Striker: No Prisoners MC Book 1

by Lilly Atlas

  “What the hell is going on with you, Striker?” Acer asked. “You’ve been a miserable son of a bitch the last few days. With that sexy piece you got staying at your house, we figured you’d be all relaxed and spouting poetry. What’s wrong? She not wanting to play doctor with you?”

  In a move so fast none of them saw it coming, Striker slammed Acer against the wall with a forearm across his throat. Acer’s eyes widened as he gasped for breath, but he didn’t fight back. They were brothers, closer than most biological family, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t throw down when it was warranted. Usually most of the guys avoided getting physical with Striker because he was a fierce and skilled fighter. He had the nickname for a reason.

  “What did Pres say, huh? She’s family now, treat her with some fucking respect.” Striker’s chest heaved as he tried to control his anger.

  “So it’s like that, is it?” Jester asked cracking up. “Oh this is good.”

  Striker turned his menacing gaze toward Jester who raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I mean no disrespect, brother, just making conversation.” His lips were turned up and his shoulders shook slightly with the effort to hold in his laughter.

  Striker removed the pressure from Acer’s throat, and turned back toward his work. From over Striker’s shoulder, Acer braved his wrath again. “Seriously, Striker, she’s gorgeous, smart, and classy. None of us are going to judge you for wanting more than a roll with her. Hell, half the guys will be pissed you got there first.” Leave it to Acer to notice a classy woman. No matter how much ink the guy got, or how much leather he wore, he still reeked of the wealthy background he came from.

  Striker sighed, and admitted defeat. “Yeah, well, she’s driving me fucking crazy. She gets home from work and puts on these little tank tops and tiny shorts that she calls pajamas, my whole house fucking smells like her, and last night she took a bath.”

  “That bitch!” laughed Acer.

  “I know you like ’em dirty and all, but personal hygiene is not a bad thing. In fact, most women do insist on being clean,” Jester piped in with a smirk.

  Gumby rolled the creeper he was lying on out from under an old mustang to add his two cents. “Don’t think it’s the soap he has a problem with. More likely the sexy broad hanging out naked in his tub. How’s your dick feeling these days, Striker?”

  Shiv picked that moment to walk into the garage. “This what you dumbasses do in here all day? Talk about each other’s dicks?”

  Everyone in the garage busted up at that. Striker loved the banter and camaraderie he shared with his brothers, but it wasn’t quite as amusing when he was on the receiving end of their taunts.

  “Nah,” said Jester. “Striker was just telling us about the joys of unfulfilled lust.”

  “You mean you ain’t hittin’ that?” asked Shiv, which elicited another round of laughter.

  “Fuck you all.”

  “Any word from Jackal?” Jester asked the question that killed the lighthearted mood in the garage.

  Shiv frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he always did when he was frustrated. “No. I’ve tried to contact him multiple times and haven’t heard anything in reply.”

  Striker picked the wrench up again, and renewed his efforts to loosen a bolt that had rusted over. “It’s gotta be Snake. That asshole is power hungry. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was putting pressure on Jackal to tell us to fuck off.”

  “Would it work? Would Jackal cave if Snake pushed hard enough?” Gumby was back under the car, but he always paid close attention.

  Everyone looked at Striker. He’d had the most dealings with Snake in the past, but Shiv knew Jackal better, so Striker couldn’t say. He spun the wrench in his hand while he thought. “I’m actually more concerned that Snake will try to take Jackal out of the equation entirely. He’s not the type for subtle manipulation. Shooting Jackal in the head would be more his style.”

  “Shit,” Shiv sounded disgusted. “Maybe Jackal’s off the radar because he’s taking care of the Snake problem.”

  Striker didn’t think so, but he kept that opinion to himself. If Jackal had a handle on Snake he’d have reached out to Shiv or Striker. Lila hadn’t received any more texts, but he wasn’t in anyway convinced it was over.

  On his way back to the clubhouse, Shiv stopped by the bike Striker was dismantling. “Everything going okay, VP? Any trouble with your houseguest?”

  “No trouble as far as threats against her, no more texts.”

  “Just the trouble of having a woman underfoot?”

  “Something like that.” He grunted in satisfaction as the bolt finally gave way.

  “You know, Striker, having an ol’ lady can be a real nice thing sometimes.” Shiv had been married to his third wife for about five years, although she regularly threw him out, and made him sleep at the clubhouse at least three times a month.

  Striker snorted. “You sure you’re the authority on marital bliss?”

  “Never claimed to be. Just saying it can be nice.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Striker’s phone rang, and he pulled a dingy rag out of his back pocket to wipe the grease off his hands before checking the screen. It was Bobby Kiderman, or Kid to the MC, the prospect he’d assigned to follow Lila to work today. When he couldn’t be with her, the club was having a prospect tail her. Striker brought her to her house to pick up her car two days ago. The assigned prospect followed her to work, then hung around during her shift, switching out every few hours. “Hey, Kid, what’s up?”

  “You need to get down here, VP, Right away. Got some shit going on with your girl.”

  If the Kid hadn’t sounded so serious, Striker would have pointed out that she wasn’t his girl. “Shit, what’s happening? Is Lila okay?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m out in the parking lot. They’ve barricaded the entrance, and won’t let anyone in or out. Cops are here and shit’s crazy.”

  Fuck. Protective urges Striker wasn’t aware he possessed flared to life. The need to be with Lila was so strong, it felt like a physical punch to the solar plexus. “On my way.” He ended the call and immediately placed another one to Lila. When she didn’t answer, deep concern for her safety rose up in a tidal wave of fear.

  “Jester, Gumby, Acer, let’s roll. Trouble at the hospital.” Striker took off at full speed toward his motorcycle.

  They all dropped what they were doing and raced to their bikes.

  “Grimm Brothers?” Jester was the first to say what they were all thinking.

  “No details yet. Kid said cops blocked off the entrance to the hospital. No one in or out.”

  “How you plan to get in, VP?” asked Gumby.

  “I’ll break the damn door down if I have to. No way they’re keeping me out.”

  “Hell you could probably use your unsatisfied dick as a battering ram,” Jester yelled over the roar of their engines, successfully easing some of the tension they were all feeling.

  Striker flipped him off as he gunned it and flew through the open gate.

  Lila sat on a plinth in one of the ER treatment rooms, her head spinning from the past hour’s events. She had obviously recognized she was in some level of danger. That’s why she was staying with Striker and considering Shiv’s offer, but this incident really drove it home. Now she was officially scared out of her mind. This was the push she needed to make a decision. She would let Striker know when she saw him that she’d take the deal Shiv offered, and handle whatever consequences arose later. There was also no doubt in her mind that it was the Grimm Brothers who were hassling her.

  A colleague examined her, and determined that she didn’t suffer anything worse than a few bruises, at least physically. If she was ever able to step foot in her office again without having a panic attack, it would be a miracle. Her head pounded as though a drumline marched in one ear and got stuck on their way out, and her throat ached from where the attacker had grabbed her neck. On her left breast, he’d left a row of humiliating finger shaped
bruises. Lila shuddered as she recalled the fear of further violation.

  A sharp rap on the door caused her to jolt. “Yes?”

  A man’s head poked through the cracked door. “Dr. Emerson? I’m Detective Marks. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Yes of course, please come in.”

  The detective stepped in the room, and left the door open behind him, correctly guessing she wouldn’t want to be closed in with a man she didn’t know at the moment. “How are you holding up?” he asked as he reached forward to shake her hand.

  “I’m pretty damn freaked out if you really want to know.” His handshake was firm and quick.

  “I’m sure you are.” After he released her hand, he drew a small notepad out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “Think you can walk me through what happened here today?”

  Lila studied him for a moment before she spoke. He looked to be in his late forties, and was tall and lean, wearing a suit instead of a uniform. He still had a full head of hair, and the salt and pepper color gave him a distinguished look. “Sure. Um, let’s see.” Her voice shook as she struggled to organize her thoughts. “I’m sorry, my head is spinning in a million directions.”

  “Please take your time, doctor.” His eyes were kind, but Lila had no doubt that was only because she was the victim. He had an air about him that suggested he could be hard and unyielding if necessary.

  “I had just finished treating a patient, and there wasn’t anyone in the waiting room, so I came to my office to—”

  Angry shouts sounded from the entrance to the ER. “I don’t give a fuck what your protocol is. If you don’t let me back to see Lila, I’ll knock your fucking teeth out, and bust down the door.”

  “Look, Striker, I really don’t want to have to arrest you today, but I sure as hell will if you don’t back off right now.” The irritated voices could were clearly heard from the treatment room Lila occupied. It was closest to the entrance.

  As soon as she heard Striker’s voice, relief poured over her. They had connected on his deck a few nights ago and she needed that connection now. “Please, Detective Marks, can you let Striker come sit with me?”

  “You in tight with the MC?” One eyebrow rose with his inquiry.

  “I’ve treated them a number of times and have just become friendly with Striker,” Lila answered, knowing that she had to tread carefully. She wanted Striker with her for two reasons. One, because she knew his presence would comfort her and make it easier to tell the story, and she wanted him to know exactly what she did and did not tell the police.

  Detective Marks observed her for an instant before he nodded. With a resigned sigh, he poked his head out of the room and called toward the entrance. “Officer Diaz, please allow Striker, and only Striker through. Dr. Emerson would like him with her.”

  Lila exhaled a huge breath the moment Striker entered the room. He rushed toward her and gently cradled her face between his hands. “Damn, baby,” he said as he tipped her chin up to inspect her bruised throat.

  Their eyes collided. His had darkened, and worry mixed with fury radiated from the normally ice blue gaze. “I’m okay, Striker. I was just about to tell Detective Marks what happened. He said you could be in here with me, if that’s all right with you.”

  Before he released her face he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Lila wanted him to kiss her for real, to make her forget about what happened for just a few minutes, but it would have to wait for later, if it happened at all. She smiled at him, and took his hand, gripping it tight as she turned her focus back to Detective Marks who watched their interaction with undisguised curiosity.

  Lila ignored his expression. “So, as I said, I was heading to my office to do some paperwork. I stepped in and closed the door, but my back was to it the whole time. He must have been hiding behind the door because the second it closed he was on me.”

  “You sure it was a he?” asked the detective.

  The question surprised her, but she didn’t have to think about it for long. “It was a deep voice, and he was taller than I was. And stronger. I’m confident it was a man.”

  Waves of anger were radiating from Striker, so she squeezed his hand. “He grabbed the back of my neck, and slammed me face first against the wall. His hand was large, and reached almost all the way around my neck which is why I have bruises on the front.” She absently ran her free hand over her bruised throat. “Anyway, he held me there and told me he’d been watching me. I don’t remember screaming, but I must have because Dr. Knox rushed in to check on me. The man released me immediately, shoved Dr. Knox out of the way, and took off.”

  “You never saw his face, correct?”

  “I didn’t. I wasn’t ever face to face with him, but I heard a few people say they saw a man in a ski mask run out of here. After he left, a number of staff members rushed in, and someone called nine-one-one.”

  Marks studied her for a few seconds before he shifted his attention to Striker. Lila could practically see the accusations forming in his head, but all he said was, “Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Emerson. I’m glad you’re mostly unharmed. We will be in touch with you soon, let me know if you think of anything else. Sometimes additional details come to you once you’ve had time to process. My card.” He handed her a business card.

  She stuck the card into her pocket as he turned to exit the room. “Thank you for your help, Detective.”

  The detective turned back to her, nodded once then left them alone. Striker stepped in front of her, and captured her face in his hands once again. She sensed a battle waging in him between his immense fury and concern for her. With a gentle touch, he drew her face toward his own, and captured her lips in a kiss designed to soothe rather than arouse. Lila felt the emotion he poured into the kiss, and her heart stuttered in her chest. This man was quickly becoming vital to her, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.

  Striker pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, sliding one hand around the back of her neck as the other stroked down her spine. “Scared me, baby.”

  Lila didn’t respond, the moment felt so intimate and emotionally charged, she was afraid she’d break down. Somehow she’d managed to hold it together this far. At some point the tears would come, but she wanted to be away from the hospital before she gave into them.

  Striker shifted his head so his lips were against her ear. “Someone may be outside that door listening, so the second we get home, you’re telling me the rest of that story. Don’t think I couldn’t tell you were holding out on that detective.”

  “I have no plans to keep anything from you. I just knew you wouldn’t want the cops to hear it all. By the way, I’m in. Tell Shiv I’ll take the deal. I need the protection,” she whispered back.

  He nodded, helped her down from the plinth, and guided her out of the building to where his brothers waited. She watched his tense face as they walked outside. What was between them would certainly end in heartache, but Lila was through suppressing the desire she had for Striker. Over the past few days they’d begun to form an emotional bond as well as their physical attraction, and she was eager to see where it would lead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Striker was grateful for the thirty-minute trip to his house, it gave him time to get himself in check. A white-hot rage had coursed through him the moment he glimpsed the purple bruising around the delicate skin of Lila’s throat. Her neck had been so soft and enticing the day he held her on his deck, he hadn’t been able to resist brushing his lips all over it. The thought of someone squeezing that supple flesh until it bruised had him ready to kill.

  The club needed to get serious about eliminating the threat against her. Jester informed him Shiv had called a meeting for the following morning, knowing Striker would want to be there for Lila tonight.

  Now, he sat in his house with Lila, Jester, and Acer. Gumby went back to the clubhouse to provide Shiv with details they hadn’t wanted to talk about over the phone. Lila was
resting on one end of the couch with Acer on the other, while Striker paced in front of the television, full of agitated energy.

  Jester emerged from the kitchen with a glass in his hand. He plopped his large frame down on the coffee table directly in front of Lila, so close their knees collided, and handed her the glass. “Here, baby doll, this will help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Whisky.”

  Lila took a healthy sip, and coughed as the liquid took a fiery trip down to her stomach. “Whoa, not used to that.”

  Not in the mood to indulge them, Striker stopped pacing and cut right to it. “I want the rest of the story, now.”

  Lila nodded at him and didn’t mince words. “It was a Grimm Brother.”

  “You sure about that, Stitch? You need to be very certain, because there will be fallout.” Jester leaned in to rest his hands on her knees as he spoke to her.

  Lila’s gaze shifted between Striker and Jester. “I’m as sure as I can be. I saw one of his hands, it had a tattoo that said Grimm, one letter on each knuckle.” As she spoke she absently rubbed at her neck as though remembering his hands on her. The gesture ignited the anger in Striker once again.

  Acer, who had remained silent through most of this, spoke up from his spot at the opposite end of the couch. “That’s them, they all have that tat. Shit, this is gonna get ugly.”

  Striker walked over and shoved between Lila and Jester, whose hands still rested on her knees. “Get your fucking hands off her, brother.”

  Jester straightened, a smirk on his face, and he raised his hands in mock surrender, while Lila bit her bottom lip and shook with the force of her suppressed laughter.

  “These two are about to leave so you can rest and relax for the rest of the day.” He knew he was being a dick, but seeing her finger those bruises pissed him off. Striker had a feeling there was still some detail Lila was holding back. He needed to get it out of her, and hoped she’d open up once they were alone.