Page 41 of Striker

I jump up, turning to glare at him, as his hands slip away, trying to ignore the heat flaring between my thighs. “You’d have to take your stupid masks off for that. And being you can’t even fuck without them on, I don’t think I need to worry about you joining me.”

“You need to worry about adjusting your tone,” Striker says, voice dropping low. “Be a good little hostage and go back to your room before you piss one if us off and that rude mouth earns you a lesson.”

My lip curls into a wicked grin. “You sure enjoyed my rude mouth before.”

Breaker sighs, stroking my thigh. “Tiny Thing, behave.”

Jerking back, I hit the table, a primal part of my brain lighting up, acutely aware I’m of their proximity, their hands, their large sexy muscles my body sings for like a starved siren.

“Go back upstairs and rest,” Breaker says, standing up. I suck in a breath. How I forgot how intimidatingly sexy he is seems stupid on my part now that he’s right in front of me, touching me with gentle hands.

My gaze falls to his chest, my mind flashing with the memory of his abs and sweat slicked flesh. When he hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my chin, I grip the table behind me, trying to control my breathing.

Pale blue eyes drop to my mouth. Breaker’s thumb swipes at my bottom lip, igniting flames under my flesh. “Run along,sweet girl, before we change our minds and tie you to this table and teach you a lesson.”

Shit. That shouldn’t sound so enticing.

Yeah. I definitely don’t need any more reminders of how large and infuriatingly sexy he is. And I certainly don’t need a lesson from them.

My body remembers just fine on its own.

Breaker steps back, letting me slip past. Their eyes bore into my back as I walk from the room. It feels like they can see under my flesh, to my blood burning in my veins, shining with heat from their words.

With my head high, I keep my eyes on the door and walk out, part of me wondering if I’m going to be fed like that for every meal.

Chapter 17

Striker

Sleep evades me tonight.My mind fills with thoughts of Delilah’s pretty mouth as Reaper fed her. Thoughts of maybe now she’ll regain some weight that we’re making her sit and eat. With thoughts of Cora’s sad eyes and pretty taunting smile. But then the sweetness of their faces gets slashed out, cut sharply from my mind’s eye and another face flashes before me.

I know it’s my mother.

Some primal instinct that remembers her now. Warm brown eyes like mine. Bronzed skin. Long deep umber hair that curled around her cheeks. Then it’s blackness. The stink of piss and feces. Phantom pangs of hunger, clawing in my belly like ghosts.

Watching our Princess eat floods my entire chest with delight. I think it does for all of us. We were all so hungry all the time. It’s easy to control boys when you withhold food. That’s one thing Reaper didn’t want them to feel. That stark, painful gnawing like we felt in the cold room. In solitary. Like I felt forwho knows how many days in the darkness where my mother left me.

It may be because of Cora and how open she was with me that my mind now flashes on the woman whose face has evaded me my entire life. Whose addiction drove her to an early death and left a little boy half alive only to be handed over to a man whose own addiction to cruelty and control would rip him apart so he could form a new person.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what Reaper intends to do with Delilah. Rip her to shreds until he can mold her into something new. Someone capable of accepting the truth.

Her father is an evil man. Far worse than ourotets.

Although we all agreed to take Delilah, and ultimately Cora, I don’t think we ever discussed exactly how we’d get their cooperation. We just blindly followed Reaper, as we tend to do. He knows us. Knows what’s best. He’s taken care of us, protected us, most of our lives. I can’t even count the number of times he accepted a punishment for Breaker. Viper. Telling Fallon it was he who broke a rule, or didn’t follow a command.

Fallon’s techniques to train us were harsh, too harsh to be humane, but effective. We learned quickly that if we did as he asked, we were rewarded. If we didn’t, we were disciplined. Fallon always used food, along with another form of punishment. Starving a young boy is a quick way to get them to behave. Reaper was always hungry growing up. Hell, we all were. I think that’s why he insists on feeding her. As much as he says she’s Rune’s blood, deserving of his punishment, he can’t stand the thought of anyone being hungry.

I think that’s why he can’t bring himself to be as cruel as Fallon. Reaper remembers what it’s like in the cold room. To be scared. Confused. To be given snippets of praise, then words that cut so deep, you’re bleeding with shame.

Reward and praise

Humiliate and degrade.

Those, along with consistency, are effective tools when you need someone to follow your orders. When you need someone tofearyou enough to follow your every command. But we don’t want them to fear us. Which is why we're finding it harder and harder to train Delilah as we were.

We need her trust in order for her towantto follow us into the war we’re about to wage.

The thought of our Princess learning about her father sends a sick shiver of excitement through me, but it twists up grossly with the dread that pools in my gut. When she finds out…

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