Striker

28. Chapter 23

It’s been two days since Viper gave me the knife. I practice whipping the blade out like he showed me in the bathroom at night when I take a shower. It’s taken me several tries, but I can pull it from my boot and have it at the ready pretty fast. More than likely not fast enough, but Viper is right. I feel safer walking around, knowing I have this tiny knife even if I’m inexperienced with using it.

Viper was the last one I would expect to give me a weapon. But then I felt his softness that night in the club. He just chooses when he lets it free. Like Reaper, Viper is cut from something sharp and cruel, but even he carries around softness and I’m reminded again of Reaper’s gentle touch followed by his harsh slap. I know I’m mentally wrecked when I reach between my thighs as I shower at to ease the ache there.

This on top of the fact that I now look forward to my meals three times a day, though I tell myself it’s because I’m lonely, and not because I like sitting on Breaker’s lap, feeling his hard length beneath me. How Viper laughs at my snarky commentary, and how Striker’s hand caresses my chin, or he brushes his fingers over my lips as he takes a turn feeding me. I think the only reason I have yet to get a fork or feed myself is simply because they like touching me. Feeding me. Taking care of me in this twisted way. Reaper’s been absent from each meal these past two days. I haven’t seen him since the woods.

You belong to us now. You’ll listen to us. Be rewarded by us. Get punished by us.

My belly flutters. I tuck the book in my hand under my arm as I stop in the foyer to shut the front door, noticing that when I do, the latch doesn’t catch so I have to shove it closed harder like I did the other day. Maybe he’s not leaving it open. Maybe the catch is old and worn. It seemed so careless for a man so in control of everything.

As I pass the large windows overlooking the front of the house, I glance out at the bright cloudless sky and the open stretch of lawn that leads to the garden. Yesterday, my first day out of the house, I was able to see the scope of the estate, and know running is futile. The mansion sits back from the rocky little cliffs, surrounded on one side by the dense woods that wrap around most of the property, the other a marshy area that looks like it goes on forever.

Even if I tried, I’d never make it through the marsh. The woods, I know from experience, are dense. I have no idea where we are or how many miles separate us from the nearest town.

Leaving here isn’t an option.

So I don’t even bother thinking about it. Instead, I do my best to keep my mind busy, which is why I’m so grateful for the library. Curling up with a book is a good escape since an actual escape is out of the question.

When I step through the doorway to the library, I freeze, my entire body flushing with heat.

His back is to me, but his mask is off, letting me see black hair. It’s shaved at the sides, but long enough to be slicked back over his head. The long, thick column of his neck reveals black ink vines snaking up out of his tight black shirt, twisting around more flowers, then climbing up toward his skull.

As Reaper covers his head with his mask, adjusting it as he turns around to face me, I notice the small book in his hand. But then his gaze collides with mine, making my toes curl, and my mind blanks.

His black eyes slide down to my lips, then to my boots and back up again. How is it that every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s seeing parts I didn’t know existed. Like the darker part that craves his hands on me. That got soaking wet as he spanked me. As he completely controlled me.

I clear my throat, desperately wanting to run from his intrusive gaze, but I lift my chin and say, “You left the door open again.”

He makes a rumbling sound in his chest, running his thumb over the top of the book as he lowers his hand to his side, staring at me with that intense glare. When his eyes snap back to my face, I’m reminded that he kidnapped me. Chased me. Held me down and…

My clit throbs.

I need to go home.

I lick my lips, feeling the little cut that lingers, trying to recenter my scrambled brain. “You have to close the door hard for the latch to catch. Or just lock it.”

“Look who suddenly wants me to lock doors,” he says, walking lazily toward me. My eyes eat him up, his black pants and long sleeve shirt. The way his pants tug at the crotch. The slow, predatory way he moves. God. Everything he does is arrogant. Graceful. Beautiful. He taps the little book to his thigh, drawing my eyes. “Worried you maybe tempted to run again?”

I hate that my face turns red, but I refuse to look away and I refuse to be embarrassed about what he drew out of me. It was just my body responding to the adrenaline.

Except I liked it. A bit too much.

My eyes fall to the floor and I focus on why I’m here. The library is full of the classics and I’ve been reading Jane Austin each night. Taking a deep breath to calm the heat in my cheeks, I set my eyes on the book shelves lining the walls, refusing to let him rattle me.

“I think you get off on hurting people,” I say, walking around him to get to the shelf to return the book I took last night and pick a new one, all too aware of his closeness. He’s still several feet away, but even that’s not far enough.

He chuckles darkly. “I think you got off, Kitten. Not me.”

I turn, my boot catching on the worn wood floor to glare at him, the little knife tucked between the boot and my sock reminding me I can fight back. Fisting my hands, I resist the urge to lunge at him. I want to rip that mask off and shove it in his arrogant mouth because I know he’s smirking. Again.

The words nearly spill out in a scream. That he held me down and forced it out of me, but I bite my lip, remembering how I begged him for it.

“I think,” he says, creeping closer, moving between me and the door, “that you liked me being rough with you. I think you liked it so much, you want it again. And again.”

Ignoring the zing his words send through me, I inch around him so I’m not so trapped, but he darts in front of me, blocking my exit from the room.

“Then maybe even again. And again. There are four of us willing to please.”

“Is that what that was?” I ask. “Pleasing me?”

“Oh, Kitten, the moans you made sounded a lot like pleasure.”

“More like anger,” I snap, my cheeks flaming again. “I never wanted you to touch me. You’re a liar. You said you’d not hurt me.”

“I lie?” Reaper bolts forward. My back hits the bookshelf as he braces his arms on either side of me, the leather-bound book hitting the shelf next to my head, trapping me.

This is the first I’ve been this close to him face to face. He’s fucking huge. Not just in size, but sheer muscle. Every encounter I’ve had with him has been at a distance, or from behind me, where I can’t fully see him. Feel him, certainly. Even from Breaker’s lap I didn’t capture his size, but standing in front of him, pinned to the bookcase with his body, his hands at either side of my head, I am fully aware of how huge he is. My head barely reaches his shoulder.

“I’m not the liar,” he says. “You begged me to touch you, Kitten. From your hands and knees with your mouth full of dirt, and your cunt soaking wet, you begged me. Just like our perfect needy slut you pretend you don’t crave to be.”

“I don’t crave you,” I hiss, heart in my throat.

He dips his head, his mouth near my ear. “I can’t wait to drown all those pretty lies with my cum.”

“Good luck getting your dick past my teeth.”

The asshole laughs.He pushes off the bookshelf and backs away. When he’s a few feet from me, I take in a shaky breath, hoping he can’t see the way my hands shake or how I press my thighs together to relieve the pressure blooming there.

I point to the small leather-bound book in his hand. “So you’re a sadist that reads the bible.”

His gaze falls to the book like he forgot he was holding it. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens to the page marked with the ribbon, running one finger down the thin paper, forcing me to remember that same hand trailing between my legs.

I shove the memory away. “Do you read the bible after masturbating and flog yourself as punishment for your sins?”

“If I flogged myself after every sin, my skin would be flayed open and raw, never able to heal.” Reaper flips the page, not bothering to look up as he folds himself into a large wingback chair. “And that would be a masochist. They like pain. Sadists inflict.”

“So you’re just a sadomasochist.”

His eyes flicker up to me then back to the bible. “Such a sweet pet name for me, Kitten.”

I glower at him. If I could see his mouth, I know I’d catch his lip pulling up into a grin.

“You seemed to enjoy my tendencies every time you’ve earned them.”

I say nothing because we both know he’s right.

“My father always said that every man needs God,” Reaper says, flipping the page again. “Whether it be to atone for our sins or beg for his forgiveness at the end.”

“You chose forgiveness, I see.”

I get that glare he’s so good at. Then he presses a finger to the page and reads, “‘Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet.’”

“Samson and Delilah,” I say, recognizing the quote easily. My mother was obsessed with the story. The day they took us flashes through my mind. “The text.” He flips another page, ignoring me. “You sent me the quote from the movie.”

He still doesn’t answer and I bite my lip, forcing myself not to ask why. Why send me a text message, quoting my mother’s favorite movie right before he took us?

Reaper flips to another page like I’m not even in the room.

I take in a breath, all too aware that I have to tread carefully with men like him. “I was named after Delilah.”

His black eyes slide up to mine. “You were named after a traitor. Fitting.”

“My mother named me after a woman smart enough to take down the world’s strongest man.”

“With deceit,” Reaper says, snapping the bible closed. He stands and stalks across the room, placing it on the shelf with all the other bibles from various religions. I peel my eyes from his ass to his broad shoulders as he says, “And she wasn’t powerful. She was resourceful and greedy.”

“Sounds like some men I know,” I snap.

Reaper turns to face me. “Samson possessed physical strength, that’s it. He was morally weak, weak minded, and kept secrets.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

I swear he’s smirking.

“Is that why you hate me?” I ask. “Because you think I’m a traitorous, deceitful woman?”

I can feel his anger from across the room. Reaper stalks forward, and I stumble back, the intense gleam in his eyes putting me on high alert. My back hits the wall and his hand is at my throat, gripping just under my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

My body arches into him.

I don’t know what they’re doing to me. I know this is wicked. Wrong. I’m not supposed to want their hands on me. Want them to touch me. Everywhere. Something was created. A rift was torn open, or a change in the tides occurred and we’re being swept out to sea, and I don’t think any of us can stop it. Or wants to. But something happened that night in the club, then again in the woods between us all, and I know they feel it. He feels it right now.

“I don’t hate you, Kitten,” he says so softly that my body melts against him.

“You hate my father.”

“I hate your father for what he did.”

“So, you’re punishing him through me?”

“You’re his blood.”

My mother’s words come to mind. Blood is thicker than water.

“But I’m not just him,” I say. “I’m also my mother.”

Darkness clouds his eyes and his grip loosens on my throat, but he doesn’t back away. Reaper leans in a little more and I feel his breath against my lips through his mask. “Blood isn’t the only substance that creates family.”

Cora’s face flashes in my mind.

“Loyalty. Love. Sacrifice. Those are what create a family. And the family we choose is more important than the family you’re born into. Rune Gavin is a sick man, Delilah.” This time, when he says my name, there isn’t any hatred. He says it softly. Almost like my name doesn’t burn anymore as it slips past his lips. “You think you know your father, you work for him, but you don’t know everything about him. You need to choose wisely.”

“What did he do to you?” I ask, fully aware that my hands have moved up and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt over his chest.

Reaper’s thumb sweeps over my bottom lip and I suck in at the feeling of his skin on mine, so wickedly hot it feels like his heat sinks into me, saturating my blood until my heart’s pumping lava through my veins.

“He cut away a piece of me,” he whispers.

“So you’re going to carve me up and send me back to him in pieces.”

“Never.” His breath fans over my face and he lowers his head until his forehead touches mine. “We told you we’d never hurt you.”

“Being away from him hurts.” My heart hammers against his and when he moves, I feel his hard length press to my belly, forcing all my senses to focus on every place we connect. A warm breath fans my face, reminding me of summer nights, smokey liquor, and regrets. “You’re trying to get revenge on him, but you’re just hurting me, and Cora, too.”

His breath heaves from his chest, and his body presses harder into me. I look up into those black eyes and for a second I swear I see something resembling tenderness, but then it’s gone and when he lowers his masked mouth near mine, his hungry, desperate gaze makes my fingers curl into the muscles of his chest.

Using his free hand, he lifts his mask just barely. My eyes move to his full lips, drinking in the dark stubble on his chin and the two thin lines slashing down his lips like melting claw marks.

He lowers his mouth and presses his lips to mine.

My eyes grow wide, locking on to his. My pussy clenches.

Gently, he sucks my bottom lip, then tugs it with his teeth. A sharp pain cuts through my lip as he sucks harder. Then even harder.

The thin slice where my teeth bit into my lip feels like it splits open again as he sucks harder, then releases it with a pop. His hot tongue slips over my lip, then slides between my parted lips. Metal and tangy heat touch my tongue. My fingers unfurl. My core tightens.

My hips tilt into him.

He releases a low growl, then sucks my lip in again, tasting my blood before he releases my mouth with a slick pop.

My lashes flutter.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” Reaper asks so low I’m not sure he even spoke for a minute, but I feel the movement against my lips, making my lungs feel like they’re about to collapse. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can refrain from being every nightmare you’ve ever had.”

His breath against my flesh sends a shivering heat to my core. My fingers unfurl and splay out over his hard chest, greedily slipping down, feeling the thick planes of his body.

Reapers mask falls, covering his lips. Black eyes burn into me.

And that’s when I hear it.

Her sweet laughter rings out from the foyer and I suck in a breath, my chest expanding and nearly collapsing at the same time.

Reaper hears it too and backs away. I shove past him and run toward the door. My boots slip on the wood floor, my heart hammering, as I rush forward, gripping the doorframe to propel myself forward.

When I see her framed on either side by the men, a sob catches in my throat and she turns at the sound.

“Delly!” she screams, running forward.

We crash together, arms tangling and drop to our knees as I weave my fingers into her soft curls, pressing my face to her neck.

“You’re okay,” I say over and over, pulling away to look at her face. My hands move all over her as a painful sob escapes creaks from her throat. I feel her chin. Her cheeks and the tears streaming down them. Her pretty lips and her thin arms. I cup her face, running my thumbs over her perfect cheeks, eating up the sight of her.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, barely able to contain the joy bursting through my chest.

Cora shakes her head, curls falling around her shoulders. “I’m fine. Worried sick about you, but I’m fine.” She wraps me in a hug, burying her face in my neck. “Oh god, Delly. You’re real, right? You’re here?”

I pull her back. “I’m here.” I press my lips to her cheek. “I’m here and you’re okay.”

A fresh sob escapes and I realize it’s me. My entire body shakes, trembling as I clutch at her, then press her to me. I’m suddenly aware of everything around us. Her delicate tears, her body molded to mine. Her fingers in my hair. The men before us, Reaper at my back. How her tears feel so warm as I kiss her cheeks again. The terrible aching desperation coursing through me. The need to have her close. Feel her against me. Her realness. Make her feel safe and me, too.

I want to absorb her. Mold her to my body and never let her go, so she’s never away from me again.

“Delly,” my name is a whisper and I nod, knowing she feels this terrible ache too. “Oh god,” she chokes out, weaving her fingers into my hair and pulling me close. Her lips press to mine.

My whole body melts. I wrap my arms around her neck and pull her closer, sitting upright to press my chest to hers. She whimpers, angling her head and parting her lips. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, devouring her. Wanting to consume her until she’s a part of me and I can’t lose her again.

We calm down after a minute and pull away, our breaths ragged,

Her green eyes lift, and I remember Reaper behind me. “Please don’t take her again.”

My gaze darts to Striker at her back, then Viper and Breaker. They wouldn’t dare. A wild rage crashes through me at the thought they may try to take her from me. I’ll fucking make them bleed. But they say nothing and back away, leaving us alone.

As Reaper passes by, following them, his hand slides over the top of my head and I feel like I was just given a gift.

And I was.

I got Cora.

And I was given another moment of his gentleness.