Page 130 of Striker

Another grating command echoes through the house. I adjust the stack of books and take the last step off the stairwell, unease making my jaw tighten. They sound like they’re arguing.

As I enter the library, my gaze lands on the four men standing in a row, their backs to me. They all seem to tense, sensing my presence. The four step aside, parting to reveal an unfamiliar face in the center of the room.

My heart skips, my gaze instinctively falling on Reaper, then Striker next to him. My stomach drops as I notice the mask covering Striker’s face. Uncertainty gnaws at me as I hesitantly take a step forward, searching for any signs from Reaper that I should be concerned.

His black eyes tell me nothing. His tense shoulders and fisted gloved hands tells me I need to tread lightly.

The man’s polished shoes click against the wood floor as he steps forward, drawing my eyes. “Delilah Gavin,” the man says, voice like velvet. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

In person.

My grip tightens on the books and I hug them to my chest, heart hammering so hard it’s making it difficult to focus. I tilt my ankle in my boot, but remember my knife is gone. Viper never gave it back to me. As he steps closer, my eyes dart up his body, from his shiny black shoes to his face.

It’s so strange to see a face after so many weeks of just seeing my own and Cora’s, and Strikers barely two days ago, that I stare at him, taking in his features. He’s tall—almost as tall as Reaper—lithe, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit that accentuates his lean, athletic build. Silver hair, styled elegantly, long on top, but shaved on the sides. High cheekbones and a sharp jawline chiseled to perfection.

He’s striking in a way that’s intimidating, but it’s his eyes that make my skin prick with alarm. Piercingly clear, cold. Like ice, reminding me of Breaker, but lacking in depth or emotion. Like all color bled from the iris, leaving them empty.

“Who are you?” I ask before I can clamp my mouth shut, years of training on how to interact with cold, calculating men fleeing my body in this man’s presence.

This.Thisis a predator.

His lip curls, revealing a flash of white teeth, as his smirk cuts through me. “How impolite,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled. The instinct to back away is so strong I nearly do it, but I plant my boots on the hardwood floor and set my jaw, tracking his movements as he takes another step toward me. “No tact, but beautiful. I can see why my sons have become so enchanted with you.” He offers a large hand with thin fingers. “I’m Fallon Byrns. Their father.”

His words crash through my head, paralyzing me.

Sons.

Father.

“You’re their father?” I ask, my brows knitting. I glance at Reaper. When he spoke of their father, I’m not sure what, if anything, I pictured, but I certainly couldn't imagine the man before me. The four men flanking either side of him are all of a different ethnicity from what little I’ve seen of them, and maybe in some remote part of my mind I knew they were adopted after Reaper said they were all brothers, but I never would have pictured this man before me as their father. Or anyone’s, for that matter. My gaze moves back to the man Reaper said used to be friends with Rune. “How do you know Rune?”

His perfect silver brow arches. “I see Reaper has told you.”

I swallow the unease trying to choke all the air from my lungs. “He’s told me some, but I would still like to know why I’m here.”

Fallon turns his head to the side, looking over at Reaper. His profile is something an artist would weep over. He’s older than my father, but so handsome, so stoic and cold, that he looks years younger.

“She knows,” Reaper says, and his deep voice makes my nipples pebble.

“I’m aware of what Rune is doing,” I say, gathering all my courage to keep my voice from trembling. I refuse to show any weakness around this man. He is someone to fear. Someone to watch carefully. My instincts scream, telling me to be wary. This man, their father, is here for a reason after all these weeks.

Their father who lost a son.

The son Rune killed.

I guessed from the moment I woke up, my father knew who was taking us. He said as much when the four stormed into the lobby. That means he’s known all along who’s had us.

Did he send you?

He’s doing this…

He’s come to collect.

He’s known, this entire time, that this man in front of me took Cora and me, and Rune’s known this entire timewhywe were taken.

And he didn’t try to get us.

Fallon is the reason I’m here. He has to be the one who told these men to take us. Even though they explained, even though I know why they did what they did, having the man responsible for giving the order to use me standing before me, sends sparks of rage through my head.

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