Three Strikes (Demons Disciples MC Book 1)

by Allana Walker

  “Really, I'm fine.” I try to keep the tears at bay and a smile on my face.

  “Come on, Daria. I’m no longer your doctor. I’m just Ant.” He moves to the seat beside me. When I stay silent, he begins speaking. “You have a very caring boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No.”

  “He’s been here since you were admitted, rode in the ambulance here. Hasn’t left your side since. Well, until today.” Taking my hand in his. “Does he know about the baby?”

  “There’s no baby.” My eyes burn with unshed tears. “Not now.”

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m very sorry for your loss. If you ever need to talk, you know where I am.”

  “Ant. Can I ask you not to tell anyone about the baby?”

  “Of course, Daria. Patient/doctor confidentiality.” He stands. “I need to go do my rounds. I’ll come back before I leave, okay?”

  Silence. That’s all I hear.

  I love you too, Striker.

  ***

  “Daria? What are you doing?” Ant, Jess’ uncle and my doctor walks into my hospital room.

  “I’m going home.” Holding my side, I wince in pain. My whole body hurts like I’ve been hit by a truck.

  “You need to stay here until you’re fully recovered,”

  “I’m fine. I feel fine.”

  “Be that as it may, you have been through a big trauma. You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, and only woke up a week ago.” He’s now standing close to me, placing his hand on mine to stop me putting the rest of my stuff in my bag. “You need to be monitored, Daria.”

  “What I need is out of this place. I need to be with my daughter. I need to know she’s safe.”

  “She’s safe, Daria. Emily is with that guy, who I assume is her father, that was here since you were brought in.” Placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, I jump back and jerk my shoulder. His hand falls. “Daria, we need to keep you here for another week.”

  “No. I want out of here.”

  Ant sighs. “How are you getting home? Who’s there that will look after you?”

  “I’ll catch a cab. I can look after myself. I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen.”

  “I’m not signing off on this.”

  “Fine. I want a different doctor.” He shakes his head and leaves.

  I go to grab my stuff from the bathroom. When I come out, I drop it all when I see who’s in my room.

  “Hello, Daria.” He tilts his head and advances towards me. My heart begins to race, and my whole body begins to shake. “What’s the matter? You scared?”

  “W-what? H-how?” My voice is low, my breath bursting in and out in quick succession. I’m rooted to the spot, my feet unwilling to move and my voice suddenly gone.

  “How? That idiot your fuck buddy assigned to look after you is too interested in chatting up the nurses than making sure you’re safe from the evils of the world.” He takes my hair between his fingers and sniffs it. “Little do you know, you’re in bed with the devil.”

  “W-what do you want Brad?”

  “I want that whole motorcycle club behind bars. I want you dead.” His lips curls in hatred. “How’s little Emily?”

  “You leave my daughter out of this,” I snap a sudden surge of rage coursing through me. He grabs my biceps, squeezing at a bruising force.

  “You’ll keep your trap shut about this, or you’ll be seeing your maker sooner than you really want to.” I don’t answer him straight away, I just stare at him, wondering why he turned like this. I was just a pawn in his little game to get the MC sent to prison. “Do you understand?” he spits, close to my face. I gasp out loud and nod my head.

  “Ye-yes.”

  He pulls me closer. “One word, I will kill you and you’re precious little girl.” Brad pushes me away, causing me to stumble. He runs out the door. I let go of the breath I had been holding in and walk over to the bed on shaky legs. I let out a sob, hugging my mid-section.

  I need to get out of here and be with Emily.

  ***

  I’m back in my house with Emily for the first time since I was beaten and stabbed. I went against Ant and my other doctors’ advice, but after Brad paid me a visit, I didn’t want to be there anymore. Jess read me the riot act, but I told her I couldn’t stand being cooped up in there any longer. I needed to be with Emily. I left out that Brad came by. Barron told me that he would send someone over to make sure we were safe, even though I said we would be fine, but he insisted for his peace of mind. Part of me hoped it would be Striker, but it was Chucky, which I was okay about since I sort of know him and was comfortable with him. I said to Chucky he could stay downstairs when he insisted staying outside, but when I said I would feel safer and be more at ease if he was inside, he agreed.

  I walk up to Emily’s room to check on her. She’s sound asleep, kissing her on the head, moving her hair out of her face. I leave, head to my room, and pull the comforter up, closing my eyes and hoping to get some sleep. Emily's cries echo in my head, the feeling of being dragged and beaten feel like it's happening right now.

  “Tell me? How did his cock feel?” Brad spits in my face, lifting my head off the floor when the kicking stops briefly.

  “He’s hung like a fucking horse. He knows how to fuck a girl.” Where did that come from? That’s when I feel a sharp pain in my stomach as he throws my head to the floor.

  “Find the little brat and her dog. Don’t touch her. We need her.” Brad gives out his orders.

  I drift in and out of consciousness. No, Emily. Blue. They don’t get far when they hear a rumble of bikes in the distance.

  “Fuck,” Brad snaps. “The brat must have called the asshole father.” The last thing I hear is his voice. “This isn’t over, bitch!”

  The banging of a car door wakes me from my nightmare. Reaching for my cell, not looking at what time it is, I call the one person I hope will help me.

  “Please, help me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Striker

  Looking at the red numbers on my bedside clock, I groan when I see it's just gone five a.m. “Someone better be fucking bleeding out to be calling me at this time.” Rubbing my eyes, I answer the call. What I hear on the other end breaks my non-existent heart into a million pieces.

  Please, help me.

  Daria! Daria's in trouble. Dropping my cell, the call ends without me answering, telling her I’m on my way. I haven't seen Daria since the night I declared my love for her. She discharged herself from hospital yesterday. I wanted to go over there, tell her she was being stupid and drag her ass back to the hospital so she can recover properly. But on the other hand, I want to go over there and see for myself that she’s okay and protect her, but my stubborn ass won't do it. Getting this phone call gives me all the answers I need. She’s far from okay. Of course she’s not okay. She was beaten up and stabbed in her own home, idiot.

  Hopping on my bike, I see Dad is already out about to open the shop.

  “Where's the fire?” The concern in his voice is prominent. I know he has been waiting for me to blow with all this built up tension I have over Daria.

  “Daria.” That's it. I rev my bike and speed across to her place.

  ***

  The house is in darkness when I arrive. Dad must have messaged Chucky, because he opens the door when he sees me. Running past him, I head up to Daria’s room. Upon opening the door, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Turning quickly, I catch the baseball bat heading for my head just in time.

  “No! You're not going near my daughter!” Her voice shrieks.

  “Daria.” I snatch the bat from her, throwing it on the ground.

  “Striker.” She breathes my name like it's a relief. “Striker.” This time she sobs and throws her arms around me. Her body molds into mine like a jigsaw puzzle, like we're meant to be. Holding her close to my chest, my arms wrap ar
ound her, protecting her from whatever is scaring her.

  “It's okay, I'm here.” I stroke her hair in comfort as she sobs.

  “I'm sorry.” She hiccups, looking up at me with those beautiful tearful brown eyes. She wipes away the tears and peels herself from me. I hate that I have to release her, but I remember she doesn't see me that way.

  “No problem.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “So, uh. You wanna tell me what all that was about?” I nod to the baseball bat discarded on the floor. Her eyes cast down to the ground like she's ashamed of the way she acted. Like a scared little girl about to get into trouble. Back to the seventeen-year old-girl that barged into my room all those years ago. Reaching over, I use two of my fingers, lifting her chin to look me in the eye. “Don't look ashamed.”

  She moves out of my reach. Boundaries, Striker. Know your boundaries. She leans down to pick up the bat, giving me a view of that amazing ass of hers. So not the time, man.

  “I'm sorry.” She places the bat beside her bed.

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” I shake my head. I want to praise her for having some sort of weapon to defend herself with, and our daughter. “But my head thanks you for not wrapping that bat around it.” She lets out a little giggle, but her smile soon disappears and her face falls like I told her I killed her puppy. “What’s really going on, Daria?” I sit beside her. “I will always be here for you, no matter what. You’re the mother of my daughter.”

  “I feel lost.” She stares ahead of her, her shoulders tensed. “I’ve stopped living, Striker. I’m just trying to get through one day to the next, just existing. Scratch that, I’m not even existing anymore. I’m waiting. I’m waiting for the next person to barge through that door and kill me, or worse, kill Emily. If I’m honest, I probably wouldn’t even fight them this time. I would let them kill me.” Hearing her say all of this is like a knife to the gut. I should have been here to protect her. Her so-called boyfriend should have been protecting her instead of running like a little pussy. “I’m scared of my own fucking shadow. I hate it. I hate this. I wish they had killed me. I wish you had killed me.”

  She looks at me, her eyes bloodshot. Red surrounds the hazel orbs I love so much. I want to take this pain away from her. Take all this hurt and fear from her. I never ever thought I would say this about someone, ever. Daria barged into my life; she exploded and spread herself through my veins. I bleed for her. I kill for her. She’s mine and always will be.

  “Don’t say that, Daria.” I close my eyes, thinking back to that day I nearly killed her. Looking back on it now, I think I loved her then and I was just so scared to love someone again after my mom. I was scared to get hurt again. “If there’s one thing I regret in my life it’s the way I treated you back then and thereafter.”

  “I deserved it. I kept your daughter from you. I could have told you.” She sniffs. Tilting my head to the side, I urge her to go on to explain. “I drove to the gates of the clubhouse to tell you, but one of the brothers spotted me and told me to go away. That you had some whore warming your bed that night. You didn’t need me. I wasn’t good enough for you.”

  “Who was it? I’ll fucking kill them.” My nose flares. Blood thrums through my veins, my whole body tense at the thought of one of the brothers betraying me like that. “Who was it, Daria? Tell me who he fuck it was!” I shout. She jumps, backing away from me. I try to reach for her, but she pales when my hand goes anywhere near her. “I’m sorry, Daria. Please.” I try to take her hand in mine, feeling like the shittiest person in the whole world. Maybe it’s for the best she doesn’t feel the same way. She needs a calm, cool, level-headed man in her life. Not a hot-headed ticking time bomb that kills people.

  Sighing in defeat, I let my hand drop. Standing, my chest tightens when I look down at her. “Chucky will still be downstairs. Any problems, let him know.”

  I walk out the door and close it behind me. Just like at the hospital, I lean my head against the door, and I hear her let out a loud cry. A tear falls from my eye.

  Chucky is there waiting at the foot of the stairs after I checked on Emily. “No-one gets in or out. I want half hourly check-ins,” I demand.

  “Boss. She’s safe with me. They both are.” He nods, saluting me.

  I need to get out of here. I need to forget everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Daria

  Watching him walk through the door, turning his back on me, was like another knife to my heart. He left me. He. Left. Me. I didn't want him to leave. I don't want some other brother sitting outside to protect me. I want him. I want to get up and run after him but the fear of going outside is suffocating me, clawing it's way inside of me and telling me there's going to be people waiting to kill me, finally. My breathing becomes so shallow I feel sick. Running for the bathroom, I bring up what's in my stomach, which is very little. Looking up into the mirror, I hate what I see. My normally bright eyes are dull, like a black hole of nothing. Dark circles frame my eyes. My face is red and blotchy from the crying I’ve done since I came out of hospital. Rage consumes me and I bring my fist up, smashing the mirror and letting out a scream as I knock everything off my vanity. Blood smears the white marble sink from my cut hand. Going into my room, I catch my reflection in the mirror of my dresser, I pick up the bat and smash the mirror into pieces. Breathing hard, I hear loud footsteps and a muffled voice telling Emily to go back to bed. Dropping the baseball bat, I pick up a large piece of glass lying at my feet.

  “Miss Denver, are you all right?” the voice shouts. With the glass cutting into my hand, I feel a sense of relief. “Daria. I'm coming in.” The door flies open and I'm met with kind, yet hard dark eyes and a gun pointed towards me. “Daria, sweetheart. Put the glass down,” he says cautiously. “Daria, honey. I know you're hurting and you're scared.”

  “You don't know shit!” I scream. “You have no fucking clue what I'm going through.” I press the glass to my wrist. “The pain. The fear of everything.” I sniff, tears falling thick and fast down my cheeks. I press harder into my wrist. “It's better to end it. Better if I'm gone. The pain will be gone. I'll be free.”

  “Sweetheart, what’s got you so scared? We can help you.” Chucky looks at the piece of glass then back up to my eyes.

  “No-one can help me. I can’t tell anyone.” I shake my head. I want to tell them what Brad did, what he said to me at the hospital, but I’m terrified about the consequences, that Emily will get hurt, or worse killed, because of me.

  “Stop. Please, Daria. Think of Emily, she needs her mom.”

  “I’m doing this for her. She’ll be safer with me gone.” Hot tears slip down my cheeks, dripping off of my chin.

  “No, that’s not true. You know that’s not true,”

  “It is. That way, Brad won’t get to her through me.”

  I hear more footsteps as Chucky starts walking towards me, continues to tell me to stop. Before I’m able to move the glass across my skin, someone yells.

  “NO!”

  It all happens so fast. The glass is knocked out of my hand. I land on the ground with a thud and my surroundings turn to black.

  ***

  “What the fuck happened?” a man's furious voice growls. I feel a hand in mine. It feels strange yet familiar.

  “I heard screaming and crashing. Text you, Nico, Cobra and Blair in case I needed more back up then I ran up as quickly as I could. I saw her with that big shard of glass to cut herself. I tried to talk her down, boss. I really did,” another man’s shaky voice says.

  “It’s not your fault, Chucky. I should have stayed.” Hearing the annoyance in his voice, I try to open my eyes, but I’m too weak. You just slashed your wrist, idiot. Of course you’re feeling weak. “Why the fuck did no-one tell me she was this fragile?”

  “No-one knew, Striker. We thought she just needed rest. We never knew she was this deep into her own fear.”

  Striker. I’m so sorry, Striker. I feel a tear fal
l down the side of my face and a hand wiping it away.

  Groaning, I force my eyes open and I’m met with worried blue eyes that belong to Striker. I try to sit up and move away from him. I don’t deserve for him to be worried about me. I don’t deserve anyone’s love.

  “Hey, don’t try to move.” He stops me. Looking behind him, I see Chucky looking paler than I have ever seen him, which I find strange. He kills people, and I’m sure he’s seen Striker carve people up like pumpkins on numerous occasions. Nico, Cobra and the prospect, Blair, are on the other side of me.

  “You gave us a mighty scare there, Dee,” Nico scolds me.

  “Mom?” Emily walks in and her eyes widen, looking at the carnage I caused and then looking at Striker. “Dad? What’s going on?” I look at Striker to get her out of here.

  “Princess, go get dressed and pack an overnight bag.” He walks over to her.

  “But why? What happened?” Her voice shakes as she looks around Striker to me. I hate the look on her face. Her chin quivers the longer she looks at me.

  “Emily, princess. Please, Blair will take you to the garage. I’ll explain later, okay?” She looks up at Striker, nodding. She walks over to me, hugging me.

  “I love you, Mom.” She leaves with Blair.

  “Can you give us a few minutes?” Striker orders. Nico leans down to kiss my cheek and leaves with Chucky and Cobra.

  “I’m sorry,” I utter through a dry throat after what feels like a lifetime of silence. Of him just sitting, staring at me, and me staring at the blood spot on the carpet. I move my eyes from what could have been the worst mistake of my life to look at probably the best thing in my life apart from Emily. He doesn’t say anything, just continues staring. “Please speak to me,” I beg. I can’t stand him silent. Silent Striker can only mean one thing; killer. “Striker?” My heart beats faster than Slash’s fingers strumming his guitar. He makes a move, making me jump. His hands come up to my jaw. He comes face to face with me, his breathing matching my own. I’m petrified at what he’s thinking. He’s like a snake; you never know when he’s about to strike.