Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
SORAYA
Iwake up alone in an oversized bed - a real one, not an inflated mattress. Disorientation hits me first, leaving me blinking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Then memories of last night rush in. The shattered glass. The terrifying ride. Stryker.
Sitting up, I tug the hem of the large black shirt of his I’m wearing, surprised by how it fits me like a dress.
I was so exhausted last night after the hot shower, I basically grabbed whatever looked like it would cover me, then face-planted in bed.
As a plus-size girl with wide hips, I’m not used to things being too big for me. It's a nice feeling.
Shaking my head of those thoughts, I take a deep breath and assess my new surroundings.
The room smells strongly of worn leather, rich tobacco, and cedar.
The space is masculine and sparse, with only a bed, a small couch, and a table for one set up in the kitchenette, but everything is surprisingly orderly.
Harsh morning light filters through a crack in the otherwise blackout curtains, the stark contrast reminding me of Stryker.
He has an undeniable dark side, or at least a side of himself he projects as dark and dangerous.
But the few interactions I’ve had with the man have shown me something else.
Something deeper. Stryker has light deep in his soul.
He just needs to feel safe enough to show it.
Outside, the muffled thrum of motorcycle engines idle in the yard, pulling me back into the present moment. A few men shout over the sound of the bikes, then everyone leaves in a roar of chaos.
A restless energy begins buzzing in my veins.
I need answers. I can’t just sit trapped in this room waiting for a man I barely know.
Slipping out of the warm bed, I decide to explore.
I’m assuming everyone left for a ride or a mission or whatever happens in motorcycle clubs.
More questions I’d like answers to. Since no one is around, I figure I don’t need to change.
Not only do I not want to put on my dirty clothes from last night, but also this shirt practically comes down to my knees.
With my wardrobe fully justified, I cautiously open the door and step out into the back corridor of the clubhouse.
My bare feet stick slightly to the hardwood floor, and I notice the air out here smells entirely different.
It is a harsh mix of bleach, cheap beer, and exhaust fumes.
Walking down the hall, I see glowing neon signs and heavy leather vests hanging on hooks along the walls.
The gritty reality of the motorcycle club surrounds me.
Then I hear muffled, gruff voices bleeding through the thin walls.
I stop moving and press myself near a half-open door.
Two men are arguing fiercely. I catch harsh snippets of their conversation, but all I can put together is that they’re fighting about shipping manifests, missing crates of product, and impossibly tight deadlines.
Cold suspicion spikes in my chest. Is Stryker involved in illegal trafficking? Is this a smuggling operation? Is he the part of the “bad guys” infiltrating town? Have I traded one dangerous nightmare for another?
Suddenly, the door swings wide open. A massive man steps out and spots me instantly. I remember someone calling him Tank last night. He immediately corners me, his large frame looming over me aggressively.
"Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you spying on us?
" he demands loudly. Spittle flies from the corner of his mouth, and I scrunch my nose up as some of it lands on my cheek. The smell of chewing tobacco stings my nostrils, making me cringe even harder. All I can think of is soda cans filled with saliva scattered over my uncle’s trailer.
When he slams a hand on the wall next to my head, fear rattles me to my bones.
I’m unable to breathe or think or act. Trauma responses I thought I buried years ago kick into overdrive.
Past memories of abusive, angry men surface from my childhood in the Denver trailer park.
I’m completely paralyzed, trembling from head to toe while I wait to be slapped or strangled.
A sudden, deafening roar rips through the narrow hallway. Stryker charges in like a lethal predator. He violently slams Tank into the opposite wall, pinning the larger man by the throat.
I see Stryker’s raw, dangerous side for the first time.
I knew he was capable of violence, but seeing it first hand…
It shatters my shock just enough to unlock my frozen limbs.
I turn and run as fast as I can, sprinting back to Stryker’s apartment.
I slam the heavy door, my hands shaking as I turn the lock.
I don’t know how much good it will do against a vengeful biker determined to get inside, but it’s something.
My knees shake, and I stumble my way toward the couch, sinking into the cushions.
Cold sweat beads on my forehead and upper lip as I try to get my frantic breathing under control.
I ball my hands into fists, letting the bite of my fingernails against my palm keep me grounded during my panic attack.
Should I run away? Where would I even go?
My beautiful floral shop is completely destroyed.
Is my apartment above it safe? Am I safer out on the streets, or right here with this best of a man?
A key turns sharply in the lock, and I watch in horror as the door bursts open. Stryker stands in the threshold, his broad chest heaving heavily. He’s still full of adrenaline, the intensity radiating off his large frame.
I curl up into a tight ball on the couch, bracing for impact.
I expect shouting, anger, grabbing me and tossing me out, or a black eye to teach me a lesson.
When nothing happens, I peek one eye open.
Stryker’s entire demeanor has changed. He sees my terror and instantly checks himself, taking a calming breath before slowly approaching me.
The giant man carved out of granite sits gently beside me, causing the worn cushions to dip under his significant weight. He hovers a large, calloused hand over my shoulder, like he’s not sure if his touch would be overwhelming or comforting.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice barely a whisper.
Stryker keeps surprising me. He’s waiting for my consent to touch me, which I can’t say has ever happened before. While I still have more questions than answers, having Stryker here, right now, caring for me in my most vulnerable moment melts away my fears.
I break down and lean forward into his broad chest. He immediately pulls me into his lap and wraps his massive, tattooed arms around me.
I nestle into him, tucking my head under his chin while he rocks me gently back and forth.
God, when was the last time I felt this… safe? Especially after a panic attack.
Stryker tilts his head down, breathing me in.
"I am so, so sorry," he murmurs against my hair.
"I went out to bring you breakfast. I hate knowing you woke up terrified.
" He pulls back slightly to look at my face.
"Tank has been handled. It’s unacceptable for anyone in my club to speak to a woman like that. Especially you."
I look up into his deep, dark brown eyes. "Why especially me?"
Stryker rests his forehead gently against mine, his chest rising and falling with every breath. "Are you sure you're ready for that answer?"
All my unresolved questions about the MC and the smuggling fade away, until there’s just us, just this moment. I part my lips slightly, and brush my nose against his. Stryker groans and leans in, closing the distance between us.
I gasp at the hunger behind his kiss, his tongue seeking entrance immediately.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but Stryker takes the lead, swirling his tongue with mine and tickling the roof of my mouth.
His hands tighten around me, one gripping my thigh while the other slides up my back and tangles in my hair.
Stryker angles my head so he can kiss me harder, deeper, like he can’t get enough. A needy ache blooms between my thighs, and a whimper slips from my mouth, a plea for more of what he has to offer.
Finally, I have to break our kiss to fill my lungs with air.
Stryker rubs his nose and chin down my neck, pausing to nip at the sensitive spot below my ear.
His warm tongue follows, licking away the sting before he kisses the same spot.
I’ve never been so wanted or felt so important, like his next breath depends on more of my kisses.
When our lips meet again, he’s softer this time, more tender. His tongue glides along mine, consuming me in long, languid strokes of his tongue. Stryker is showing me he can be gentle, too. He’ll be everything I need.
We both pull away, though Stryker keeps me close with a hand massaging the back of my neck. “Does that answer your question?” he whispers, still catching his breath from our life-altering kiss.
“Not really,” I tease. “But please feel free to explain it to me again.”
Stryker’s eyes sparkle, just a hint of light peeking through. Just enough to confirm my suspicion that he’s both dark and light. Like we all are.
He presses his lips to mine in a quick kiss, then he kisses my temple, resting his head there. “Thank you for trusting me,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for how the morning started, but I’m not sorry about how it ended.”
I grin and tilt my head up, unable to hide the stupid-happy smile spreading across my face. “Is this real?” I ask.
“The realest thing I’ve ever experienced, my little sunflower.”
I’m just as shocked as he is about the pet name he gave me. “Sunflower?” I prod, a smirk curling up one side of my mouth.
“It fits. Bright, sunny, strong, resilient. All things you embody.”
“Me?” I wasn’t expecting that answer.