Stryker (Books 1 & 2) (Atrox Security)

by J. C. Cliff

  What the fuck does that mean?

  She rolls over onto her side, curling up into a fetal position as she pulls the covers over her spent body. With her shoulders exposed, I can see she’s shaking like a leaf.

  “I loved you,” she half-cries, half-murmurs into her pillow. She reaches out and grabs a small purple candle off her nightstand then cradles it in her hand as if it’s a piece of fine china. She brings it to her nose and inhales deeply as if it holds all the power to calm her down, and the crazy thing is I think there’s something in that candle that was able to do just that. It’s an odd and bizarre thing for someone to do, but her sobs have turned softer as she cradles the candle against her chest with an almost imperceptible back and forth rocking motion.

  “I still love you,” she murmurs in a low and desolate-sounding whisper, so low I almost didn’t hear it.

  What the fuck did I just watch? And don’t I feel like shit? I dredged up a lot of pain for her, I realize. I may be bitter with what happened in our past, but I still love her enough to not want her to feel this way. I even told her to go buy extra batteries and an arm brace because she was going to get injured trying to get herself off. I said she couldn’t reach an orgasm without me either. I didn’t think it’d be literal.

  I don’t know how we’re going to be able to get along after the argument we had last night, but I have to find a way to get us both over this mountain of anger, which feels like an impossible feat. She’s going to go ballistic once she finds out I’m going on this mission trip with her, but I can’t actually think on that dilemma at the moment, because all that keeps running through my mind is she couldn’t satisfy herself, she couldn’t stop calling out my name… and she still loves me?

  I get the distinct feeling this trip to Panama is going to test my every limit, and every emotion. I’m backed into a corner with no way out. I have to face these demons head-on while wondering the entire time if my heart could handle it if she were a criminal. Convoluted doesn’t even begin to describe the twisted shit I’m about to embark on.

  CHAPTER 15

  ~ Stryker ~

  I slam the door to my Jeep as I shiver against a biting gust of wintery wind nipping at my ears. The winter months in the south have always been an unpredictable thing. It doesn’t take but one day to go from short-sleeve weather to freezing your balls off from a cold front that rolled in overnight. I hate the winter, and escaping it will be the only thing about Panama I’ll be looking forward to.

  I zip up my leather jacket, wishing I would’ve remembered to grab my hat before I left Quinn’s house. Walking brusquely to escape the cold, I make my way across the parking lot of the nursing home facility where my sister now lives. She’s been living here for the past month, and thus far, I haven’t been impressed with the care. Maybe because I’m very protective of her—nobody will ever meet my standards.

  Previously, she resided in an assisted living facility for about ten months before her life took a left turn. She then spent four months in a specialized hospital, where all they do is treat wounds. She was in that hospital, because she had a class-four wound in her ass the size of a grapefruit. One might ask how something like that could’ve gotten so bad before it was acted upon, right?

  Why didn’t the caseworker who was assigned to her raise a brow at the problem when it turned into a stage one, or hell, even a stage two? Instead, this cunt let said wound eat her flesh until you could see her fucking bone. Yeah, that’s right; it’s called supervised neglect in its finest form. My tax dollars were paying some lazy-assed bitch to not give my sister the proper care she needed. I’ve been pissed for months on end about that piece-of-shit caregiver. It was obvious she couldn’t care less about what the fuck she was doing. I can only hope karma will kick her ass one day.

  It doesn’t take more than a single thought about it to get me riled up again about her sucky situation. She couldn’t go back to living where she used to, because her wound hasn’t fully healed yet. It has to make it down to a class-two before she can return.

  When she was being discharged from the wound care hospital, we must’ve called at least ten nursing homes before one would accept her, and I guess we’re damn lucky this one took her in. No other nursing home could accommodate her, because they said her medical needs were too complex.

  Truth be told, I don’t think she’ll ever fully heal or recover from this one. I scoff out loud, anger riddling my veins over the fucked-up situation, because we’re talking about her having to live here a very, very long time with too many restrictions. I unzip my jacket as I head toward my sister’s room. I’m here on a personal mission, and I’m in the mood to kick asses first and take names second.

  By this point in the game, I have acquired some serious disdain for nursing homes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some good ones out there, but there will always be a percentage of slack, piece-of-shit staffers who couldn’t give a fuck less. Those are the ones I despise. They go through the motions, simply collecting a paycheck.

  I swear, someone better just shoot me if I ever wind up in one of these places. I’d sooner crawl out the door on my hands and knees and die in a ditch than to spend the night in one. My sister is not seventy; she’s forty, only five years’ difference between us, and she sure as shit doesn’t belong in a nursing home. She’s lost in an endless shuffle of red tape and paperwork. Our system, a convoluted mess, comprised of nothing but dumb-fucks trying to run it.

  Elaine was born with Spina Bifida, and was one of the first in her era with a physical handicap to be mainstreamed into the public schools. When she was thirteen, she had to have surgery to drain the fluid from her brain. Being one of the first to experience that new technology, we were also the first to reap the inaccuracies of the experimental operation. The consequences of that surgical procedure entailed her spending six months in ICU. The results she found herself in, was not being able to swallow, talk, or move from the bed. Six fucking months! Then she spent several years after that in a rehab facility. For a very long time, the only thing she could do was use sign language in order to communicate.

  One of the biggest problems I face with her right now is that she never complains—never. It’s the reason why I’m here right now, because I find out secondhand and hours later that she’s been neglected all day. I always have to play ten questions every time we text, talk, or visit to find out what’s really going on.

  It’s hard to believe over the past thirty years she’s lost two legs to MRSA. She’s totally deaf, save for a cochlear implant she got about a decade ago. She’s also legally blind, and has an outside bladder, a stoma. Goddammit, she’s been through the ringer, and I’m just hitting the main bullet points of her health issues. These were only the tip of the iceberg, because I haven’t even mentioned her other issues, such as diabetes and COPD.

  So when anyone thinks they’re having a bad fucking day, all they really need to do is look at my sister’s life. They don’t know what a bad day is.

  I round the corner to Elaine’s room, my strides long and swift, hell-bent on tearing someone a new asshole. I can see from two doors down that her room is wide open.

  I walk into her room and she spots me immediately. “Hey,” Elaine yells out. Her voice is always extra loud, as if I’m the one who’s deaf, but I suppose it’s because she can’t hear herself speak.

  “Hey, Laine,” I call her by her nickname, and lean down over her specialized wheelchair to give her a hug. Even though I’m vibrating inside with anger, I have to keep my cool in front of her. She can’t handle too much stress, if any. So despite the situation here, I have to act like everything is great, when it’s really not.

  “I see they finally decided to get you out of bed, huh?” I take a look at my watch for effect and add in a jovial yet sarcastic tone, “It only took them twenty-two hours to get you up and running, right?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a full-on smile. It takes her three-seconds to speak out the one syllable word. That’s just
the way she talks, long and slow. Her reflexes are severely hindered in everything she says and does. “They must’ve got wind you were coming,” she says, grinning as only one side of her mouth lifts. The other half of her face has nerve damage from the brain surgery she had so long ago, and those nerves never fully recovered.

  I smile back, because that’s what I do. I make sure she always sees a happy brother, not a pissed off one. “They all must be in a frenzy, dying to get a glance at my good looks,” I tease.

  She laughs, and my heart swells. God, I live for her lame jokes, her smile, and her light laughter. “You got any hot dates?” she asks jokingly.

  I shake my head at her, still smiling. “Nah, already been through ’em all.”

  “Now that, I can believe,” she replies, with her special sideways grin as I sit down in the one and only visitor chair in her room. When I come to visit, I sit down and socialize. I don’t tidy up, and I don’t get into her shit like my mom does, which drives my sister crazy.

  “Any word on your blood test?” I ask her.

  “Yeah, the doctor said I have another kind of diabetes now. I have to get a shot in my stomach every day.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” I physically flinch at the thought. She just can’t catch a break, but it shouldn’t surprise me, since she’s so damn sedentary, overweight, and a paraplegic. I was hoping she wouldn’t have to go down that road.

  “It’s why I’m thirsty all the time. The doctor said I can’t have salt anymore, either. So they put me on a strict diet here.”

  I nod, soaking in the health updates. “Did you get an appointment yet with a cardiologist?” I ask, because it’s a sore point with me. I had been asking for a cardiologist to look her over since she was in the wound care facility, and nobody seemed to think it was necessary. I also told them she needs a sleep study and a CPAP machine, because she’s not getting sufficient oxygen to her lungs at night. I’ve seen on occasion how she struggles to breathe when she sleeps.

  She shakes her head, one side of her lips forming a frown. “Mom says I don’t need to see a cardiologist.” See this right here? This shit is what gets under my skin and eats at me like a cancer. My mother says she’s too old to deal with my sister’s healthcare needs, so she wants me to take over, but every time I do, I’m cut off at the knees. I’m railroaded every fucking time.

  I bite the hell out of my tongue, because I’m pissed off on top of already being pissed off, and that isn’t a good situation for me to be in.

  “Well, some things are about to change,” I tell her. I hate that I’ve been too fucking busy to focus on her every healthcare need. Dealing with her needs is a full-time job, and she requires more doctors and attention than what she’s been getting.

  “I’ll believe that when I see it. Takes forever to get anything done around here.”

  Sadly, she’s right, and I’ve been really concerned lately with her breathing. It’s been very labored and wheezy, and with her being extra inactive by trying to heal her wound in the hospital, I’m worried fluids could be settling in her lungs.

  “Well, they haven’t come across Stryker before now, have they?”

  “Good luck with that,” she taunts, both of us knowing full well how thick the government red tape is, and how slow things are to come to fruition.

  Because Laine’s not the best of communicators, I ask her, “How can I know you’ve been taken care of on a daily basis? I want to know everything, including when you’ve been helped out of bed.” Getting her out of bed is a huge task. It requires a special lift, but it’s not an excuse just to leave her in bed all day either.

  One eye rolls back in her head as she thinks. This happens because she can’t fully close her left eyelid from all the nerve damage from long ago. “How about I text you every day?” she offers.

  I nod my head, thinking I could live with that, because she’s bad about responding in a timely manner to my emails and texts, which drives me nuts. “You think you could text me by noon every day?”

  “Yeah,” she responds, nodding. I feel good about the prospect of hearing from her every day on a consistent basis. It’d definitely put my mind at ease. I spend the next few minutes telling her I’m going out of the country on business, but I’ll still be able to receive her texts, and I can still kick someone’s ass from another country. That’s if she’ll tell me, of course.

  A knock at the door has me twisting around in my chair to see who’s come to visit my sister at such a late hour. The second I make eye contact with said visitor, my blood runs cold. I somehow keep my expression void of emotion, giving nothing away. It’s Valerie, and she, on the other hand, stands at the threshold of the door, looking taken aback. Her eyes are wide with shock and disbelief that I’m sitting here.

  CHAPTER 16

  ~ Stryker ~

  She’s wearing blue scrubs, indicating to me that she works here. That shit was not in the debriefing, and I begin to wonder why. Did Quinn neglect to tell me this on purpose? Did he not want me to know this bit of information just yet? Did he not think I’d say goodbye to Elaine before I had to take off, or was he hoping we wouldn’t run into each other?

  As I sit here working out this puzzle, I watch her every movement like a hawk. She visibly swallows past a nervous lump in her throat as she fidgets with her hands. Now that she’s made herself known, she can’t rightly turn around and run, can she? I’m half proud of her as she squares her shoulders and then enters the room with a false confidence. She keeps her entire focus on my sister as she strides forward, doing a great job of ignoring me. I’m sure it’s easier this way for her, to pretend I don’t exist.

  She stops in front of Laine, asking if she needs anything else before she leaves for the day. I take note of her sporting one of those cheap, plastic name tags on her scrub top. I raise a brow, wondering if Valerie neglected my sister all day. She had needs this morning that were blatantly overlooked. Where the fuck was she then? Valerie’s acting all chummy with Laine, as if they’ve known each other forever, and for some reason, that gets under my skin.

  I sit here remaining quiet and passive, letting my sister have her visit, but on the inside, yet another storm is brewing. I like to see my sister happy and interacting with people, even if it’s someone I’m not very fond of at the moment.

  “Well, I just wanted to stop in and say goodbye,” Valerie says, while giving Elaine a hug. In that moment, I stand to my full height, and before Valerie can pass me, I grab her by the elbow. “We need to talk,” I snap tersely, leaning into her ear. “I’ll meet you in the hall, yeah?”

  She nervously nods, and I let her go. I stop in front of my sister and squat down her level to tell her, “I’ll be right back.”

  “You gonna go out in the hall and kissy-kissy?” she teases, her eyes illuminating with humor. She has the most beautiful blue, iridescent eyes, bluer and more radiant than Quinn’s, and that’s pretty damn bright. A small laugh escapes me and I shake my head at her. She’s sharp as a tack, and just because she’s handicapped doesn’t mean shit. She doesn’t miss much.

  When I step out into the hallway, Valerie isn’t there. I begin to walk down the corridor, searching for her. I happen to catch sight of her in a private guest lounge, which I guess is good thinking, because what I have to say isn’t going to be pretty. She’s standing by the window, looking out into the cold night while nervously twisting her fingers in a knot. When the fuck did she start working here?

  I already called the director of the nursing home this afternoon, giving the man in charge a piece of my mind for their lack of care. After much assurance by him that this would never happen again, I agreed to let him manage and discipline his own staff, but for some reason, I just can’t help myself at the moment. When it comes to my sister, I’m highly protective, and that’s putting it mildly. So what I do next is purely an instinctive knee-jerk reaction. I grab Valerie by her upper arms, clasping her small limbs tightly in anger as I press her back against the wall.

  He
r eyes go wide in alarm. My nostrils flare I’m so pissed off. “Is this how you treat your patients?” I grind out. “Leave them in bed all goddamn day, because you’re too lazy to use your brain to figure out how to work around the other patients you’ve got? If you can’t manage patient flow, you’ve got a serious problem, and maybe you’re in the wrong profession. You’ve been overseeing her care all day, and you have the nerve to walk in there unapologetically, as if nothing went wrong today.”

  She squares her shoulders, gearing herself up with what I think is an angered rebuttal.

  Bring it on, bitch.

  “First of all, that wasn’t my job,” she says in a defensive snarl.

  I don’t let her get to a second of all excuse, because the first of all excuse pushes me over the edge. I scoff in her face, staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief over her audacious explanation. “I hate that lame-ass excuse more than anything else in life, ‘wasn’t my job.’ Shifting the blame, the ultimate response when one is guilty,” I bite out between clenched teeth. “Amazing… you haven’t put in your time yet, but I can tell you’re fitting right in, because you’ve immediately acquired the unfeeling, Medicaid-provider mentality already. I had thought you to be better than that. Shows how much I knew you.” My fingers curl tighter around her little arms when she tries to break free. “Let me give you a heads up. It’s called supervised neglect, and I’ll be watching you. My sister not receiving the proper care from piece-of-shit caregivers like you, who couldn’t give two fucks about what they’re doing, just really pisses me off.”

  In an instant, my head whips to the side, and I find myself staring at another wall. It takes a second for it to register, because that’s when the sting on my cheek begins to set in. Valerie had hauled off and slapped the shit out of me. I slowly turn my head, my eyes narrowing on hers as I give her a heated glare. “What the fuck did you just do?” I hiss, shoving her away from me.