Page 68 of Striker

"Hold still while I look you over," Rook says. With practiced hands, he grabs me by the chin and holds me still while he shines the flashlight in my eyes again.

"You doing this to check for a concussion, or do you just want to be an asshole?"

"Both. It’s a win-win for me."

"And am I clear?"

"Well, you're clearly one of the stupidest people I've ever met, and that's saying something." Another moment passes, Rook’s eyes narrow. "It's minor. Very minor. If you were in the NFL, they'd send you back on the field. Probably tell you that you could play without a helmet, too. Me, I'm going to advise you to take a minute, drink some water, and take one of the pills in the blue bottle in the care package that Eliza put in my locker. It's just basic acetaminophen."

"Care package? Your ol' lady gave you pain pills?"

"She heard Mayhem was coming to town."

"Yeah, the fuck was that about? Did you know what he was after?"

"I never ask. But Rabid up north gave me a warning. Said Mayhem had been watching a lot of inspirational documentaries lately. Including about the Wright brothers."

"Flying? You're kidding."

"I am. Though I never know with him. Mainly, I'm testing your cognitive capabilities right now. That you're recalling recent events and have a healthy distrust of Mayhem tells me that there shouldn't be any permanent damage. Eliza would probably want to put you through a CT scan, but what's the point with a brain as small as yours?"

"Fuck off."

It's then I sit up and take in the rest of the garage as the haze in my vision fades. I feel like I'm back in the Marines, about to step into a war zone. My MC brothers are in motion, a symphony of determined action as they check weapons and ammo. Hawk, Ghost, and Smokey are doing the same.

"What's going on?" I murmur.

"We're going to get her back, that's what's going on," Smokey says.

"And the MC's giving Smokey a hand in that," Thunder says. "Something about honor, about making good on your promise, or whatever. Honestly, I haven't had my coffee, so I'm maybe half here, at best."

"If you want to make up for the shit you pulled, you'll join us," Smokey says. "It won't do everything, but it'll be a start. And if we get her back, it means I won't kill you when this is all over."

Grunting, I get to my feet and head to my locker. I automatically check my gun, my movements mechanical. Each click of the magazine is a reminder of Dani’s terrified eyes.

"I should've listened," I chastise myself.

"You should have," Smokey says.

But I'm not talking about him.

Putting the pieces of my pistol in place, I pause. Dani knew what she was doing. She knew the whole time, yet still she went back. Why?

What could compel her to do that when she knew there was a good chance we could sneak Morgan, and possibly even Riley, out?

There must be something deeper.

Guilt and clarity wash over me, replacing the fog of despair with a sharp need for action.

Stepping outside, I dial Dani. She doesn’t answer.

Then I dial the next best thing to learning what's on Dani's mind: Morgan

"Owen? What have you done to Dani? I went by your room this morning and she wasn't there. You weren't there, either. Everything's gone. Tell me what's happening," she says, her voice frantic.

"I took her, Morgan. I took her out of there, but now she's gone."

"Gone? Dani's not some fucking pet bird you looked away from and suddenly she's flown off. Where are you? Where is she?"

---