Page 40 of Striker

“I’ve killed many people, Kitten,” Reaper says, shoving another piece of cheese past my lips hard enough that my head hits Breaker’s chin. “I need you to clarify.”

“I’d known him half of my life,” I say. “The man you shot in the head has been my father’s security guard since I was twelve years old.”

“That’s a sad story,” Reaper says. “He did his job well until he didn’t.”

I clench my teeth, fighting the sudden sting of tears, and shove down the memory of his blank eyes as he bled at my feet.

Like he can sense my distress, Breaker’s large hand lands on my thigh and he rubs it up and down over my dress. The move’s weirdly comforting and I settle back into him, watching Reaper pick up more food from the tray.

“Open.” He shoves another bit of food into my mouth. Reaper repeats the movement, feeding me little bites at a time, his movements turning less and less rough, until the tray is almost clear while Viper, sits quietly, his arms on the tabletopacross from us, greenish-blue eyes watching my mouth with an almost perverse interest, while Breaker’s hand moves up and down my thigh, or brushes my arm, and Striker sits silently beside us.

Having their focus on me makes my belly flutter, but I recognize the sensation. It’s not just nerves making me squirm. It's arousal.

God, they fucked me up.

Reaper was right. I’m not sure I actuallywanttheir attention now that I have it.

But I don’t think Idon’twant it either.

Keeping my hands on the table, I lean back against Breaker and shake my head when Reaper offers a hunk of bread. “I’m full.”

“You eat until the food is gone,” Reaper says, and there’s a warning in his voice. “You’re not eating enough and you’ve lost weight.”

Breaker’s arm tightens around my middle, his hand flexing on my hip. He’sstillhard. “Come on, Tiny Thing, you need to eat more.”

“Fattening up your prize pig?” I snarl, too aware of their closeness, their excitement, theireverything, yet unable to control my mouth. My father told me it would be my undoing and I think right now he may be right. “Is that what you guys have planned? Sell me off to the highest bidder since my father’s not coming through with the money?”

I bite my lip, regretting the words as soon as they slip past my lips. A tear threatens to break free and I furiously swipe my eye with my shoulder, keeping my palms flat. I focus on the tray of food, anger at myself making my cheeks heat.

Damn them.

I haven’t allowed myself to feel for days and the first time I admit to myself I’m scared my father won’t pay, or can’t come toget me, is in front of all of them, which just infuriates me further. I can not let them see any weakness. It’s obvious they’ll use it against me.

My fingers curl into the wood, nails scraping. “He’s going to kill you all when he comes to get me.”

“Your father doesn’t know where you are, Sweetheart,” Viper offers, leaning forward to scoot the tray closer to me. “He can’t get you if he doesn’t know where to look.”

“It’s hard to find someone when you take them hundreds of miles away,” I snap, faintly aware that I’ve opened my mouth, allowing Reaper to slip more food past my lips.

“How do you know you are hundreds of miles away?” Striker asks.

I swallow and accept another dried piece of fruit from Reaper before looking at Striker. “The landscape. It looks like the land around my father's lodge. And there are no palm trees and white sand.”

He just nods, glancing at Reaper.

So I was right. I knew I was, but had held on to the silly hope that maybe Florida suddenly had craggy cliffs. If Cora and I were simply being held until my father paid, we’d be close to him. Not sitting in a crumbling mansion hundreds, possibly even as much as a thousand miles away.

No one says anything for a few minutes and I eat until the food is gone and I feel like I’m going to explode. Satisfied, Reaper removes the tray and Viper hands me a bottle of water, leaning against the table, looking down at me in Breaker’s lap. I’m so full I can’t fit any more in my stomach, so I stuff it into the pocket of my sweater for later.

“What now?” I ask. “Are you guys going to strip me and bathe me too? Don’t trust me with a comb or brush? There are razors in my bathroom that I could use to make a shank.”

Viper laughs, brushing a strand of hair off my face. The move is intimate. Familiar.Because we are, I remind myself.

“If that’s a concern, maybe we should bathe you,” Striker says, and I swear he’s smiling under the mask.

“Or with you,” Breaker says, his words soft in my ear, his hips tilting to remind me of his erection.

Not like I need it. If anything, I’m a bittooaware of him.

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