Page 64 of Striker

Cora shakes her head. “Most things, though, they don’thaveto do. Theychooseto.”

I flip over onto my back, and she slides over, tucking herself against me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Go to sleep,” I whisper, wondering if they’ll come get us for breakfast in the morning.

We haven’t seen them in hours, and they never came to get us for dinner. I close my eyes, imagining Reaper’s black hair and solid body. The brush of his hand over my hair. The feel of his lips on mine. Hard and soft. Pain and pleasure. Striker’s warm brown eyes and the way he watches me. Breaker’s laughter whenever I make a snarky comment. Viper’s slightly feral energy.

They aren’t bad. Not entirely.

They aren’t good either.

***

Cora’s whimper drags me from sleep. I blink at the bright lamplight she insists stays on, and I roll over to find her curled into a ball. Gripping her shoulder, I shake her, but she doesn’t wake.

The nightmares began when she was around six. We grew up together, our parents’ best friends and business partners, before my father became well known in his circle. After they died and Cora came to live with us, it was usually me who woke her from the nightmares. I’d shake her awake, then climb into bed with her afterwards, holding her as she cried.

She never told me what they were about, just that she dreamed of darkness, and I wonder if anyone held her or woke her up in the last few days. I hope they did.

“Cora,” I whisper, trying to ease her out of the dream. Her eyes pop open and a burst of air escapes her lungs. “You’re okay,” I tell her, brushing hair from her face. “You’re with me.”

A tear slips from her eye and she flings an arm around my neck and buries her face in my chest, tucking her headunder my chin. My heart twists painfully. I hate that she’s been so scared. Hate that she has nightmares, and is suffering because this entire situation feels like my fault. I wanted the wild night. I wanted to feel free. I wanted to feel sexy, adventurous, everything my stupid ex never saw me as. It’s my father they want revenge on.

“I’m sorry,” I say into her hair. “This is all my fault.” I feel her shake her head under my chin.

She backs away and tilts her face up, her mouth a breath away from mine as she rests her head on the pillow by me. “This is Rune’s fault. He did something terrible. I just know it.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “He’s not what you think he is.”

An uneasy feeling slithers through my belly. That’s exactly what Striker said.

“If Rune Gavin is bad, then so am I,” I say, remembering Reaper’s words. I’m Rune’s blood. He’s taught me everything I know. I willingly work for him, for his company. We both do, Cora and I. We cover up whatever he’s doing with numbers and lies. He could be selling drugs for all I know. Feeding heroine to mothers and father’s, someone’s sister or brother. And Ihelphim.

Even though I don’t know where his money comes from, Cora and I both know it’s from criminal activity. Buying an entire hotel chain cost a hefty sum, but the excess….

I don’t ask. I see numbers and hide the figures so the IRS doesn’t investigate. When he is granted an enormous sum, like he is once a year, millions that come from nowhere, I have to set up channels to hide it. Cora and I are experts at hiding the money trail, tying them up in real estate sales for exorbitant amounts and over priced hotel fees. Luxury expenses or his favorite—his lodge membership fees.

“Delly,” she whispers, bringing my thoughts back to her. Her leg slides over mine, and she hitches it up to my hip,wrapping her thigh over mine and using it to pull me close. “You’re nothing like him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, scooting even closer so my hand is trapped between our bodies. I’m aware of her nearness and the thin satin of her nightgown. Of her warm skin and how the silky material has slipped up and heat radiates from between her legs. Her green eyes move over my face, then drop again to my lips.

“I missed you,” she says, lifting a finger to run it over my lips.

My mind flashes on her mouth pressed to mine, the desperation coursing through me into her. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she fed it to me and I ate every ounce, grateful to have her near me again.

Cora’s thumb presses into the center of my lips and I brush the finger on the hand between us along her belly. She makes this tiny sound and tilts her hips. I do it again. She slides her hands into my hair, cupping the back of my neck, inhaling slowly, watching my eyes. Our noses brush and we keep our eyes open as our lips touch. Breaths slip out in a heated rush. I pull my other hand from under the blankets and drag it over her bare arm, letting it slide down further. Over her hip, along her outer thigh. Lower.

Cora’s eyelids flutter as I brush my knuckles to her inner thigh. Her breaths hitch delicately when I slide my hand up and feel the heat of her skin.

Our lips press harder together as my thumb glides over her panties, feeling her clit. She releases a little moan and then her hands are moving, and she’s rising over me. Pushing me onto my back, capturing my lips in a harsh kiss. Slipping her tongue into my mouth and groaning as she dips it deeper. Toothpaste and sweetness floods my tongue. Something delicate and desperate. As the blankets are tossed aside, she straddles myhips, and my fingers slip under the material of her panties into her wet heat. Our kiss breaks on a gasp and her heads thrown back, the fragile lines of her neck shadowed in the tungsten light and then she’s riding my hand.

For a millisecond, I marvel at her tightness. How wet she feels, how slick and delicious my fingers feel slipping in and out as my thumb drags wetness over her sensitive little bud. How she feels like me, all slick and soft and greedy.

“Oh fuck,” she whispers, grinding down. “I need you.”

My belly flutters. My pussy clenches. An ache deep in my core grates inside against my spine.

With my hand still inside her, she props herself on hands and knees, back arching into my touch like a cat when my thumb rubs harshly into her clit.

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