Page 61 of Striker

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I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket, tucking my chin into the collar. It’s cold today, the wind cutting over the path and slicing through my mask. My boots kick the little rocks along the path as I walk to the old carriage-house, where we keep most of our training equipment. Viper wants to turn it into a full gym eventually, which we should have done before coming here. If we’re not careful, we’re going to get soft from sitting idle.

As I enter, Reaper looks up from the bench, but continues to curl weights when he sees it’s just me and not one of the girls. Over on the second bench, Viper’s laid back, legs bracketing either side, head under the bar, holding his phone. He glances my way, but goes back to scrolling, no doubt breaking Reaper’s no social media rule and watching videos.

“Breaker on watch?” Reaper asks, continuing with his set.

I nod when he looks up at me.

“What were they doing when you left?” Viper asks, tucking his phone into his pocket and reaching for his shirt. My eyes slip up his torso as he stands, landing on the tattoo spread out over his chest. He’s built similar to Reaper, but compact. Raw power wrapped in fair skin.

“Huddled together whispering,” I tell him.

“Where?” he asks.

I rip my eyes from his zipper, catching his lifted brow. “In Delilah’s room.”

Viper adjusts his shirt around his waist. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me today, but everything he does draws my eye. He snatches up his mask and walks to the door. There’s no need to tell us where he’s going. We already know.

When the door behind me shuts, I pull off my mask, tucking it into my jacket pocket. “Why?” I ask.

The air’s cool in here, but Reaper’s bare chest gleams with sweat. He stands up, lifting the gold chain around his neck as he rolls his shoulders. Reaper rocks his head from side to side, loosening the large muscles. His abs ripple, each muscle outlined like an artist drew them, the many tattoos only accentuating the lines of his body.

My gaze lifts and I find his dark eyes watching me watch him. Can he blame me? I don’t think there is a single human alive who’d not stare. He’s male perfection. I’d have to be dead not to notice him. And it’s not like I haven’t seen him watchingme. Fuck, he stood in the doorway just over a week ago watching me jerk off after the night with the girls.

His onyx gaze feels like it penetrates under my skin, letting him see all the secrets I keep hidden, and for a second, I think he likes what he sees, but he looks away. Maybe he doesn’t like whatever he saw mirrored back at him.

“You know why,” Reaper says. “They’d have spent the last week plotting to escape if they’d been together.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I say, following him to the row of shelves where he’s left his mask and shirt.

“Why what, Strike? Why take them?”

“Why fuck them before we took them? Why Cora?”

He keeps his back to me, grabbing his water bottle off the shelf and uncapping it. He brings it to his lips but doesn’t drink.

I watch his profile as he turns his head slightly. “Why did you want to fuck them inRune’sclub? There’s a reason, a fuckingplan, behind everything you do. You can’t even take a piss without planning it in advance. So explain.”

He recaps the bottle and sets it down, grabbing the towel and facing me. “The cameras.”

My brows knit.

“What’s the first thing you’d do after your loved one was taken from you?” Reaper wipes his chest with a towel. I shift my focus to the stack of weights by his side. “He would retrace their every step leading right up to the moment we took them.”

The cameras. Rune would have immediately requested footage of Delilah and Cora in his club. He’d see us take his daughter and Cora into that VIP lounge and stay there. For hours. He’d lose his mind knowing we were all in there fucking his two girls.

We walked right into his club, wearing the same uniforms and instead of stealing them then, we fucking claimed them right under his nose.

“That’s the only reason?” I ask, lifting a brow.

Reaper isn’t one to run, much less back down, but his eyes drop from my face.

I step closer, forcing him to look at me and acknowledge what I’m saying. He got a taste of Delilah before we ruin her, while she was still innocent. Before she finds out the truth. “Or did you want to know what she felt like before she hated you?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

“Cora,” I say. His black eyes dart back to my face. “Why did you insist on Cora?”

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