by Jenika Snow
Her hands shook a little as he handed her a soda. “Thank you so much.”
“Stop saying thank you. I helped you when you needed it.”
She nodded, and still, tears filled her eyes. “Not many people would have helped me but you did.”
He nodded. “The world is one fucked up, shitty place; it’s not all that good no matter which way you think about it. You shouldn’t have to be worried about walking the streets alone.”
Elena watched as he removed his leather vest, and she couldn’t help but admire the thickness of his arms and the definition of his muscles. He was a handsome man in that rough, take no shit kind of way.
“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened,” he said softly. “Don’t cry. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
She nodded and stared down at her soda. Just then her stomach decided to start growling, letting her know that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“You hungry?”
“Forget it. I’m afraid if I eat anything, it won’t stay down. I still feel nauseous.” She closed her eyes and breathed out. “I’d better leave and let you get back to your life.” She went to place her soda back down, but he stopped her.
“You’re not going home tonight, not in the condition you’re in.” A moment of silence passed. “Is there someone you want me to call: a husband or boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Anyone to keep an eye on you?”
She shook her head.
“You took a serious blow to the head, and I want to make sure you stay conscious for the next couple of hours. You’re staying here, so it looks like I get to deal with food, because you should try and eat something light.”
“Are you sure?”
He cupped her cheek, stroking the tips of his fingers over her bruise. “I’m not the best cook, so I should be asking you that.” He looked her in the eyes. “We need some ice on that swelling, though, and then we’ll work on getting you cleaned up.”
Elena watched him get to his feet and walk away. Unable to just sit on her ass, she stood, making sure she was stable on her feet, and followed him through to a rather classy kitchen with a couple of top end gadgets inside. “Wow.” The gadgets were the kind that she wanted for her own kitchen. “Your place really is something.”
It only served to remind her how shitty her actual apartment was. It was an awful place that took most of her paycheck in rent.
Striker chuckled. “So I’m thinking sandwiches. They’re pretty easy to do and light on your stomach.”
“If you don’t like cooking all that much, why do you have all this stuff?” She pressed her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t ask that.”
He laughed again. “It’s fine. I may not be able to cook all that well, but I actually enjoy it. Cooking relaxes me. So, sandwiches, good?”
“Yes, sandwiches are fine.”
“Take a seat, and I’ll get you some ice.”
Elena took a seat, watched as he opened up his fridge, and started taking out ingredient after ingredient: cheeses, meats, pickles, everything. He then grabbed some ice, wrapped it in a towel, and handed it to her. She placed it on the side of her face, and the coldness felt soothing.
As she continued to watch him make the sandwiches, her mouth watered and her stomach kept on growling.
“You’re a hungry one, aren’t you?”
Elena touched her cheeks, wincing as the pain on one side of her face became stronger.
“That’s going to hurt like a bitch. You’re going to have to take it easy for a couple of days. The bruise will fade, and you’ll be fine.”
“Who knew a brick wall could cause so much pain?” She attempted a joke but it fell flat.
“Those guys are thinking the same.”
Elena had seen the blood on his hands when he’d made her sit on the sofa.
“What happened to those men?”
She was afraid of the answer. If he said they were alive, she would be afraid. If he said they were dead, she would be happy. They had tried to take from her what she wasn’t willing to give.
What did that make her as a person if she was happy about people being dead?
Chapter Four
Striker hadn’t answered her about the men and what he’d done to them. Instead, he’d let her eat, and then led her into his bathroom. She was now sitting on the edge of the tub, and he was on his knees in front of her with an open first aid kit. He started cleaning the blood from her face. He focused on the work, not on the fact she made his entire body feel tight. He didn’t know what it was about this woman, but she made him feel different in a good way. He shouldn’t even be thinking these things since she was just been nearly raped and almost killed. She was vulnerable; probably going through shock right now, and all he could think about was how much he wanted her
He was a sick bastard.
“I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.” He continued to rub the antiseptic over the worst of her facial wounds, and she gasped and winced.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. It was kind of fucked up that this slip of a woman could make him apologize. Hell, Striker couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever said sorry to anyone.
The fact was as soon as Striker saw her, he knew he wanted her, knew that he had to have her. It was that innocence, that natural submission that called out to the piece of shit man he was, the one that liked control and dominance, that wanted to own another person for the sole purpose of getting off on it. Of course, the women he was with were always willing, always wanted what he had to give. Elena looked like she would run if he even suggested the shit he liked, the stuff he wanted to do to her.
Fuck, he needed to get his head on straight, because right now, he felt like he wasn’t himself.
For the next few minutes, they stayed silent. Elena stared at Striker’s face. He was a handsome man, but not classically so. He was brutal and raw, with dark hair and eyes that looked like they could swallow souls with just a glance. He had scruff on his cheeks and square jaw, and his body was so big, she felt small compared to him She’d never felt small, not with her thicker thighs, bigger butt, and rounded belly. She’d been made fun of for her weight, but having a man like Striker around made her feel petite.
She tried to stay still as he worked on her, his focus on her face, but not making eye contact. Was he feeling this electricity and connection as well? It was so damn crazy given her night and what she’d been through. But the truth was she’d noticed the chemistry she’d felt when she looked at him at the diner, felt his gaze on her. It frightened her, of course, but she’d also felt kind of ... alive.
Maybe she was in shock and that’s why she felt like this? He had saved her, so maybe this was some kind of residual emotions for her savior?
But the electricity she felt was intense, maybe not logical after what happened to her, or maybe, just maybe, it was the most rational thing she’d ever felt for someone.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked in a deep, soft voice. He lifted his head and stared right in her eyes, holding her gaze for a moment. But as she looked in his eyes, felt her heart start to beat faster, he broke contact and turned to grab some more ointment and gauze.
He lifted the gauze to the cuts on her face and continued moving the strip of material down to the little cuts she’d gotten from the brick. They were tiny, barely noticeable given the other wounds, but as he rubbed that ointment on her neck and upper chest, everything froze in her.
She could see the way his breathing changed, the way he swallowed, and wondered what he was thinking of.
“I’m not thinking about anything,” she said in a soft voice that sounded tight, strained. And she wasn’t, not really, at least not things she’d want to share with him for fear it would make things even more weird than they already were. Elena wasn’t about to make a fool out of herself, and right now, she needed to focus on getting better, and thinking about what in the hell she was going to do next.
“What are you thinking about?” she said to him this time, not sure if she really wanted to know, but wanting to change the subject so things weren’t pointed at her right now.
Striker didn’t respond right away, just finished cleaning and dressing her wounds, before he finally leaned back. His touch had been gentle and soft, the total opposite of how he looked and carried himself.
“What did you do to those men, and why do you say they won’t bother me anymore?” She didn’t miss how he hadn’t answered her previous question, or how he’d ignored this one so far. She wanted, no, needed to know, though.
“You really want to know the gritty fucking details?”
God, he was so hard, so raw and rough. She felt her body heat. She should feel scared because he was dangerous, but all she felt was safe with him.
“Yes, I want to know.”
“You don’t want to know, Elena, because if I told you what I did, you’d be afraid of me, and I don’t fucking want that.”
He sounded sincere, and she could see in his hard face, in the way he watched her with this protective aura around him, that Striker was unlike any man she’d ever met.
“I want to know, Striker, because not knowing is almost worse than knowing what you did.” And Elena had a feeling she already knew what he’d done to those assholes, had a feeling he’d taken them out with his bare hands.
Chapter Five
Most women listened to him when he told them that they wouldn’t want to know what he’d done. Elena wasn’t taking the hint, and Striker sat back on his heels, staring at her. She was a beautiful woman, unconventional with her thick hips and huge tits. His cock hardened as he imagined her body naked, taking his cock in whatever hole he desired.
Pushing that desire to the side, he got to his feet.
“Striker, please,” she said.
Gritting his teeth, he leaned on the sink, staring at his reflection. “I’m part of the Soldiers of Wrath.”
“So?”
“So, we don’t leave a man alive, and we don’t let anyone who fucks with us live to tell the tale.”
“Are you saying—?”
He didn’t give her chance to finish.
“They’re dead, and if they’re not dead, they will be.”
She took a deep breath and stood. One of her hands went to her neck, and she took several deep breaths. He watched her tits rise and fall.
“That’s what you wanted to hear, right?”
“You killed them?”
“With my bare hands. It wasn’t exactly hard. They were weak assholes to begin with. If you think they would have spared you a moment’s pain, you’re wrong. They were going to rape you, Elena. Take turns using your body and leave you for dead. They were scum.”
She held her hand up, and he grasped her wrist. He wouldn’t be silenced.
“No, you asked the question, and I’m answering it. I’m just as big a monster as they were. You want to report me to the police then I suggest you do so, but if any of my MC brothers find out you did, I can’t protect you. No one speaks out against the MC.”
“I’m not going to report you.” Tears fell down her cheeks. “I was going to thank you.”
“What?”
“They were monsters, and it probably makes me an awful person, but knowing they’re off the street makes me feel so much better. How do you think that makes me feel? I’d rather they be dead than risk them getting away with what they’ve done and doing it again.”
He felt like utter shit for snapping at her. Releasing her hand, he stepped away, running fingers through his hair.
“I’m not going to tell anyone what happened. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I’ll take you home tomorrow morning. Don’t talk to anyone about what happened here.” He left the bathroom, needing a drink. Striker didn’t know what was wrong with him.
Entering his kitchen, he grabbed a cold beer and pulled the lid off before taking a long drink. No woman had ever gotten under his skin. Fuck, he’d known Elena a matter of hours, and he’d already killed for her. What the fuck did it mean?
It means nothing.
She cleared her throat, and he looked up to find her in the kitchen. Lust instantly rushed through his body.
“I wanted to apologize for what I did and said. I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for exactly?” he asked.
“For ruining your night, making you kill those men.” She shrugged, and he noticed she was fidgeting with her fingers and hands. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him.
“You didn’t ruin my night. You think you’re the first woman to be attacked?” He shook his head. “Fuck me, I wish that was the truth, baby. This is not even the worst shit that I’ve ever seen in my life. Think about that fucking mess.” He was a monster, and if the woman before him knew that he liked to hurt, to cut, to bleed, she would run away from him. There were times he knew he was just as big a monster as the men he’d just recently killed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re fucking sorry. You don’t need to be sorry. You’re not the problem. I just said that.” He stopped, turning away from her, and taking some deep breaths. “I’m sorry for shouting at you, for making you afraid.”
“You killed because of me.”
“They’re not the first men I’ve killed.” And you’re not the first woman I’ve warned to keep quiet because the club would make you silent.
He was going to need to talk to Demon, but right now, he didn’t want the hassle of having to admit that he’d fucked up. He’d left bodies in the street, and the MC didn’t do that. Demon didn’t like it when he had to deal with the law.
“Fuck, I’ve got to go and clean up my mess,” he said.
“What?”
“Those men, they’re going to be found, and I’ve wasted enough time as it is already. I’m going to head out; I’ll lock the door behind me. Don’t answer for anyone. You stay quiet.” Finishing off the beer, he grabbed his jacket and headed back out, making sure that he locked his apartment door. Once outside, he put a call through to some of his brothers, asking them to meet him with the cleaning crew. Several of the prospects would be put to work to help clean up the mess he’d made. It was going to be a long fucking night.
What had just happened? Elena stared at the closed door, confusion filling her. One moment, she’d been talking with Striker in the bathroom, and the next, he was gone. She was going to get whiplash with this man. He was a good man, although he showed signs of being a monster far more terrifying than anything she’d ever witnessed before in her life. If he wasn’t good, why did he stop to help her? A true monster would have left, or joined in. He did neither of those things.
Licking her dry lips, she took a seat on his couch and wondered what the hell was going on.
He saved you.
Elena wasn’t used to being saved. She was used to saving herself and trying to survive. Pushing the thoughts of her struggles aside, she focused on what was right in front of her. She was in a biker’s apartment, alone and waiting for him to get home.
A biker had saved her, and all she was thinking about right now was how shitty her life was, and how her parents had forced her to flee. Men like Striker were supposed to be avoided, like the devil, at least that’s what her parents tried to engrain in her. Yet, even with Striker yelling, she’d not been afraid of him. Much to her shame, he’d aroused her.
How could she feel arousal after what happened? How could she feel arousal for a man she didn’t know? A man who had probably killed two people, and if they weren’t dead, he was going to finish them off. Even as she thought about it, she couldn’t help not caring about them. Those men had planned to do unspeakable things to her. Why should she feel remorse for their deaths?
Chapter Six
She knew sh
e was sleeping, because she’d had the same dream for the last year, had the same nightmare since she’d actually left everything behind.
Elena couldn’t cry, couldn’t let anyone, least of all her parents, know the pain she was really in. She’d been brought up to know her role in her family, had known that to her parents, to her community, she’d been nothing but a pawn to help bring families together.
She was nothing but piece of property that was to be married off to her disgusting uncle in hopes that being with him would elevate her mother and father within the church. They didn’t love her, didn’t care that she yearned for her freedom, yearned to have her own life, and not be confined to specific areas within her home. Elena had desires, ones she’d never shared with anyone, because doing so would mean she was admitting her sins, admitting that she was no better than the outside world.
“The marriage to your uncle will raise our family in the community,” her father said in his harsh, loveless voice.
Elena twisted her hands together, always feeling so small when in front of him. He looked at her with disinterest. Well, that wasn’t true. He looked at her like she was nothing to him except a way to better his life.
“You understand that when you’re married, you will obey Francis in all things. You will be his wife, and you will do what he says when he says it.”
She swallowed but nodded, not about to voice her opinion. The truth was she had no intention of marrying anyone, least of all her disgusting uncle. She didn’t know what to call her community, but she supposed a cult was a pretty accurate word. That was probably the closest description she could think of. The women were nothing but subservient. They were there solely for the men. They cooked, cleaned, had the children, and were sexually obedient in every sense. And as much as Elena loathed the thought of that life, the idea of being submissive to a man, of bending to his will willingly, wasn’t abhorrent to her.
