Page 33 of Striker

I shake my head and charge forward, but Takashi is too quick. He dodges my punches with ease and then hits me with a swift jab to the gut, then an uppercut that sends me staggering. I wipe the blood from my mouth and grin, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

"You're good," I say, circling him warily.

Takashi nods, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I've been waiting for a challenge."

I take a deep breath and launch myself forward, fists flying. We exchange blows, each one harder than the last, until my knuckles ache and my breath comes in ragged gasps. Takashi is a master of hand-to-hand combat, his moves fluid and precise, but I refuse to give up.

With a fierce yell, I throw my weight behind a punch, and catch him off-guard and send him stumbling. He recovers quickly, though, and hits me with a hook that sends me slumping to the ground.

I lie there, dazed, as Takashi stands over me, huffing.

He raises his fist, ready to deliver the finishing blow, when something heavy, brown, and rectangular comes crashing onto his head. The briefcase.

He crumples.

Mayhem stands over him, smiling like a kid at recess.

"That was fun," he says. "And went exactly like I'd hoped it would. You good, Striker?"

I grunt and fight my way to my feet. Nothing feels broken.

"I'll be fine. What the fuck is in that briefcase, anyway?"

"Best to not ask questions. Just know that I've got one hell of a Christmas present for my Stacy once I finish fixing this baby up." He pats the briefcase lovingly. "You hungry? You want to go get a bite to eat? There’s a Denny’s not far from here. We could get a Grand Slam."

The man spends a night waiting around a rotten fish factory, nearly gets killed by the fucking Yakuza, and now wants to go eat pancakes?

I shake my head. "Not hungry. But I could use a ride back to Costa Oscura."

"Sure, I can do that," Mayhem says, sliding aside his bike and slapping the seat behind him. "Grab the briefcase and hop on. I'll take you wherever you need to go."

I get on. It feels weird, but so does everything involving Mayhem.

"Did you really walk here?"

"No," he says. "Mostly, I ran."

The bike screams as he kicks it to life, letting loose a howl like a beast unleashed. With reckless speed, he tears away from the fish factory, with three badly beaten men in our wake.

Hours later, I'm back at the gate to the Vertucci compound.

The guard gives me a funny look. "Rough night?"

I grunt. "You have no idea."

I have no idea, either, about what the fuck just happened.

All I know is that, when I lay my broken body down on the floor beside the bed, I'm both lucky to be there, and feeling more tortured than ever. This mission with Danielle is more important than I gave it credit for, and with the moves that the club's enemies are making, it means that the lives of everyone I care about depend on me.

Above me, on the bed, Danielle lets out a sensual, soft sigh and rolls over, throwing a toned, tanned leg atop the blanket. There's a smile on her face that's lit by the moonlight streaming through the window. Dani is everything I could ever want, everything I've ever wanted, everything that could get me killed.

I turn away and stare out the window, try to keep my thoughts on track and willing my battered body to find some sleep. To make it through this mission, I'll have to fight the irresistible attraction that is growing between us with each passing second.

It’s a fight that I'm not sure I can win.

Chapter Ten

Danielle

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