I thought she was a sight in that skirt I cut off her, but seeing her dressed down in jeans—that ass, God almighty that ass—it reminds me of the way it looked perched in the air as I drove my cock into her tight cunt from behind.
My memories are cut short when I spot Linc walking toward her. I turn to his empty chair and back to the bar to make sure I’m not imagining it, but that prick is most definitely wrapping his arm around Gina’s shoulders.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.
“Listen, I’m getting out of here,” Cobra announces, pushing back his chair as he rises to his feet. “Try not to kill him.”
“Right,” I say, glaring at the back of Linc’s head as he pulls a smile from her lips.
Cobra throws some cash on the table before he turns around and the waitress appears at my side.
“Should I close out the tab?”
“Move the tab to the bar,” I reply as I move to stand, keeping my gaze pinned on Gina as she talks to Linc. I watch as she lifts her hand to tuck away the dark strands of hair behind her ears and I pause as my mind relives the way I wrapped those same silky strands around my fingers.
Leaving her when we were done was a necessity, but sending Linc to her doorstep with her briefcase was a dick move. Maybe Linc wasn’t that off when he called me a pussy, only a coward sends one of his brothers to do his dirty work. No matter how true it may have been, looking her in the eye and saying the whole it’s not you it’s me line didn’t seem right either.
She wasn’t the type to sit home and pine away for a guy and sure as hell not a guy like me. But even knowing that, I ran like the fucking dickens because of the very same feeling I’m experiencing right now. That feeling that creeps inside, wakening all the things that lie dormant in me and make me want to be better…enough…anything.
The sound of her laughter vibrates through my body as I come up behind her, leaving enough space between us so that when she turns and tries to crack me I’m safely out of reach. Yeah, I might be a pussy.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, looking over her shoulder toward Linc and the shit-eating grin he’s sporting. Averting my eyes back to Gina I watch as her shoulders tense and she slowly turns around to meet my gaze.
Damn her and those eyes of hers.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I rasp.
She smiles widely displaying her perfectly straight teeth and I know the smile is as fake as the bullshit Linc just fed her.
“Stryker,” she says, lifting her margarita to her lips and takes a long sip before she continues. “Nice to see you again.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment and I take a step closer to her but she turns her attention back to Linc.
“Thanks for the recommendation. It was nice seeing you both again,” she adds, keeping her tight-lipped smile in place before she moves to brush passed me.
Not ready to let her go, I reach out and close my hand around her wrist.
“Why in such a hurry?”
She glances down at our joined hands for a moment before pulling hers out of mine and lifting those fiery eyes back to me. I start to silently count down from three, preparing myself for a tongue lashing, something, some fucking reaction that tells me she’s been as fucked in the head as I’ve been.
“I’m here with someone,” she explains, darting her eyes to the table she and the blonde were at.
“The blonde,” I reply. “Yeah, I know. How about a drink, pretty girl?”
She holds up her margarita and gives me that fake ass smile again.
“Thanks anyway.” She cocks her head to the side. “Good to see you again,” she adds before walking away from me.
“Pretty girl,” I call out.
Her hips stop sashaying as she pauses and glances over her shoulder.
“If you change your mind…” I tip my chin toward the bar, “I’ll be waiting.”
She doesn’t bother answering and walks back to the table she’s sharing with the blonde. I turn to Linc who leans against the bar, arms crossed against his chest and a smirk on his face.
“You fucked that up,” he points out.
“Yeah,” I agreed, lifting the beer to my lips as I watch her slide into the booth.
I definitely fucked that up.
I could probably fix it.
No, I would fix it.
Shit, there I go fixing shit again.
I didn’t drag my cousin out to the Crazy Taco hoping I’d bump into him. I didn’t plan my outfit, trying to imagine what his expression might be if he was there and I most definitely did not practice my fake smile and I don’t give a shit face this morning.
Yeah, right.
I totally did.
But after three margaritas and no sign of Stryker, I gave up. I ordered my tacos and forgot all about him. It’s all the waitress’ fault. Yeah, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it. If she hadn’t of brought me a strawberry daiquiri instead of the raspberry margarita I asked for, then I never would’ve gone to the bar to fix it.
I never would’ve seen Linc.
And Stryker wouldn’t have been able to sink his claws into me again.
Slipping back into the booth, I place my glass on the table so my shaking hands don’t spill the damn thing and give away how much I’m affected by him.
I’m like a sixteen year old girl with a crush and no idea what to do next.
“Is he looking at me?” I ask, blowing out a breath as I stare back at my cousin.
“Is who looking?” She lifts her head and I know my answer the moment her eyes widen. “Um, if you’re referring to the guy with the huge arms who is wearing a baseball hat…yes…yes, he’s staring over here.”
“Don’t look at him!”
“He sees me,” she says, arching an eyebrow and waving slightly.
“Celeste!”
“What?” She turns her attention back to me briefly before diverting her eyes to Stryker and smiling. “He’s cute.”
I throw my head in my hands and groan. Deciding that won’t help much, I go for the tequila, bring the straw between my lips and sip until the slushy drink burns my throat.
“Remember the biker I told you about?” I start, bringing my hand to my temple—brain freeze is a bitch.
“No fucking way,” she replies, her eyes wide as saucers. “That’s the king of orgasms? Wait, what did you say he had pierced? Was it his cock?”
“His nipples.”
“Right,” she sighs as she continues to stare back at him. “I’m confused,” she says, turning back to me. “Why are you hiding from him?”
“I’m not hiding,” I sneer, shrinking back into the booth.
“Right, okay. Well then you can sit up straight because he’s leaving.”
“Already?”
I straightened up, grabbing my purse and pull out my compact. Holding it up I pretend to check my makeup as Stryker’s back and the unmistakable patch on his leather jacket comes into view.
“He probably got tired of you ignoring him,” Celeste says pointedly.
“I wasn’t ignoring him. I said hello,” I argue.
“He’s seen you naked that deserves a little more than a hello.”
I don’t bother answering her because the truth is I didn’t want to walk away from him. I wanted to stand there, have him continue to hold my hand and reenact our first night. I wanted his playful banter, his dirty promises, and everything that followed. What I didn’t want was to be the doormat when he was done. Clearly, I wasn’t a good candidate for one night stands.
There’s something there. I’m not crazy, well, not that crazy. It may be one sided, he may feel nothing for me, but I can’t shake the connection I feel toward him. It’s bizarre. I don’t know him, essentially he’s a stranger—my beautiful, mysterious stranger. I think it’s how I felt when I was with him that provokes me. It’s the only logical explanation I can give myself.
The plan to paint the town red fell flat a
fter seeing Stryker, add Celeste being called into the hospital and our night was cut short. The Uber car dropped her at Lutheran Medical Center and drove me home.
Reaching for the door handle, I watch a group of boys run passed me and down the block. I turn my eyes back to my apartment and it’s in that moment when everything stops. The moment I see Stryker sitting on my stoop staring at me through the window of the car.
I blink, expecting him to disappear, but when I open my eyes again he’s walking straight for the car. Quickly I snap out of it and open the door, hanging onto the control I can already feel slip away from me.
Keeping my face neutral, I step out of the car and stare back at him, waiting for him to explain why he’s standing in front of my house, but he remains silent. I feel the weight of his stare as he drinks every inch of me in, finally reaching my eyes.
“Linc told me,” he says finally.
I furrow my eyebrows as the car pulls away from the curb and I cross my arms against my chest.
“What?”
He gives me a slight shake of the head before he holds up his hand and wiggles his five fingers.
“Five facts,” he starts, reciting the words I said to him before I pulled him into my apartment that first night. My lips part, nothing but a short breath escapes as he presses his index finger to my mouth, silencing me. His lips quirk, teasing me with that smile of his before he pulls his finger back and holds it in the air between us.
“One, I can’t get you out of my head,” he admits, raising another finger between us. “Two, I suck at this shit,” he sighs, cocking his head to the side as he assesses my reaction before continuing. “Three, I want more of you,” he rasps. “A whole lot more.”
I swallow back the words I want to say and get lost in the way he stares at me.
“Four, I know you went to the Crazy Taco tonight hoping I’d be there because…pretty girl, you want more too, don’t you?”
He gives into the smirk as he closes the space separating us and holds up all five fingers again.
“Five, your panties are soaked,” he whispers, blowing his breath against my lips. He reaches out, winding his finger around the denim belt loop of my jeans and tugs me against his hard frame. “Your turn, pretty girl,” he says huskily. “Five facts.”
Pressing both my palms against his chest, I push back and narrow my eyes at him.
“You want five facts, Stryker, fine. Here’s five hard facts. One, I’m not wearing panties,” I whisper through clenched teeth as I poke my finger into his chest. His cocky smirk disappears as his mouth parts and his eyes grow darker in color.
“Two, I’m over it. Three, you most definitely suck at this,” I add, rolling my eyes for extra emphasis as I dig my finger deeper into his chest. “Four, I did not go there because of you. I went there because I’m a sucker for a margarita. And finally—”
Before I can process what’s happening, my words die as Stryker throws his body over mine and we tumble onto the concrete.
“Get down on the double,” he shouts, laying his body over mine. Hitting the concrete face first and struggling to comprehend what was happening, I push myself up and glance over my shoulder to see Stryker reach for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
Pop, pop, pop!
“I’ve got you,” he rasps, cocking his gun and aiming it down the block.
“Stryker, no!” Pulling back I grip his shirt. “Stryker!”
Pop, pop, pop!
My pleas fall on deaf ears and I watch in horror as he pulls back the safety and aims the barrel of the gun toward the kids innocently shooting off caps on the corner of my block.
Pop, pop, pop!
Chapter Ten
They are no more than thirteen years old, huddled in the corner, speaking that shit I don’t understand as their eyes roam searching for their target. I hear the tank in the distance; watch the excitement come alive on their faces as they separate and start running, kicking up sand with their bare feet.
“Boys rolling in on the Ali-Baba, these little fuckers are going to try to intercept that,” Rogers observes, staring down the scope of his rifle. “Seems like the time for me and you to settle that Big Dick Contest once and for all, Comrade,” he says, referring to the argument we’ve been having over who has more experience in training and combat.
Rogers continues rambling on as I stare at my target, watching as he disappears into the building across from us. I wait for him to emerge from the door but after a moment my senses take over and my eyes start darting from window to window, the red light on the end of my scope ready, looking for its mark but coming up short.
Shots are fired below us and Rogers moves quickly to set off a round, putting a bullet in the back of the head of a boy trying to kill our brothers who are trying to protect the citizens from the looting pricks taking advantage of their country being at war.
I keep my stance, waiting for a sign of life from the building across from me and then I finally see it. The kid throws open the metal door leading out to the roof and aims his rifle at Rogers. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger back on my gun and watch as my bullet collides with his face.
No more than thirteen years old and shot dead by a United States Marine.
By me.
His body falls and I turn to Rogers who is too busy pumping lead into the enemy to realize the bride he left back home was this close to being handed a flag for his time served as she bared witness to a twenty-one gun salute. Fucking morbid isn’t it? But that’s reality; reality is the price of war is measured in the loss of human life. Ours, theirs and the eighteen percent of troops that commit suicide when they go home.
“Stryker!” A woman sobs, jolting me away from Rogers and my eyes dart around following the sound of her desperate cries.
Green eyes hit me and they hit me hard, awakening me from the hell I’ve succumbed to.
“Please, put the gun down,” she begs. The eyes I’ve become infatuated with are full of unshed tears and a sickening feeling creeps inside of me as I realize I’m the one responsible for the state of distress she is currently in.
I tear my gaze away from her face and stare at the gun in my hand before letting my eyes travel toward my target.
Kids.
Innocent kids fucking around on the corner.
“It’s okay,” Gina soothes. “Give me the gun,” she whispers, nodding her head reassuringly. I blink, desperately turning my head from side to side waiting for the concrete to turn to sand and the boys on the corner to attack me. I search for Rogers but he isn’t here. He’s buried already, his wife had her twenty-one gun salute and the flag she received sits on her mantle.
Slowly, I lower the gun and regretfully stare at the woman underneath me. Her pretty face is covered in scratches from being thrown face down on the concrete and blood drips from her temple where her skin is split open. She reaches for the gun but I shake my head and tuck it into the back of my pants before crawling off her.
“What the fuck did I do?” I ask myself, staring down at her as she moves to sit up.
“I’m fine, Stryker,” she insists, brushing away the hair that sticks to her face. “Hey,” she whispers, reaching out for me. I shove her hands away, wrapping my arms around her and help her onto her feet.
“Give me your keys,” I say as she stands tall and I cup her chin, inspecting her pretty face for all the ugly my fucked up head caused. “I don’t think you need stitches but I’ll know better once I’ve cleaned you all up.”
“I’m fine,” she admonishes, reaching up to close her hands around my wrists. “But, you’re not. What just happened, Stryker?”
Her voice is soft, sincere, and laced with concern. None of which I deserve. None of which I want. What I want is to rewind the clock and be a normal guy easing his way between the sheets of the prettiest woman he ever laid his eyes on.
“Keys,” I say, holding out my hand as I tear my eyes away from her face unabl
e to stare at her anymore. I thought I’d never tire of looking at her, welcomed the vision of her when I closed my eyes at night, but right now, looking at her was torturous.
Instead of placing the keys in my palm she slides her hand into mine and drags my reluctant ass closer to her.
“We’ll play it your way for now,” she states. “Only because there is something incredibly sexy about a guy wanting to kiss my boo-boos away,” she jokes, squeezing my hand. “But after I’m cleaned up and the blood staring back at you is gone and all you can see are my eyes, you will give me five facts about what just happened.”
“Five facts,” I repeat, following her up the stairs of her brownstone.
“And for every fact you give me I’ll give you something in return,” she adds, looking over her shoulder at me and winks, trying to hide the wince the simple gesture inflicts.
Silently, I let her lead me up the stairs to her apartment but once we’re inside I take the lead, slipping the leather jacket from her shoulders before taking both her hands in mine and bringing her into the bathroom.
“Sit,” I order, nudging her toward the toilet seat as I reach for a towel and turn on the faucet.
“You sure are bossy,” she comments, tucking her hair behind her ears as she angles her head back and stares at me. “I bet you were a Lieutenant or a Sergeant when you were on active duty.”
I bend down, opening the cabinet and ignore her question. I owe her an explanation but nothing I say will wipe away the image she has planted in her brain. Words won’t erase the monster I become when my head brings me back to my darkest days. The monster Gina now knows too.
“Do you have peroxide?”
“Probably not,” she admits. I lift my eyes to hers and watch as she chews on her lip. “You’re not going to give me anything are you?”
“Oh, I’ll give you something,” I reply, winking at her as I close the cabinet.
My attempt to change the subject doesn’t work and I’m not surprised. Gina isn’t the type that lets shit die. She isn’t the woman who floats around in the background and doesn’t ask questions or speak her mind. She’s the woman that comes at you, demanding you give her everything she wants—all the answers, all the confessions you want to keep secret. She’s the girl that makes you a prisoner to her eyes.
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