44. Chapter 39
When I open the bedroom door, finally having worked up enough nerve to face Delly, I see a naked man standing by the bed. Well, not entirely naked. He’s currently bent over, hiking his pants up over his hips, tucking his dick into his fatigues. My gaze snags on a large tattoo of five skulls across his back, one marked with a red gash. He turns toward the sound of my gasp, warm honey eyes moving up from Delly’s sleeping form on the bed to me.
Holy shit.
I open my mouth, but he slides over, pressing a finger to my lips, and I’m so stunned at the sight of Striker’s face that all I can do is huff out a breath. He grips my waist, hoisting me up, and I wrap my legs around his hips as he carries me to the bathroom. After he sets me on the counter, he shuts the door quietly and turns the light on. The room floods with pale yellow light, and I grip the edge of the counter, trying to control my breathing. Forcing myself to remember I’m upset with them as much as I’m relieved. They intended to send me back. Even if they didn’t know the details, they still knew something.
“Striker?” I don’t know why I say his name. It’s obviously him, but without the mask hiding his face, my mind can’t piece together the skull mask with the scar over the eye he always wears with the man standing in front of me with smooth flesh and a sculpted chest that begs to be touched.
No, not completely smooth. My eyes fall to the circular wound just above his heart. “It missed your heart by an inch,” I say.
His head drops, looking down at his chest, and his hand moves to the scar, his finger lightly grazing over the raised scar. That’s when I see more scars on his forearms.
“Your heart would have exploded if that bullet went any lower,” I say, unable to keep my mouth shut as I watch his brows knit and his jaw hardens. Maybe his heart did explode that day.
It must be shock. From the last few weeks, the remnants of spilling my guts to my kidnappers, telling Delly about Rune, and seeing his insanely handsome face for the first time. The tanned skin and abs that lead to the chevron of muscles dipping below his still open pants, the top of his dick peeking out.
“As you can see, it didn’t miss,” Striker says, pulling me out of my head long enough to focus on evening out my breathing. “He was just a shit shot.”
My eyes fly up to meet his.
“Who?”
He shakes his head, and a lock of hair falls around his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, because I have zero control over my mouth right now.
The corner of his full lips curl up, making my belly dip. I’d probably be sleeping with him too, if I wasn’t so busy having an existential crisis downstairs. I can see why Delly was a bit overcome and—
I press the back of my hands to my eyes, sucking in a breath, trying desperately to get my thoughts under control. My head spins, emotions flinging every direction at once, so it feels like I’m spiraling downward. So much has changed in just twenty-four hours. I know my brain’s still playing catch up.
I’m mortified they know the details of Rune, humiliated that I allowed it to happen for so long, and relieved someone knows. I don’t have to carry the burden of hiding it anymore.
A part of me always wanted to scream from the top of my lungs until my throat was raw and he was exposed, but I was scared. Too scared of Delly finding out. Too scared I’d be seen as weak for allowing it. Worried I’d not be believed.
Terrified, Delly would think I did something to warrant his sick attention.
Deep down, I know it’s just fear and my own warped thinking that kept me silent. But I don’t have to worry anymore. She knows. They know.
“Pretty Little Flower,” Strikers says, cupping my cheeks.
Shit. I can’t even think straight when he pulls my hands down and kisses the tears away from the back of my hands.
“No more tears,” Striker says, and I nod, eating up every detail of his face, his neck, the white scars on his forearms.
Scars. Like his mask. “What are those from?” I ask.
He releases me, crossing his arms over his chest, gripping each forearm. His eyes drop to my mouth. In this light, they’re a dark amber, flecked with a deep brown.
“I did it when I was locked in the cold room,” he says quietly, the words slipping out like a secret. “I was trying to keep myself from falling asleep like I did before when my mother left me in darkness.”
My fingers splay out with the memory of my own fingers raking down the wood door. He told me about being left in a closet like me, but I don’t know what he means by the cold room, so I ask, “Was the cold room different from the darkness?”
A small smile, more a grimace than anything, tugs at the corner of his mouth. My heart actually flutters at the sight. “They were similar, but I came out of the cold room a different person.”
I want to ask more, but I don’t think I want to know. The way his brows knit and his eyes lose focus tells me he doesn’t want to remember. Lifting my hand, I run a finger along one of the thicker scars, thinking about a boy so scared of dying that he tore himself apart to stay alive.
“I have scars too,” I whisper. Striker unfolds his arms, letting them drop to his side. “Mine are all inside my head.”
“They leak out when you dream,” he says, reaching for my hand. “But you don’t have to be scared anymore.”
“Viper told me I’m staying.” I drag my gaze all over him again. I wonder if the other men are this beautiful. This damaged, carrying scars under their clothes and inside their heads like we do.
“You’re safe here.” Cupping my jaw, his thumb grazes my bottom lip as he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. The soft kiss burns, making me lean into him, pressing his mouth to me harder, trying to ease this fire flaming across my skin.
God, this is all so insane. He was obviously just fucking Delly. I’ve been fucking Delly. We all fucked just weeks ago. They kidnapped us. We are supposed to be scared, and hate them, and here we are sitting in a bathroom, the man responsible for stealing and saving me, peppering me with soft kisses and all I want to do is wrap myself around him so he doesn’t stop.
“You both need rest,” Striker says when he backs away. “And I need to talk to the others.”
I nod, watching his lips form the words.
“Little Flower?”
I glance up at his eyes. I knew they weren’t bad. I know evil men, and I felt with every fiber of my being, they weren’t the same.
“Are you okay?”
I lick my lips, tasting his kiss, wondering if his mouth had been on Delly. If he just kissed her or if he licked her cunt like I did just last night.
“Why was I going back?” I ask.
He blinks and looks away. When he steps back, I watch his hands, the cords of muscles in his forearms and the scars his life has left on him as he pulls his pants away from his body and tugs up the zipper. The urge to stop him, move his hand and reach into his pants and free him is so strong that I grip the edge of the counter to stop myself.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he says, adjusting the waistband of his pants and stepping in closer.
Releasing the counter, I trail my finger up his abs; the muscles rippling like he’s ticklish, then drag it up the center of his chest. Stopping at the scar above his heart, I lean in and place a kiss on the raised skin. His breath hitches and fingers weave into my hair, tilting my head back to look in his eyes. Up this close, I can smell his maleness and the hint of sweat and sex.
“You’re too sweet for this world,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine. “I don’t know how it’s not ruined you.”
“It didn’t ruin you,” I say back, keeping my voice just as low. His breath fans over my cheek when he places another kiss on my lips, then backs up enough so I can look at his face fully.
He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. I almost want to tell him to put his mask back on, so he’s a little less real. So he can remain the man who killed people and stole us, and not this soft face that so obviously isn’t the hardened killer he wants us to believe he is.
He’s just a man. Just that boy who was trapped like I was.
But we both made it out.
“Father ruined me, not the world.” Striker grips my waist, once again lifting me.
I wrap my legs around him, resting my arms on his shoulders as he walks us to the door. He reaches around me and opens the door, his biceps straining as he carries me quietly to the bed. I slip down his body, eating up the sight of his sculpted muscles in his chest, then the skull tattoos between his shoulder blades as he turns and reaches for his shirt, then tugs it over his head. He places another chaste kiss on my lips before grabbing his mask and backing away.
When the door clicks shut quietly, I turn and find Delly watching me, her blue eyes red rimmed.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. So, so sorry her father is who he is, and that she found out this way.
A tear slips out and hits the pillow under her head. “Me too,” she whispers back, but then her face crumbles, and I feel like Rune’s ripping me apart all over again. Hitting me over and over as I watch her cry, powerless to make it stop. He made me feel so helpless, like I am now, unable to take her pain away. His lies and betrayal battering her, cutting so deep she’s going to have scars.
“Do we have to talk about it?” I ask, my stomach flipping as I sit on the edge of the bed. She drags a finger down my arm, watching as goose bumps form on my skin. “I’m so tired of talking about it.”
Delly shakes her head, drawing her hand back, wiping under her nose.
“Was his dick as good the second time around?”
Her blue eyes snap up to mine, and she breathes out a laugh, squeezing her eyes shut. “Better.”
“Helps, he’s not a butter-face.” When she smirks, my chest warms. We’re okay. “Do I get to fuck him too?”
The smirk falls and she grimaces.
“Too soon?” I ask, capturing my bottom lip with my teeth. Yeah. Too soon. “Why’d he take off his mask?”
“Because we aren’t going home,” she says, throwing the blankets back and holding them up for me to join her.
I crawl forward, drinking in the sight of her pale flesh and hard nipples. The dark mole on her thin collarbone. Even with red, puffy eyes, hair a tangled mess spread out behind her, she’s still so beautiful. It makes me want to press my lips to every inch of her flesh.
“I know,” I tell her, slipping under the blankets, but my heart hammers as I look up into her eyes, placing my head on the pillow. “Do you want to?”
Her features harden, gaze drifting to my mouth. “No.” She gathers me up, pulling me close and tossing her leg over my hip until we’re pressed together so tightly I feel every breath she inhales. Feel every exhale like it’s mine and for the first time in my life, I know I’m truly safe. Her lips press to my forehead. “Does Clyde know about Rune?”
I shake my head, burying my face in her sticky neck, breathing in the salty sweat on her skin, and the faint scent of soap and sex. She’s always been my safe place. My beacon. Now she’s something else.
Her entire body relaxes. “Good. I’d hate to have to kill him.”
A chuckle slips out and I glance back up at her, placing a kiss to her jaw, but then catch the murderous gleam in her eyes.
Sometimes I forget she’s Rune’s daughter.
He’s going to regret creating her.