Stryker (Books 1 & 2) (Atrox Security)

by J. C. Cliff

  “It’s all part of the experience, Stryker,” she says, offended. “It’s to help us reflect and be thankful for all the amenities we have back at home. So many people have it far worse than simply sharing a room with twenty-five others.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Don’t take it out on me. Maybe Celia put in a good word for you with the director. She sure as hell didn’t waste any time securing finer accommodations for herself, that’s for damn sure.”

  Valerie stops what she’s doing and turns around with her hands on her hips, looking incredulous. “Is that where she’s gone off to? She found a man to shack up with, didn’t she? It’s the director, isn’t it?” She shakes her head in disdain at the thought of her friend having a one-night stand. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s in full-time seduction mode lately.” Yeah, I saw Celia’s eyes the second she found out Hunter was the one in charge. She made a beeline, heading straight for him, and it was all I could do to keep from busting a rib in laughter when I caught him in a full body shiver as Celia approached. Don’t get me wrong; the woman is beautiful, but knowing what we know about her, it takes her from a ten to a four.

  Of course, Celia probably helped his cause when she staked her claim right off the bat. Otherwise, he’d have the entire female camp population clawing at him. Yes, women find him that irresistibly handsome. Nonetheless, we couldn’t have set up a better scenario with the women if we tried. It was pure luck the other group cancelled out. Now, we each have our own private quarters, so to speak, and a damn easy twenty-four-hour surveillance on each woman.

  “Does she always go for the highest in command?”

  “I don’t know, but he must’ve been a real looker if she took it that far, because she tends to be very picky. Was he? A real looker?” she asks out of sheer curiosity.

  “I wouldn’t know. I only know what I’m looking at right now, and it’s fine as hell from this angle.”

  “Get over yourself, Stryker. I’m not interested.” She rolls her eyes at me then turns to straighten out the paper-thin sheets on her bed.

  “Not interested? Is that right? Do you want to test that theory with a kiss?” I challenge.

  “Ugh… are you really going to go there?” She stops fretting over the sheets and sits down on her bed. A light blush begins dusting the apples of her cheeks, and I grin.

  “Yeah, I think I do want to go there.”

  She shakes her head, and mumbles, “Men. You all have a one-track mind.”

  I can tell she doesn’t want to look at me, because she looks around for something else to do, trying to ignore her body’s reaction to mine. I stop what I’m doing and cross my arms as I watch her squirm under my heated stare.

  “So what do you do for a living now, Stryker?” she asks, trying to change the subject. “I mean when you’re not working at the Local Edge,” she adds, wearing a small triumphant grin, as if she’s hoping to discredit me. Or perhaps she’s trying to make me out to be less of a man in her eyes, so she can tell herself I’m not worthy of her somehow. Who the fuck knows what she’s actually thinking? But one thing I do know is she’s still trying to fight her attraction to me.

  I scratch at the day-old scruff on the side of my jaw, thinking of how to answer her. “Told you, sweetheart. I was filling in for a friend that night. That was the first and last time I’ll ever step foot in that type of an establishment again. Although, I could make an exception for you,” I challenge, raising a brow.

  She looks away from me, the tips of her ears heating to a candy-apple red. I begin to chuckle at her. She doesn’t like me making sexual innuendos, because she gives me a sidelong glare of annoyance, except I know she’s anything but annoyed. “Never mind,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  I lean against the wall of our little room and cross my arms as I study her. “I’m still in the medical field,” I tell her, which is half true. “I mainly do more consulting than anything.”

  “What does that mean? Consulting in what?”

  “It’s complicated,” I tell her. “I finished my masters a while back then worked as a PA for awhile, but found I didn’t like being confined to an office. So now I consult with various large-scale companies who need guidance in managing emergency medical services.”

  Her forehead wrinkles, because what I said sounds legit, and it is, but yet I was too vague for her to completely understand it. “Sounds like important stuff,” she murmurs.

  “Oh, you have no idea just how important,” I say in all seriousness, while giving her a penetrating stare, wondering about her innocence. My gaze makes her uneasy, or maybe it’s just me continually being in her space, because the conversation is over.

  She looks anywhere but at me then reaches down into her backpack to distract herself. She begins to blindly rummage through her bag, pulling out toiletries and setting them aside. She gets lost in her unpacking, most likely not realizing I’m still watching her every movement.

  When she pulls out a small purple candle, a little smile graces her lips. I recognize it from the surveillance footage as being the same candle she kept on her bedside table at home. She brings it to her nose, cupping the votive in both her hands like it’s a precious life force. She closes her eyes then inhales deeply, savoring the scent. It’s been noted from the footage that she’ll do this routine several times a day, and I have to say it’s one of the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.

  Before I can stop myself, the nagging question in the back of mind already makes it past my lips. “Just what the hell are you doing?” I ask curious, truly perplexed, and really wanting to understand this fetish of hers.

  Her eyes bolt open wide, her body frozen in place, and I know I startled her. Embarrassed, she slowly lowers the candle to her lap. Did she really forget I’m standing here? Sliding those bright emerald irises in my direction, it’s apparent she got lost in her own head. It’s like the second she brought it to her nose, the world fell away, and the only thing that existed was her and that candle. Biting her lower lip, a hot flush of crimson creeps up her neck.

  Both of us just stare at each other in awkward silence for a minute before I pull my thoughts together. “Sorry, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You don’t have to explain.” I shake the oddity off, willing to let it go, because I don’t know if sniffing candles at every turn is a woman thing or not.

  “No,” she whispers, and holds out her hand. “I’ll explain. Come here.” I eye her warily, because she hasn’t used that soft tone with me since our breakup. She keeps her hand extended in invitation, wiggling her fingers at me, silently telling me to sit beside her. “C’mon and sit with me.”

  Instead of taking her hand, I climb into her bed and lay down behind her, the bedsprings creaking and hissing against my weight. My eyes go wide and I think we’re going to sag to the floor. “Do you think I need to lose weight?” I deadpan, as I jostle around on the bed, making the bedsprings exaggerate their sound. The mood immediately shifts as she spins around, cracking a grin. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t crack the frame by morning,” I tell her, as I look under the bed to see how much clearance I have, and by the looks of it, doesn’t seem much. “Holy shit.” I glance between her and my ass. “You not saying anything about my weight brings the truth home. You think I’m fat, don’t you? Do you think my ass looks big in these jeans?”

  “Stryker,” she admonishes, shaking her head with a grin.

  “Well, if I’m gonna sag to the floor, we may as well sag together.” I grab her upper body, pulling her down to lay beside me on the narrow bed as she squeals out in surprise. Then she starts to giggle, which is a sound that does my heart good. Another sound I haven’t heard in forever. “Now I can blame the broken bed on you.”

  Resting her weight on her elbow, she playfully slaps my chest with her other hand. “Stryker... you’re so goofy,” she chides.

  I laugh as I thread my fingers through her thick hair, taking out her elastic band so I can play with her long stran
ds of gold and rich brown. As I lay on my back with her hovering above me, she grows quiet at my touch. She tenses, unsure of our closeness. She needs to loosen up.

  I press her head down against my chest, her elbow collapsing as I gently force her to lie down with me. This is how we used to have many of our heart-to-heart conversations. I’d always have her lie in my arms while I played with her hair as we talked. It brings back memories. Good memories.

  I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes, soaking in her light, fragrant scent. “It’s been a long day, baby. You don’t have to explain, not unless you really want to,” I quietly tell her, as I stroke her hair.

  “I do want to explain,” she whispers, as she runs her hand over my chest. I intercept her hand then thread my fingers through hers. She draws in a weary breath, before she confesses, “I had a son, Stryker.” I knew this, but for some reason, her confession stirs something within me. “He was my entire world, my reason for living.”

  CHAPTER 22

  ~ Stryker ~

  “You had a son? You’re talking past tenses here,” I prod her, wanting her to tell me these things herself, and not hear them secondhand from Quinn.

  She nods against my chest. “Remember I told you I lost my husband last January in a fatal car accident?”

  “I do remember.” I rest our entwined hands on my chest, allowing my thumb to stroke over the back of her knuckles in hopes of giving her comfort.

  “Well, my son was in that car wreck too.”

  “Oh, Valerie,” I start off with a pained voice, but she keeps talking.

  “Most times, it’s too painful to tell people I lost my son in a car accident, especially if they never knew I had a child to begin with, so I just tell them I lost my husband.”

  I squeeze her tighter, surprised she’s going this far, sharing more of her past with me. “I’m so sorry, baby.” And even though I already know these things, hearing her tell me with such heavy sorrow in her voice guts me. She’s sincerely hurting, and I imagine she always will. “I’m truly sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, or what you’re still going through.” With my free hand, I twine a piece of her long hair around my finger, as I murmur, “I’m here for you now.”

  “Thank you, Stryker,” she says softly, then goes quiet.

  “How old was he?” I ask, to keep her talking. For some reason, she tenses in my arms, and I think I’ve overstepped my bounds, asking too much too soon.

  “He was four,” she whispers, her voice strained. “I was on this very mission trip when it happened.”

  “Fuck, babe. I have no words for that.”

  She shrugs against my body. “There are no words, Stryker. I have to say, if it weren’t for Celia, I would still be a basket case right now. Anyhow, my son picked out that candle for me last Christmas. Little did I know it was going to be our last holiday together. Every time I smell its fragrance, it calms me. You probably think I’m crazy.”

  I arch my neck back on the pillow as she angles her head so we’re facing each other. “Before I knew the story, yeah, the thought crossed my mind, because you were sniffing it like cocaine. But you’re not crazy for finding comfort in a gift he gave you.” A small smile graces her lips, and it’s genuine.

  “Frankincense and myrrh were once my favorite scents, but the second I took the lid off the candle, I was hit with the most intense and indescribable fragrance I’d ever smelled. It’s an essential oil blend of iris, rose, and cinnamon. Every time I smell it, not only does it make me think of the happier times with my son, but it brings me solace, soothing and calm.”

  I listen intently to her, thinking to myself what a loving mother she must’ve been. I would’ve loved to have experienced that with her.

  “I remember as I was unwrapping his gift, he was so excited he couldn’t sit still. He had beamed with pride. From the story I heard, it wasn’t an easy thing to pick out. It had to be just the right scent,” she says, smiling to herself at the memory. “My husband and son finally found the winning candle in a sixties hippie shop. It was so funny to hear Graham explain how uncomfortable he was in that type of store.” Disengaging our hands, she runs her fingers underneath the collar of her T-shirt then pulls out a charm necklace. “My son also got me this for my birthday last November. He always loved finding me his own gifts. I’m just glad he never brought home frogs and freaky insects for me.”

  I give her a smile then take the charm from her, rolling it between my fingertips in deep thought. Part of me wishes I could’ve been the one to give her a son, and the one to experience those precious moments together as a family. Valerie had been the only one to ever tame me, and I fucked it up completely.

  Another part of me wonders if this could be divine intervention giving us a second chance. Of course, it could just be me being a hopeless romantic too, because if she’s truly involved in criminal activity….

  I let out a sigh and frown, forcing myself to stay in the moment, for Valerie’s sake. Tomorrow is a new day to dig deeper for the truth.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow to look at me.

  A sad smile forms across my lips as I look into her innocent chocolate eyes. “Everything’s fine, really. Just feel bad that you got a shit deal.” I look back to the silver key charm, and comment, “It’s pretty. You can tell he put careful thought into each of his gifts.”

  With my words, Valerie beams with a glowing radiance. I can tell she was so very proud of her son. “He did. I was told he went to ten different stores until he found the right necklace for me.”

  “Was he searching for something with the Celtic love knot in it?”

  She shakes her head. “No. He was just looking until the right item clicked in his head.”

  “Well, he did a great job,” I tell her, letting go of the charm to cup her cheek. My touch sends a visible shiver through her, and it makes me grin on the inside, but I don’t tease her about her reaction to me. She wants to share something meaningful, and I want to hear it.

  “It’s a cheap necklace,” she continues, “but it’s the most valuable thing in the world to me.” I watch her smile fade, turning into a slight frown. “Funny thing, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have more money than I know what to do with, and I find myself wanting none of it. I’d gladly give it all away, every last dime, if it meant I could have him back. He was the center of my life.”

  “I can only imagine you being the most perfect mother,” I say sincerely.

  She responds, “Thank you.” Then she takes me by surprise, by asking, “Can you… will you just hold me tonight?” Her voice is forlorn, one that squeezes my heart, because it screams of such loneliness.

  I push a few strands of her hair out of the way and lift my head, giving her a chaste kiss. “Of course I will.” I lay my head back down on the pillow and pull her in close. I hold back from asking her why she didn’t mention giving up all her money for her deceased husband too. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer.

  Even though I know the specifics of the accident, I don’t pressure her into telling me anything. I want her to trust me, and I want her to confide in me when she feels comfortable to do so. I feel as if we’ve already made some serious headway tonight, with her sharing and all.

  “Thank you,” she murmurs on a yawn, exhausted from today’s travels no doubt.

  “For what?”

  “For not pressing me.”

  “I know you’ll talk to me when you’re ready, and when you are, I’ll be here to listen.”

  Her entire body wiggles as she snuggles herself against my side. It’s as if she can’t get close enough, and it warms my heart. I continue wrapping her hair around my finger as we both let the comfortable silence fall over us.

  “Do you need a sheet or a blanket before you fall asleep, babe?”

  “No, thank you,” she yawns again, laying her hand over my chest. As humid as it is, I imagine our combined bod
y heat is more than enough warmth. Besides, I think I’m too tired to move. I reach over her body and turn out the bedside lamp then get comfortable again. She sighs contentedly, and the familiarity in which we’re holding each other makes my heart burn for more.

  *~*~*

  Loud guttural roars fill the room, echoing off the concrete walls. The terrifying sound rips me from a deep sleep. It like a hundred Godzillas are traipsing through the jungle, their battle cries amplifying as if they’re heading our way. I jolt out of bed in a foggy haze, stumbling and tripping over unpacked suitcases, and then fall to the floor, making a hell of a racket.

  I have a one track mind as I scramble for my backpack… my gun. It’s all I can think about. This is the shit nightmares are made of. Where you know there’s danger, yet you hit every obstacle preventing you from accomplishing your task, unable to do jack-shit about it. Except, this isn’t a dream, and I’m fucked if I can’t pull my shit together.

  A huge spike of adrenaline courses through me as my heart thunders in my ears. I have tunnel vision, and I can barely hear Valerie yelling out my name. I ignore her as I spot my backpack, which is sitting on my empty bed, too far out of reach. You fucker, Stryker, I scold myself, for falling asleep the way I did last night and not being prepared by keeping my gun at my side.

  At last, I reach my pack, and as I begin unzip the side to get to my weapon, two hands tug at my arm, trying to prevent me from doing so. I try to shake her off, but she won’t let go. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell.

  “Stryker!” she bellows. “It’s okay. Those are just monkeys.”

  I pause mid-zip on my bag and turn to her, making sure I heard her right. “Say that again.”

  “Monkeys.” She’s grinning from ear to ear, finding my state of panic comical.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “They’re called howler monkeys. It’s what they do every morning before the crack of dawn.”