2. Chapter 2
Striker
A woman yells somewhere across the parking lot.
I turn toward the sound and round the row of trucks.
Three men have her cornered.
Bad fucking choice.
One bastard has both her arms pinned behind her while another moves in. The third hangs close, blocking any easy way out.
She’s still fighting.
Twisting against the hold, cursing at them, trying to wrench herself free.
Something hot and vicious settles beneath my ribs.
I noticed her inside the Red Den. Hard not to when she looked the way she did. Honey-blond hair, soft curves, and a mouth that distracted me more than once while I was supposed to be talking numbers with the manager.
Thirty-six years had put enough hard miles on me to know better than to get distracted by someone who looked that young and soft.
Pretty little thing had no business catching my attention as hard as she did.
Seeing another man’s hands on her now turns that interest into something meaner.
I give them one chance to let her go.
The dumb bastards waste it.
The one in front looks at me. “Mind your own fucking business.”
I keep walking.
At six-four, I’m used to men reconsidering their choices when I get close enough for them to understand exactly how bad the next few minutes might go. Years of fighting, first because I had to and later because Uncle Sam paid me for it, have taught me plenty about how to put a man down.
These three apparently require a demonstration.
I reach the bastard holding her.
His hands are still on her.
That makes him mine.
I hook a fist in the front of his shirt, rip him away from her, and slam him against the side of the truck hard enough to rattle the metal. He barely gets a breath before his buddy comes at me from the left.
Sloppy punch.
I move my head, bury my fist in his stomach, then catch his jaw when he doubles over.
He hits the asphalt.
One.
The third one charges me instead of backing off like somebody with a functioning survival instinct.
Two punches handle him.
Two.
The first asshole pushes away from the truck.
I turn just as he swings.
Anger makes men predictable.
I catch his wrist, drive my fist into his ribs, then plant another one into his face. He staggers, blood appearing beneath his nose.
Still standing.
Persistent motherfucker.
I hit him again.
He drops beside his friends.
Three.
Silence settles over the parking lot.
I flex my hand once and look at the men scattered across the pavement. None of them are getting back up quickly, which means I finally have time to deal with the reason I got involved in the first place.
Her.
I turn.
And fuck.
Inside the bar, I only got pieces of her between conversations with Pete. A glimpse when she leaned across the counter to hand someone a drink. Another when she was arguing with the asshole now bleeding on the pavement. Enough to know she was curvy, pretty, and entirely too distracting.
Up close is worse.
Pretty hair falls around a heart-shaped face, messy now from the struggle. Her mouth is full and pink, the lower lip slightly parted while she catches her breath. Cute little nose. Soft body under a black shirt and jeans that hug hips my hands immediately want to learn.
Then she looks straight at me.
Baby-blue eyes.
Christ.
They’re bright even beneath the shitty parking-lot lights, and whatever punch I’ve taken to the chest over the years has nothing on the way those eyes land.
My body reacts immediately.
Hard.
Possessive.
Completely fucking unreasonable.
I don’t know her name.
Doesn’t matter.
Some primitive part of me has already decided I want to hear it coming from those lips.
Then I see her rubbing her upper arm.
Any thought involving her mouth disappears.
I cross the space between us. “You hurt?”
She glances down at herself as though she hasn’t considered it yet. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Her eyes snap back to mine.
There’s fire in them now.
Good.
I prefer that to fear.
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said you hurt?”
Her lips press together.
For a second, she looks like she might tell me to go fuck myself.
God help me, I want her to.
Instead, she mutters, “My shoulder hurts a little.”
I look at it.
Her sleeve has shifted enough to expose the skin beneath. Red marks are already rising where fingers dug into her upper arm.
Everything inside me goes cold.
I glance at the bastard who had her pinned.
“Him?”
Her gaze follows mine. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“So I know which one needs another lesson.”
Those blue eyes widen.
Then she looks past me toward the men on the pavement.
“I think they got the message.”
I’m not convinced.
One of the bastards groans.
My attention moves to him.
Her hand closes around my forearm before I can take a step.
Fuck me.
Small fingers against my skin shouldn’t do anything.
They do everything.
Heat moves straight through me, so immediate I go still.
She feels it too. I know because her breath catches, and those blue eyes drop to where she’s touching me before slowly coming back up.
There it is.
The pull I feel isn’t one-sided.
Good.
Very fucking good.
She releases me.
I don’t like that nearly as much as I should.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Don’t what?”
“Hit him again.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I noticed.”
That mouth.
I’m going to have trouble with that mouth.
“What’s your name?”
She blinks at the change of subject. “June.”
June.
Pretty. Soft. Sweet.
The name fits her.
“June what?”
“Gill.”
“Braxton Sanders.”
Her brow creases.
“Striker,” I add.
Her gaze drops to my cut again.
“The Damned Sinners.”
“Yeah.”
Everybody in Roseburn Falls knows the club. Grim wears the President patch. I handle enforcement. If somebody threatens one of our brothers, our businesses, or anything belonging to the club, I’m generally the man sent to make sure it doesn’t happen twice.
Tonight I came to the Red Den because some of our liquor has been disappearing before it reaches Pete.
Our brand moves through bars and restaurants across the county, and the Red Den is one of our regular accounts. Three recent deliveries came up short.
Pete counted the cases when they arrived, marked each shortage on the delivery paperwork, and had the driver sign off on it. We credited him for what never reached his door.
Nothing big enough to make headlines.
Enough to make Grim suspicious.
We don’t ignore people stealing from us.
Pete and I spent almost an hour going through those deliveries before I headed outside.
Then I found June.
My priorities rearranged themselves pretty fucking fast.
She looks at the men again. “Are they going to be okay?”
“Probably.”
Her head whips toward me. “Probably?”
“They’re breathing.”
“That’s your standard?”
“For them? Yeah.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
I like watching her try to decide whether I’m serious.
I am.
Mostly.
I nod toward the one closest to us. “Who is he?”
Her expression changes immediately.
Any spark of amusement disappears.
“Jamie.”
“And Jamie is?”
“Eliana’s boyfriend. She’s my foster sister.”
I remember the brunette from the bar.
More importantly, I remember the bruise under her eye.
My jaw tightens.
“The woman you were arguing about earlier.”
“You saw that?”
“Saw enough.”
June looks uncomfortable for the first time since I walked over.
“He hit her.”
“You know that?”
“She says she walked into a door.”
I don’t respond.
Don’t need to.
June folds her arms. “Exactly.”
I glance at Jamie.
Suddenly I wish I’d broken more than his nose.
“How long have they been together?”
“Six months. She moved in with him after the first month.”
“Guessing you don’t like him.”
She stares at me.
“What gave it away?”
“Could’ve been the part where you shoved him.”
“I hate him.”
There she is.
“Better.”
June’s eyes narrow. “Do you always interrogate strangers after beating up their attackers?”
“Only the pretty ones.”
The words come out before I consider them.
Her lips part.
Pink moves into her cheeks.
Fuck.
I want to see how far down that blush goes.
Later.
My brain has already decided there’ll be a later.
I look away before my thoughts get any filthier and notice Jamie moving.
He rolls onto one side and wipes blood from his mouth.
His eyes find June.
I step between them.
Instant.
No thought required.
Jamie’s gaze lifts to mine.
“If you go near her again, you and me are going to have a very different conversation.”
His lip curls. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
I stare at him.
Interesting thing to say.
Men like Jamie usually threaten to call cops or promise revenge.
That sounds different.
I look at the two men with him.
One immediately glances away.
Interesting again.
There was something about those assholes inside the Red Den too. They’d been around the rear hallway more than once, close to the storage room where Pete kept part of his liquor inventory.
Maybe coincidence.
I don’t believe in many of those.
I’ll deal with it later.
June comes first.
“Where’s Eliana now?”
Her eyes go toward Jamie. “She left before me.”
“With him?”
“Yes, but apparently he came back.”
“And she’s alone at their place?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer bothers her. I can see it immediately.
She pulls her phone from her purse and calls.
This time, someone answers.
“Ellie?”
June turns away from me slightly, listening.
“You okay?”
A pause.
Her shoulders ease a fraction.
“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure.”
Another pause.
“No, don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”
She ends the call and stares at the screen for a second.
“She says she’s fine. She wants to sleep.”
I pull out my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure she stays fine.”
Her brows pull together.
“Where does Jamie live?”
Suspicion immediately replaces some of the relief on her face. “Why?”
“So I can put eyes on the place.”
She stares at me for a second, then gives me the address.
I send it along with a message to two of the prospects.
Keep eyes on this address tonight. No contact unless something goes wrong. If someone shows up angry or puts hands on her, get her out and call me.
June watches me put my phone away.
“I put two prospects on the house.”
Her expression goes blank.
“You can do that?”
“Yeah.”
“And they’ll just… watch?”
“Unless there’s a reason not to.”
Something in her face shifts.
Relief, maybe.
She tries to hide it.
Doesn’t work.
“Thank you.”
I look at her.
The words are quiet enough that I almost miss them.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Why?”
“Because now we’re dealing with you.”
Her eyes narrow immediately.
There she is.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not going home alone tonight.”