by Lilly Atlas
“Hey, baby,” was all he said.
She reached out and slipped her small hand into his. Even after everything she’d been through, her skin felt baby soft and just that simple touch grounded him. Lila gifted him with a small smile probably meant to pacify him, however, it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Striker. Nothing that won’t heal.”
He wasn’t fooled by her attempt at levity. “Lila, I’m so sorry you had to—”
“Striker, it’s done. We’re alive, and will both heal up just fine. No point in rehashing it,” she said with another one of those fake smiles.
Striker wanted to pursue this further, but as predicted there was a knock at the door. His nurse bustled in with a syringe, and a stern lecture about the importance of taking pain medication in these early days. Deeper conversation with Lila was put on the back burner, and unfortunately that’s were it stayed for the next few days, as they weren’t able to get another moment alone.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Striker stayed in the hospital for three nights before he was discharged with a long list of instructions, including no motorcycle riding for six weeks. Lila almost laughed out loud when the nurse broke the news to him. There wasn’t a chance in hell of keeping him off his bike for six weeks, but she supposed they’d cross that bridge when he felt better.
Overall, he was very lucky, they both were. She got off with a mild concussion, a severely sprained ankle that was now in a clunky boot, and myriad colorful bruises. Striker’s injuries included several rib fractures, major bruising over much of his body, and a lacerated spleen. The internal bleeding from the injured spleen was what caused him to lose consciousness, and required surgery to be repaired.
While he was monitored for a few days in the hospital, Lila remained glued to his side. She was tired and sore, but refused to go home until he was released. From a medical perspective Striker was healing well, and completely out of danger, a fact she understood, but still she couldn’t bear to be away from him.
Outwardly, Lila was confident her smiling facade looked believable. Inside, however, she was a mess. Each time her eyes closed, images of Earl’s psychotic face flashed, and the sensation of his clammy hands on her body made her feel sick once again.
Lila replayed the instant she woke up, and realized her clothes were missing again and again. The most upsetting factor was the inability to forget the moment she noticed Striker duct taped to the chair, slumped over and beaten. She had barely slept in the three days since it all happened, and the strain of fatigue was starting to show.
Striker seemed unaware that she was so close to a breakdown, and for that she was thankful. His primary focus needed to be on rest and recuperation, not worrying about when she would fall apart.
Since he awoke in the hospital, they’d had about a total of five minutes alone. Police detectives came by multiple times, nurses and doctors zipped in and out of the room all day, and his club brothers or her coworkers were a constant presence. It was for the best, and kept her from having enough solitary time to really delve into what happened and risk losing her shit.
One question plagued Lila’s mind, a question Striker could answer, but she hadn’t voiced it yet. Partly because they didn’t have a second alone, and partly because she knew bringing her concerns to light would cause her to give into the fear and push her over the edge into a meltdown. Where was Earl? Was he out there, possibly still a threat to them? Or had someone gone to the house and killed him? She needed to know before she could relax with the knowledge that the ordeal was truly over.
They were finally home, having arrived about two hours ago. Marcie had stocked the refrigerator and prepared a few meals for them, which Lila greatly appreciated. The thought of grocery shopping in public or standing in the kitchen to cook was not one she wanted to entertain.
Hook and Jester had driven them home from the hospital, and stayed until they were satisfied the two walking wounded could manage on their own. Thankfully, Lila was allowed to stand and walk around in her bulky ankle boot because there was no way she would have wanted to be hobbling around on crutches.
Now that their friends were gone, Lila hid in the bedroom, in hopes of avoiding the conversation they needed to have. Unaccustomed to being a coward, Lila gave herself a mental scolding and emerged from the room. She limped down the hallway in search of Striker.
Lila found him on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, head tilted back, and eyes closed. On his bottom half were a pair of gray fleece sweat pants, one of Lila’s favorites. He looked so sexy in them when he roamed around the house barefoot and shirtless. Now, however, a plain black T-shirt covered his bruised and battered torso.
A coffee mug sat on the table, and Lila had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t full of coffee, or at least not coffee by itself. The men seemed to think the instruction of not drinking while taking pain medication was more of a suggestion than an order.
For now, Striker appeared to be asleep. Lila made her way to the couch as quietly as possible for someone with a large plastic boot, hoping to get the mug and return it to the kitchen.
As she bent to retrieve the mug, a hand closed over her wrist, gentle, but with intent, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Since that terrible night, she’d been far too jittery.
“Baby, sit down. You know you shouldn’t be on that foot so much.”
Lila peered over her shoulder at Striker, and gave him what she hoped was a convincing and cheerful smile. “I was just going to share your coffee,” she said, stressing the word to make sure he knew she was on to him.
He ignored her admonishment, and tugged on her wrist. The boot impaired her balance, so she tumbled to the couch and landed with a soft bounce. When she was settled with her own feet resting on the coffee table, next to his, he placed a finger under her chin, and turned her face toward him, assessing her with his gaze.
He didn’t say anything, and after a few seconds Lila squirmed under his penetrating glare. “What is it, Striker?”
“I want you to stop, Lila,” he said stroking a finger down her black-and-blue cheek.
She knew exactly what he meant, but wasn’t sure she could go there yet so she played dumb. “Stop what? Am I hurting you?”
“Lila.” His tone held a warning that he saw right through her phony act. “You don’t need to act like things are wonderful for my sake. I was there, and I know exactly what you went through. Let go, baby. I’m here, and you’re safe now. You know, I really never thought this existed, but I love you, Lila. It’s deep baby, all the way in here.” He slid her hand under his shirt and pressed her open palm to his chest, over his heart. The warmth of his skin and steady thrum of his heartbeat reassured her. “Let me do my job of loving you.”
He leaned close and gave her a gentle kiss, sliding his hand into her hair to hold her in place. Her hand remained on his chest and the rhythm of his heart picked up the instant their lips met.
Striker’s tenderness was exactly what she needed for the cup to overflow. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her face. When he broke away, a loud sob erupted from where she’d buried her fears, deep within. Before she knew it, she was gasping for breath as she wept and clung his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around her, and he stroked her back, letting her cry it out. Lila was grateful he remained quiet. She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.
Striker’s chest tightened as ragged sounds of anguish poured from Lila, but this was exactly what she needed. She’d smiled, and worked so hard to show everyone she was fine from the moment she rolled into his hospital room. But he knew better. He sensed she was clinging by a thread, and he’d just cut it with one swipe.
Striker wasn’t sure how much time passed, but after a while, Lila’s sobs calmed and her breathing became steady. Unsure if she was asleep, he sat and held her while he rubbed her back in a soothing circular motion. Eventually, she lifted her head and gave him a watery smile. Her bruised face, ravaged from the exhausting cry, still looked beautif
ul to him.
He drew her head to his shoulder, in no rush to let her go. After witnessing her being groped by a psychopath, he wasn’t sure he’d ever let her go again.
When Lila finally spoke, her words were not at all what he expected her to say. “I’m so sorry, Striker. The things I said to him. And I let him touch me. You’re the only man who is supposed to touch me, but I let him. And you had to watch.” Tears streamed down her face anew, and she lifted her head until he could see her somber eyes. “Please know I didn’t mean a single word I said to him.”
Christ. Was this what had been plaguing her mind? “Baby, stop.” Striker silenced her with a quick hard kiss. “You were incredible. The only reason we got out of there alive is because of your quick thinking. You did exactly what I’d told you, exactly what you had to do to keep us both alive. We can deal with the fall out. I’m more sorry than I can express that you had to endure that, but I don’t for one second hold anything that happened in that room against you, nor do I believe a word you told him.” He held her face tenderly between his hands, and stared straight into her eyes as he spoke. He needed to make sure she believed him.
“I wanted to die when he touched me. It was so much worse knowing you watched, yet having you there gave me the strength to do what I had to. Does that make any sense?” she sniffed and rested her head back down on his shoulder.
Striker tried to tamp down his reaction. She needed him calm, not murderous. “Watching him and knowing I couldn’t help you was the single worst experience of my life. That feeling will be burned into me forever. I promise you, baby, that no one will ever hurt you again.”
She burrowed closer, and pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. “What happened to him?”
Striker stiffened. He knew this question would come up eventually. It went against all his instincts to let her in on his plans for Earl, but she had been traumatized by the man and needed closure.
It wasn’t a lack of trust. He believed in his soul that Lila would willingly go to jail before she betrayed the club, but he didn’t want her to feel in any way responsible for Earl’s fate. That was one hundred percent on the motherfucker himself.
“Striker? Is he out there? Do you think he’ll come for me again?”
He sat up straighter, and gazed at her abused face, trying to decide how much to tell her.
“I can handle it. Just tell me. I won’t freak out, and I won’t repeat anything. Ever,” she added with conviction.
“I know, baby. I trust you completely. I just don’t want you burdened with any more bullshit.” He gave her a sad smile. It would take her some time to get over all of this. Hell, it would take him some time as well, and violence had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.
Lila remained quiet, and Striker couldn’t deny her the resolution she needed. She deserved to know that Earl wasn’t a threat any longer; she wouldn’t need to look over her shoulder every time she stepped out of the house.
“We have him,” he stated simply.
A look of confusion crossed her pretty face. “What do you mean?”
“Some of the guys went to the house and he was still there. They’ve been holding him until I’m well enough to deal with him.” He was curious to see what she was going to do with the information, and was more than prepared to convince her Earl’s fate was not her responsibility.
“I didn’t know it was possible to feel fear like I felt when I woke up in that room. When I saw you tied to that chair…God, Striker. He would have killed you, wouldn’t he? If we hadn’t escaped he would have raped me while you watched and then killed you, probably me too.”
It was said more as a statement rather than a question, but he answered anyway. “Yes, baby, that’s exactly what would have happened. Acer did some digging, looks like he was responsible for the death of at least one other woman. Same situation, a woman he developed a sick obsession with.”
Lila’s face morphed into a look of disgust. “Well, then I’m glad it ends here. I won’t lose a wink of sleep feeling sorry for him. What will you do to him?”
He shook his head. No way in hell would he give her those details. The idea of revenge and the knowledge that Striker was taking him out of the equation may sit well with her on the periphery, but she’d struggle with the details. He planned to make Earl suffer and beg for his life before he learned there was no way he would leave alive.
Once the dust settled, and Lila got over the immediate trauma, details about what happened to Earl would eat away at her. It was a guarantee. She was good. Her life was based around the notion of helping people, doing no harm. She would have to be satisfied with the knowledge that Earl was no longer a threat.
Striker cupped her face between his hands, and stroked her cheek with his thumb, enjoying the feel of her under his fingers. He needed more, wished he could strip down and feel her skin all over his, but neither one of them was in any shape for activities more strenuous than blinking.
“All you need to know is that he won’t be a problem for you or any other woman again. I’m not going to give you details. Can you just trust that I will take care of you?”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but relented in the end. “Of course. I trust you with my life. I love you Striker.” Tears filled her eyes again, but she held them back this time.
He kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth as she opened to him. As was typical, the kiss turned hot and needy within seconds. Striker speared his hands into Lila’s hair, and devoured her mouth, shifting his sore body as best he could. He wanted to feel as much of her as possible. He pressed against her and continued to kiss her with abandon until he felt her flinch. Shit, he’d nearly forgotten they were both all busted up.
He pulled back to avoid hurting her further, and rested his head against hers. “Sorry, baby. I lost my head.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Shit, Lila, I want inside you. I want to fuck you hard, until neither of us has any room in our head for anything but intense pleasure.”
Lila groaned. “Striker…”
He kissed her again, just a quick taste this time. “Come on, baby, let’s get some sleep. The sooner we heal, the sooner I can sink into that hot pussy. It’s the only way I’m going to be one hundred percent convinced that you’re safe and here with me.”
***
The next morning Jester and Hook came by in a van to take Striker to the warehouse. Lila put up a moderate fight, saying he wasn’t in any shape to leave the house, but eventually she backed down, aware of how important this was. He’d originally planned to wait until he was fully healed to deal with Earl, or at least healed enough that he could beat the shit out of the man before killing him, but he didn’t want this hanging over their heads any longer than necessary. He would have to amend his plans a bit, but in the end, Earl would still be dead, which was the important part.
He tried to walk as normally as possible from the van to the warehouse. Giving Earl the satisfaction of seeing him hurting and impaired was not part of the plan. Hook unlocked the doors to the warehouse, and instructed the prospects guarding Earl to wait outside. Gumby was there as well, and he remained inside.
Earl was duct taped to a chair much as Striker had been just a few nights ago. One of the guys had obviously beaten him, and he didn’t look nearly as smug as the last time they were in a room together. His head hung down, but Striker could see he had some bruises on his face.
“Hey, Earl.” Gumby smacked him on the side of his head and he jolted awake. “You got a visitor.”
Earl’s eyes grew wide with fear as he saw Striker approach.
“Cut him loose,” Striker ordered Gumby.
“Sure thing, VP.” Gumby sliced through the duct tape with a knife.
Earl didn’t try to stand. He just stared up at Striker. “How’s Lila? I didn’t want to hurt her, but you have her so brainwashed she doesn’t realize how much I love her.”
Striker reached out and grabbed Earl
by the throat, much as the man had done to Lila. He wanted him to feel what she felt, to experience the same fear and pain. Earl made a choking sound and tried to pull Striker’s hand away, but he was no match for the strength of Striker’s hatred, even in his injured state.
Striker’s body protested the action, and intense pain shot through his side. He ignored it, and squeezed, taking pleasure in the way Earl’s eyes bugged and his face turned purple as he gasped and tried to draw in a sufficient breath. “How’s Lila? Let’s see, she has nightmares where she wakes up screaming, remembering your filthy hands on her. That what you want to know?”
Earl gasped and tried to shake his head. “No…you’re…lying.”
“You don’t love her, you sick fuck. You have a perverted obsession with her just like you did with the girl you killed in Mississippi.”
Striker released Earl’s throat seconds before the man would have lost consciousness. Earl crumpled to the floor, choking and wheezing as he tried to fill his lungs with air. Striker wanted him to feel relief for just a moment, to think that maybe he wasn’t going to die, maybe Striker would be merciful.
Earl struggled to his feet and looked at the men around the room. “I’ll stay away from her. I promise.” His voice sounded rough, similar to Lila’s.
“Damn right you will.” Striker pulled out his gun and pointed it at Earl’s head. He waited for the moment Earl realized his death was certain. Once that inevitability was reflected in the bastard’s eyes, Striker pulled the trigger once, turned, and walked back to the van. It was over. Lila was safe.
It was time to put this shit behind them and get on with their life together.
Epilogue
“Come here, babe. I want to show you something.”
“I’m coming! Just grabbing another beer. You want one?” Lila called from the kitchen.
“Sure. You know I’ll never turn down a chance to be served by my little woman.”