Page 97 of Striker

He stands to his full height and lets me go so he can swipe at my cheek. More tears break free, but I don’t even know what they are for. Maybe for me. For him. Maybe for his brother my father killed. For Cora and everything she’s never had.

Tears for everything I’ve lost and all the things I can’t recover.

“I know.” Striker scoops me up, carrying me to the bed. He pulls my dress off, then removes his shirt and pants, and lays me down, moving between my thighs. The tears won’t stop, but he leans forward and kisses my cheeks until I can breathe again. As he hitches my thigh up and moves over me, I tilt my hips to accept him, my nails scraping down his back as he slips into me gently.

Everything, all my anger and pain releases on an exhale.

Striker’s lips press to mine as he says, “I’m sorry,” and drives froward, hitting that aching place deep within me.

I want to ask him for which part, but I already know, deep in my gut, from the way he’s kissing me, the way he’s rocking into me, I know he’s sorry not just for everything they’ve done, but everything they’re about to do.

Chapter 38

Striker

5 years ago

July

Age 25

Iadjust my scope,making sure I have the large wooden door centered in the crosshairs.

“Where the fuck is he?” Hunter asks in my ear. I shift just enough to tap the earpiece, adjusting the volume.

“He’s probably just late,” Viper says, his voice tinny through the earpiece.

“He’s never late,” Breaker says.

“Just sit tight,” Reaper says.

I wince at how loud it seems, his voice coming from next to me and through the earbud. I swing the rifle, focusing on where I know Hunter, Viper, and Breaker wait.

I wanted to be the one down there, in the middle of it, see his face when he realizes why we are here. Sometimes I hate that this was my skill. Killing without ever touching my victim. These missions are hard on my body. Over the years I’ve spent more time crawling and slinking through mud and bushes, getting bitten by god only knows what bugs as I try to piss while laying on my side. While I should feel good about being their cover, or being able to hit a mark, then protect my brothers while they exit a target area, I don’t like the looks I get when others learn my skill.

They give me that flickering, judgmental look, like they can see skewed morals or some dark layer that hangs over me like a veil. Because what kind of person can kill so impersonally? As if killing someone in cold blood while they can see your face is somehow superior and less immoral than being a sniper.

But, I’m good at it. Compartmentalizing. Sitting for hours almost completely still, ignoring any pain as it laces up my spine and stiffens my shoulders. Shutting my mind down to the extreme cold or heat, or fatigue. Sleeping in bursts. Ignoring the world around me, my mind and my body, any pangs of hunger, until I’m suspended in a single mindset that allows me to focus on the task at hand.

At least my mother gave me something. I learned thanks to her how to survive. It’s the only gift she’s ever given me, and it came at the expense of her life.

Ironic that I use it to take others.

This is why I’m up here. I’m the best shot and am needed to cover them in case things go wrong.

And the possibility of that happening is high.

We got our orders two days ago, and barely have had enough time to plan, much less learn the layout of the lodge. But, we have orders and if there’s one thing we all do, and do well, is kill.

Reaper sweeps his scope to the left and freezes as Hunter raises a fist, telling us to hold and wait. We decided that having Breaker and Viper on the ground with Hunter was best. They are fast, and can sweep in, take out our targets, then fall out before any of them can escape.

Right as Hunter lowers his hand, a loud clack rings out and smoke curls around my brothers, and my sight's filled with gray. My blood turns to ice as I watch the porch on the lodge holding my brother’s swarm with Rune’s men, smoke curling around them like vines. Suddenly there’s screaming andpopsof gunfire and all the blood in my head drains out.

Someone betrayed us.

For a split second, neither one of us moves, too shocked at the sight before us, then we’re up, running through the short grass, toward the lodge, using the dark tree line as cover. I spot several men sweeping the place, with rifles raised, no doubt looking for us, and I take them out. They fall quietly to the ground. Reaper takes out two more while I shoot three in the back of the head, standing where my brothers should be.

Someone screams. The smoke clears some and then I see Breaker on the ground, a pool of blood under his thigh. I shoot the man holding a gun to his head and the soldier crumbles.Viper’s scream makes us both pivot, and I shoot the second my eyes land on the man next to my brother, but Viper’s already slashing his throat. Blood splatters his face, both from his knife and the bullet I put through the soldier’s head.

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