Three Strikes (Demons Disciples MC Book 1)

by Allana Walker

  “It was a joke, Nico,” I breathe when I see him outside.

  “He's withdrawing into himself, Dee. The only time I've seen him do this is when his mom died.” Shit. “Barron is in there just now.”

  I look towards the door. My revenge has well and truly backfired. “I'll sort it.”

  Walking into the clubhouse, I look around for him, but I can’t see him anywhere.

  “He’s in the office with his dad.” Fran smiles kindly, motioning to the little room that started this shit storm.

  Walking into the room, I’m met with a sight that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Striker

  “Dad, what am I going to do?” I pace the length of my room like a caged lion. “I can't survive without her. She's my everything.”

  It's taken me forever and a day to admit I actually love her, to get to a place where we're both happy. For the first time since Mom died, I've found someone to love. Finally found someone to let into my heart after being closed off with everyone. Yeah, there are some things I still haven't told her about, but I will eventually. Now I won't get the chance to. She's ended it with me.

  “Son, she just needs time to cool off. It was a mean prank.” Dad places a hand on my shoulder. “She'll come round. I'm kind of proud of her, if I'm honest.” I squint my eyes at him to explain further. “Well, she rejected me because she loves you. And I know she won't put up with your shit.”

  “Dad, I love her so damn much. I don't want to lose her again. I lost her once because of my stupid actions. I can't go through that again.”

  “Hey, hey. Listen to me. She isn't your mom. She won't leave you. I've seen the way she looks at you, the way she talks about you and the fierceness in her when someone fucks with you.” He puts his hand on the back of my neck and places my forehead on his. “She loves you, son. She just needs time.” He pulls me into a hug as tears fall from my eyes.

  “Striker?” I hear her soft voice and look up with bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I was just getting you back for that stunt you pulled on me.” She looks down. I never take my eyes off her, taking long strides until I’m directly in front of her.

  “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

  Continuing to stare at her, she needs me to say something, but I need to take in every single detail of her face. Commit it to memory, because I know she will eventually leave me.

  “Striker, babe. Say something, please,” she begs, taking my hands in hers. “Talk to me.”

  “I’ve been in a real dark place since my mom died. I don’t want to drag you into my darkness, Daria.” I sigh, shaking my head. Daria looks up at me with those big beautiful hazel eyes, placing one hand lightly on my cheek.

  “Let me be the light in your world of darkness.” A tear falls slowly down her cheek.

  “I really don’t deserve you. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, well.” She shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “What are you gonna do? You’re stuck with me.” She reaches up and kisses me softly.

  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I step out of her embrace and look down at her in awe, holding my hand out between us.

  “Striker Evan Xanders.”

  Her brows knit together impossibly close, so they’re almost touching. “What are you doing?”

  “Starting over.” I’m still holding my hand out, waiting for her to take it. “We could do with a do over.”

  “Striker…”

  “Daria, just humor me.” Rolling her eyes, she sighs as she takes my hand in hers. “Daria Danika Denver.” A smile pulls at my lips.

  “What?” A tinge of pink hits her cheeks.

  “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” I give her my best smile. She looks down, breaking eye contact. Reaching over, I place my fingers under her chin, lifting her head to look at me. “I’m all about the double Ds baby.” Winking, I say the words I said when we first met. The first time I saw a mischievous glint and smile grace her face. “I love you.”

  “Whoa there, sunshine. We’ve only just met.” She pushes me away from her. “You can’t love someone you’ve just met. Besides. “ I tilt my head to the side, trying to keep the smile from my face. She folds her arms across her chest, her breasts pushed up, appearing bigger. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

  Snorting out my laugh, her mouth pops open in shock I had actually laughed at that. Her back straightens and a defiant look crosses her face. “Well, Mr. Xanders, it was nice to meet you.” She turns to walk away.

  “I’m sorry.” I catch her wrist. “Will you go out on a date with me?”

  “I’ll think about it. I have another man trying his luck.” I narrow my eyes on her. Who the fuck is this other guy? “You know, I need to keep my options open.” She shrugs.

  “Baby, one date with me and you will never want or need another man. Ever.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Saturday. Be ready at eight p.m.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m ready.” She turns and sashays out of the room and I watch her leave with a huge smile on my face. It doesn’t stay there long when I realize I have no idea how to date a woman.

  “Nico, I need your help.”

  ***

  “I never thought I would see the day I would see you go out on a date.” Dad smirks, looking at me. Nico and Dad have been teasing me about how much I’ve been stressing about this. I’m thirty and I’ve never taken a girl out on a date before. I’m beyond nervous.

  “Dad, what if I fuck up?”

  “Son, it’s Daria. You will fuck up.” He chuckles at me, patting my shoulder.

  “Gee, thanks, Dad. Great pep talk.”

  “Look, son. Will you fuck up? Yes. You often do when it comes to Daria. Will she run a million miles away from you if you do? No. She hasn’t so far. Just go out and have a great time.” He smiles at me. “Oh, and relax.”

  Relax. Me? I don’t think I’m capable of relaxing when it comes to Daria.

  “You aren’t going out dressed like that are you?” Fran looks me up and down. I’m wearing my jeans, Metallica t-shirt, trainers, and my cut.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I don’t see an issue with my attire.

  “Do you think Daria wants to sit in a fancy restaurant with everyone staring at you like some sort of freak show?”

  “I don’t think she cares what I’m wearing.”

  “Wrong.” Jesus, that’s all I need. “She will care.”

  “Haven’t you got someone else you can go bug with your uninvited opinions?”

  “Nope. I helped Daria and she is ready and waiting.” She flashes a wide smile. “Now, Nico, give him that bag.” Nico hands me a shopping bag. I look in it then look at him like this is some sort of joke.

  “You’re kidding? I’m not wearing these!”

  “Fine. Disappoint Daria then.” Jess shrugs, reaching for the bag.

  I snatch the bag closer to me, narrowing my gaze at her. “Get out so I can get changed.”

  Once I’m changed Nico, Fran, and Jess come back in.

  “You look handsome. Your mom would be proud.” Fran wipes her eye.

  “You scrub up well.” Nico ruffles my hair.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Nah, seriously, man. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Do you guys need us to leave so you can get some loving in? Hey, no judgment, just be safe and always wear protection.”

  “Jessica.” Fran tries and fails to stop the giggle escaping her.

  “Alrighty, you’re all set. Remember, wine and dine her. She’s never really been on a proper date before either.” Sadness crosses her eyes but she catches it before it takes over. “Take her her favorite flowers-”

  “Forget-me-nots, white roses, and white germini. She told me when she was planning her grandpa’s funeral.” A smile tugs at Jess
’s mouth when I interrupt her.

  “Good. Now, please be nice to her.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “I mean no picking her food for her or being the brute you are when she speaks to someone with balls.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “I will be on my best behavior.”

  “Yeah, right.” Nico snorts.

  “Fuck you all. I’ll do everything in my power to put a smile on her face.” I grab my keys and my cut, ready to go get her flowers.

  “Erm, Striker?”

  Turning, I see Fran raising her eyebrow, her eyes looking down at my hand and back up at me. “Fine.” I reluctantly hand her my cut.

  “Have fun, son. Be safe!” Dad shouts from the kitchen. I feel like a teenager being waved off to prom. I mean, not that I know what that feels like. I never went to my prom, but I’d imagine this is what it felt like.

  ***

  Standing at the door with flowers in my hand, I wait for Daria to open the door. I don’t think I have ever felt so nervous in my life. It’s just Daria. No need to be nervous. But this is a do over. I want to do this the right way. Not just for Daria, but for me.

  Jess’ words come back to me; wine and dine her. She’s never had that before. Be nice. Nice? I’m always nice to Daria.

  So, here I am wearing a pair of slacks, a button down shirt and a ‘proper’ pair of shoes, whatever that means. The biggest part of this whole thing is being without my cut. I feel naked, but I want to make this work, and I will do everything in my power to do it.

  “Hey.” Hearing her voice brings me back to the now, and I’m met with a vision in blue. Her dress hugs her in all the right places, like it’s painted on her body. She’s so beautiful. Her eyes scan my whole body from my shoes all the way up to my face, drinking me in. Stepping further in, I bend to kiss her cheek, handing her the flowers.

  “You remembered.”

  “Of course I remembered.”

  She smiles, closing her eyes as she smells the flowers. That right there is what I strive to see each and every day. That smile of hers means everything to me. Maybe Dad’s right, I will fuck up, but I will do whatever it takes to catch even the smallest glimpse of that smile.

  “Let me go put these in some water before we go.” She turns and walks to the kitchen. I follow her, watching the way her ass moves in that dress. I want to just throw her over my shoulder and head up to our room and fuck her, but I need to push that thought out of my head until after the meal.

  “No rush. The table isn’t booked for another…” I look at my watch, “…thirty minutes. Plenty of time.” Looking down at the table, I see a letter.

  Mrs. Daria Jefferson,

  Mrs. Jefferson? She’s divorced.

  My dearest Daria, I wanted to write to you to tell you some truths and rebuild

  I don’t get any further reading it when Daria snatches it away.

  “That’s private.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “No-one,” she snaps putting the letter in the bin. My blood begins to boil as every thought possible goes through my head.

  “Something to hide?”

  Daria looks at me for a beat then steps towards me, placing her hand on my cheek.

  “Please, Striker. I don’t want to fight. Not tonight.” I stare at her, taking in every freckle across her nose, every green flick that sparkles in her eyes, to the dimple on the left of her mouth. “Please, Striker.”

  I can’t get words to form and come out of my mouth, so I just nod. Removing her hand, she sighs, looking down, and her shoulders slump in defeat.

  The ride to the restaurant was uncomfortably silent. I just can’t get the thought of the letter and how she reacted out of my mind. It makes me think she’s hiding something that that dickhead of an ex wants her back and I’m going to lose her again. For good this time.

  Once I park the car, I jump out and open her door, taking her hand in mine to help her out.

  “Striker?” Her eyes clash with mine and I’m putty in her hands. “Are we okay?”

  “Of course we are.” Kissing her head, I take her hand in mine, never letting her go as we walk into the restaurant Jess said was her favorite.

  “Table for Xanders,” I say to the guy standing at the front greeting everyone. When he looks up, I swear he nearly pisses himself when he sees me.

  “Um…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and he’s staring at me like he’s seen a ghost. “Right this way, Stri-Mr. Xanders.” He catches himself. I can feel Daria’s questioning gaze on me as to how he knows me.

  “Corner table as requested.” He pulls Daria’s chair out for her to sit down like a gentleman. “Would you like to see the wine list?”

  “No,” I say at the same time as Daria says, “Yes.”

  “Yes, please,” she repeats, smiling at the waiter. Nodding, he walks away to get the wine list for Daria.

  She turns her eyes on me and narrows them. “I don’t like to be told what I can or can’t have to drink, Striker,” she snaps, looking away from me to look at the menu. “Nor do I want you choosing what I have to eat or controlling every aspect of my life.” My eyebrows shoot up almost to my hair and my eyes widen at her tone and the attitude change.

  “I’m not controlling anything and would never try to control any part of your life. Apart from in the bedroom.”

  “I’m sorry. I just…” She licks her lips, taking a deep breath. “I just like to make my own decisions.”

  “I get it.” I nod.

  “So, how do you know the waiter?” she inquires while we eat.

  “We were at school together.”

  “He looked petrified of you.”

  “Baby, everyone is petrified of me.” I chuckle. “Everyone apart from you.”

  “Me? I do get scared of you sometimes.” She shocks me with that little piece of information. She’s never showed any signs of being scared.

  “You have no reason to be scared of me, baby.”

  “I know. It’s just when I think of what you do and what’s happened in the past, I get terrified that something I do will make you snap and turn back into the Striker I met years ago. Like the letter.”

  “Dee, you are the most important person in my life right now. You and Emily. I’m not the same person I was back then.” My eyes drop to the small scar on her neck. “I will do whatever it takes to make up for the pain I caused you both in the past. Your reaction to the letter just caught me off guard, plus, it had your married name on it.” She nods, ignoring my hint at wanting to know more about the letter. I’m not pushing it. I want to get to know her better and enjoy this night.

  An awkward silence falls between us. I have no idea how to be on a date or what to say. My palms start sweating, and my heart begins to race.

  “I have no idea what I’m doing.” She blushes, playing with the napkin.

  “Me neither,” I admit. An idea pops into my head, I remember seeing it in a movie I watched with Emily once. “How about we just ask questions, no matter how silly they seem or how generic they sound?” She nods her head, agreeing, and begins.

  “So, how old were you when you met Nico?” she asks me as Greg, the waiter, comes over to pour her wine. “Thank you.” She smiles up at him, and he returns the smile. I want to wring his scrawny neck for looking at her. He looks over at me and clears his throat, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. You better run, jerk off. “Striker?”

  Shit, focus.

  “Um, since first grade. I hated him when I first met him.”

  “Really? Why?” she asks, leaning forward.

  “He stole my blue crayon.”

  She lets out a giggle and bites her bottom lip to stop herself. “A crayon?”

  “It was my favorite crayon and he took it from me. That wasn’t the worst part. He broke my crayon.” She lets out a full laugh. “I still hold it against him to this day.”

  “When did you begin to
start liking him then?”

  “Um, second grade. He came in crying and had a broken arm. He didn’t understand a math question so I helped him. We’ve been friends ever since.” I shrug. “What about you and Jess?”

  “Me and Jess have known each other since we were in kindergarten.” Her smile widens. “She was shy, sat in the corner most days, alone.” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline making her giggle at my expression. “I know, right? Jess quiet and shy? She was always getting teased and I hate seeing other people hurting, so one day I went over to them and kicked them.”

  “You stuck up for Jess?”

  “Of course I did. She was minding her own business, reading a book, when Jake walked over and started teasing her.”

  I choke on my water. “Jake was the bully?”

  “Shocking, right? How roles have reversed. Jess is now my protector and I’m the quiet shy one.”

  “Quiet and shy is not how I would describe you.” She kicks me under the table. “Ow.”

  “We’ve been inseparable ever since.”

  “She loves you and Emily. She’s a little too protective at times.”

  “Too protective?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Okay, yes. I can go a little over board sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes?” She giggles as the food arrives. “I have a question. Do you have a hunch about how you’ll die?”

  “Whoa, what a way to put a dark cloud over the night.” I laugh, taking a bite of my steak. “I think I’ll die either really old surrounded by my family, or at the hands of a rival club.”

  “Hopefully the first,” she whispers.

  “I have one. If you could change one thing about your childhood, what would it be?”

  “Um, I would want to know who my real mom is.” I can tell she doesn’t want to delve any further, so I’ll just leave it there and lock it away to ask her further down the line.

  “What’s your most treasured memory?”

  “Just one?” I ask, and she shrugs. “I have two. One is when I was about nine, Mom and Dad took me away on holiday, Dad and I went fishing. Mom stayed back and relaxed. The other is bowling.” She swallows the food she had been chewing and takes a gulp of her wine. “When a little raven-haired girl called me Dad for the first time and her mom beat me at my game.”