his order for him so he didn’t have to admit he hated seeing her scared as much as the rest of us, and I’d do what I wanted.

Because I always, always do, consequences be damned.

He knows us all a little too well.

But that’s how Reap works. He takes charge, forms a plan, and enacts it. He doesn’t care who he walks over in the process as long as the job is done.

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