4. Chapter 4
Striker
By the time the house starts waking up around me, I’m pretty sure the damn chair is trying to kill me.
Wouldn’t be the worst place I’ve slept.
I’ve caught sleep sitting against concrete walls, folded into armored vehicles, flat on dirt with a rifle across my chest and men close enough to kill me if the perimeter failed. You learn fast in the military that comfort is a luxury and sleep happens whenever you can steal it.
Still, this fucking chair is impressive.
I shift my weight and one of the wooden legs gives a warning creak.
“Yeah, yeah.”
The hallway stays quiet.
June’s door hasn’t opened since she closed it a few hours ago, and that matters more than my back. After the night she had, she needs the sleep.
I’m staying until she gets it.
My phone vibrates against my thigh.
One of the prospects.
Quiet all night. Woman stayed inside. Nobody came to the house.
Good.
Keep eyes on it through the morning. Call if anything changes.
Got it.
Prospects get the jobs nobody with a full patch wants. Watching doors, running errands, cleaning the clubhouse, hauling shit, doing whatever needs doing while they prove they’ve got enough loyalty and sense to earn their colors.
Two men sitting on a house for a few hours is nothing, especially when it means June wakes up knowing her sister made it through the night safe.
I stare at the closed door across from me.
Met the woman a few hours ago and I’m already putting men on the people she loves.
It’s fast, but I don’t give a fuck.
My phone buzzes again.
Grim.
Alive?
Barely.
That bad?
I look at the chair.
Chair’s got a mean streak.
Three dots appear.
Where the fuck are you?
Watching a woman’s door.
A pause.
You don’t watch doors for strangers.
Son of a bitch.
Fuck off.
Thought so.
I shake my head.
Grim knows me too well.
Has for a long damn time.
Long before Damned Sinners cuts and clubhouses. Before Roseburn Falls. Before either of us had to figure out what came after the military.
Back then Grim gave the orders and I stood at his right hand making sure they got carried out.
Second-in-command.
I trusted his calls. He trusted me to finish them.
Then one mission went to hell.
Command told Grim to pull back. He refused because pulling out meant leaving men behind.
I backed him.
Afterward, the brass needed somebody to bleed for it. Grim was convenient, so they came for him first.
Then me.
Told me I could save my career if I gave them what they wanted. Say Grim acted alone. Say I disagreed with him. Give them enough distance to hang the whole mess around his neck.
I refused, and my career disappeared with the answer. Never regretted it.
You don’t sell out your brother to save your own skin.
The uniform eventually came off. The cut went on.
The rule stayed the same.
Grim is Prez now. Torch backs him as Vice Prez. I’m Enforcer. When trouble comes looking for the Damned Sinners, I’m usually what it finds waiting.
Striker comes from those years too.
It started in the Army, after enough operations for the men around me to figure out I wasn’t built for chaos. I didn’t rush a target because everybody else was running. I waited until I knew exactly where the opening was.
Then I took it. Fast, hard, and with no second pass if I could help it. Somewhere along the way, somebody started calling me Striker. Grim made damn sure it stuck.
By the time I wore a Damned Sinners cut, Braxton was mostly the name on my license.
My phone vibrates again.
Red Den?
Numbers are off. Pete’s paperwork is clean. Missing cases are somewhere in the route.
Need you back later.
Torch covering?
Yeah.
Then you’ll survive without me.
Barely.
I grin and shove the phone into my pocket.
A sound comes from behind June’s door and everything else in my head shuts down.
Bare footsteps.
The lock turns.
Then the door opens.
Fuck.
Her hair is a mess around her face, sleep still clinging to those baby-blue eyes. An oversized T-shirt reaches the tops of her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs bare.
Last night, I wanted the bartender with the smart mouth.
Then I wanted the woman fighting three men instead of giving them an inch.
This is worse.
Because seeing her soft and half-asleep puts something in my head that has no business being there yet.
Not just June in my bed. June after. Barefoot in my place, wearing my shirt, drinking my coffee, looking at me like waking up together is something we do.
Fuck me.
Her gaze drops to the chair.
“You’re still here.”
“Told you I’d stay.”
“I thought you might eventually realize how ridiculous this was.”
“Nope.”
Her mouth twitches.
Then she remembers. “Eliana?”
“Safe.”
She’s wide awake now.
I get to my feet. “Prospects checked in. House stayed quiet. Nobody went near her.”
Her shoulders loosen.
“And Jamie?”
“Never showed.”
The worry starts to creep back in, so I cut it off.
“Your sister was safe. That’s what matters.”
June watches me for a second, then nods. “Thank you.”
“Quit thanking me.”
“No.”
Of course not.
My eyes catch the bruises on her arm.
They’re darker now.
June notices where I’m looking and pulls at her sleeve.
“Don’t.”
Her eyebrows go up. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t hide it.”
“I’m not hiding it.”
“You just covered it.”
“Because you’re staring like the bruise offended you personally.”
“It did.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Makes sense to me.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“I have bruises, Striker.”
“And that shoulder hurts.”
She opens her mouth.
I give her a look.
She closes it again.
Good girl.
“You need somebody to check it.”
“I do not need a doctor because somebody grabbed me.”
“Razor can look at it.”
Her forehead creases. “Who is Razor?”
“One of my brothers. Club doctor. Used to be a combat medic.”
She stares at me.
“Your doctor is named Razor?”
“Yeah.”
“That seems like something patients should know before agreeing to treatment.”
“You’ll survive the name.”
“I’m more worried about the bill.”
“There isn’t one.”
Her expression shifts. “You cannot just take me to some doctor and decide I don’t have to pay him.”
“Can if he’s my brother.”
“That sounds suspiciously illegal.”
“It isn’t.”
“Very convincing.”
I laugh.
Her eyes widen slightly.
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“I do that.”
“Apparently.”
“Careful, Rebel.”
“Or what?”
I move closer.
The smart answer dies on her lips when she has to tip her head back.
“Keep pushing.”
Color warms her cheeks.
Christ.
Then she glances past me.
“Come inside.”
I hold her eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
That’s all I need.
I follow her through the door.
The window faces the mountains. Bathroom off to one side. Bed on the other.
Hard not to notice the bed when June is standing three feet from it with bare legs and sleep-mussed hair.
I shut that thought down before it gets ideas.
She closes the door behind me.
It’s a different kind of quiet now, with just the two of us behind a closed door.
“Let me see your arm.”
“You really are relentless.”
“Come here.”
She mutters something I’m probably better off not hearing, but she comes.
I reach for her sleeve and stop.
“Okay?”
Her eyes meet mine.
Then she nods.
“Okay.”
I move the fabric carefully.
Finger-shaped bruises darken her skin.
My temper goes cold.
Should’ve hit the bastard harder.
“Don’t,” June says.
“What?”
“Don’t make your murder face.”
“This is my face.”
“No. Your regular face is slightly less homicidal.”
I look at her.
She barely knows me and already knows there’s a difference.
I like that.
My thumb brushes the edge of the bruising.
Her breath catches.
Mine damn near does too.
Then I see the scars lower on her arm.
Thin. Pale. Old.
June follows my gaze.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
Then she exhales.
“Foster mother.”
My eyes come back to hers.
“She was drunk one night. That happened a lot.”
I wait.
If she wants to stop there, she stops there.
“She broke a beer bottle.” June runs her fingertips lightly over one of the scars. “Things got ugly. I got cut.”
My jaw tightens.
“That where you met Eliana?”
“Yes. She was younger. We stayed together after that. Not legally or anything. We just...” She shrugs. “Decided we were sisters.”
“Sounds legal enough to me.”
That gets the smallest smile.
“I never knew my real parents,” she says. “I was abandoned as a baby. Foster care was pretty much all I knew until I aged out.”
I keep my hand around her arm, loose and careful.
“Shit, Rebel.”
“I survived.”
“Can see that.”
She studies my face.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“That look says you know something about shitty parents.”
Sharp woman.
“Never met my father.”
Her face softens, but I don’t see pity.
Good.
“My mother raised me. Just us.”
“And?”
I almost leave it there.
Then I look at the scars again.
Fair is fair.
“She met a man when I was sixteen. Left with him.”
June blinks. “She just left you?”
“Yeah.”
“For him?”
“Looks that way.”
“That’s...” She stops herself.
“Fucked up?”
“I was going to be more polite.”
“Why?”
Her mouth twitches.
“Haven’t seen her since,” I say.
June goes quiet.
Then her fingers settle against my chest.
Just rest there.
Warm through my shirt.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Still sucks.”
“Yeah.”
That’s enough.
No reason to dig around in graves.
Her palm stays on me, and my hand stays on her arm.
The air changes.
I feel it before she looks at my mouth, slow like she doesn’t mean to.
Like that fucking matters.
My eyes drop to hers.
Fuck.
I’ve wanted to kiss this woman since I saw that smart mouth behind the bar.
Now she’s standing in front of me, soft from sleep, telling me things she doesn’t owe me, touching me like she wants to know what happens next.
I know what happens next.
If she lets it.
“June.”
Her eyes lift.
“Tell me no.”
A crease forms between her brows.
“To what?”
I step in until her body nearly touches mine.
“This.”
Her breath catches.
“If you don’t want my mouth on you, say it now.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt.
“No.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
Then I see the spark in her eyes.
“No, I’m not telling you to stop.”
Little fucking rebel.
I catch the back of her neck and take her mouth.
The first taste hits hard.
I mean to start slow.
That lasts until she kisses me back.
Her lips part, and the second my tongue meets hers, control turns into a fight.
I pull her into me.
Careful of the bruised shoulder.
Not careful anywhere else.
Her soft curves press against my body, and my cock goes hard so fast it hurts.
June makes a sound into my mouth, sweet and hungry enough to hit me straight in the gut.
Mine.
Fuck.
I kiss her deeper.
Her hands grab my cut and she rises onto her toes, chasing me when I shift my mouth.
That does me in.
My fingers slide into her hair and tighten.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to keep her exactly where I want her.
I tilt her head and kiss her until her breathing turns rough.
Until mine does too.
She presses closer.
My hand drops to her waist, then lower, spreading over the curve of her hip as I back her up.
One step.
Another.
The bed hits the backs of her legs.
June doesn’t pull away.
She grips me harder.
My cock is pressed against her now, no hiding what I want.
Her breath catches against my mouth.
But she doesn’t move back.
Fuck.
I drag my lips from hers to her jaw.
Her head tips, offering me more.
I kiss the soft skin below her ear and feel her shiver.
“Striker.”
The way she says my name nearly strips the last bit of sense out of me.
I want her on that bed.
Want those bare legs around me.
Want to find out how many times I can make her say my name before she forgets every other word she knows.
Then my hand shifts.
My thumb brushes close to the bruise.
Reality lands.
I stop, not because I want to, but because if I keep going, stopping gets a hell of a lot harder.
June opens her eyes.
Her lips are swollen.
Cheeks flushed.
She looks thoroughly kissed and nowhere near satisfied.
Good.
Neither am I.
“Why did you stop?”
My grip tightens on her waist.
“Because I want you to be sure.”
“I am.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.
Jesus.
I take one more kiss.
Hard.
Deep.
Enough to make her clutch my cut again.
Then I drag myself back before I forget why I stopped.
“I want you, June.”
She stares at me, breathing hard.
“Pretty sure I figured that out.”
My mouth twitches.
“Good.”
“And if I said I want you too?”
Everything in me goes still.
Alpha instinct says take.
Put her on the bed.
Make her mine.
The part of me that spent the night outside her door wins.
I brush my thumb over her swollen lower lip.
“I’d tell you to get dressed.”
Her eyes narrow.
“What?”
“Razor first.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Been called worse.”
“You think you can kiss me like that and then order me around?”
“Was ordering you around before I kissed you.”
That stops her for half a second.
Then she glares.
There’s my girl.
My girl.
The thought hits clean and hard.
Too soon.
Don’t give a fuck about that either.
“Get dressed, Rebel.”
“Bossy bastard.”
I grin.
“Now you’re catching on.”
She grabs her clothes, still muttering under her breath, and disappears into the bathroom to get dressed.
I watch her go, and all I can think about is wanting this again. Her mouth. Her attitude. That look in her eyes when she forgets to fight me for half a second and just feels.
I want all of it.
Mine.
Soon.