Striker: No Prisoners MC Book 1 (33 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

Striker did not come to slowly. He awoke with a jolt as his body was assaulted by pain, and his mind was flooded with terrifying memories. His eyes shot open and darted around the room immediately assessing for danger and seeking out Lila. Where the hell was she? Where was he? Had they made it to the gym?

He struggled to sit up only to let out a groan when his ribs screamed in protest.

“Easy there, brother. The docs did a lot of work to make sure your ass stayed alive, so don’t go fucking it all up.” Striker turned his head to the right with a start as Hook’s voice filled the room.

Hook was seated in a vinyl recliner next to the head of Striker’s bed. He looked tired. How long had Hook been sitting there?
 

Striker’s mouth felt like it had been blasted with hot, dry air for hours. “Lila?” he managed to grate out.

“She’s safe brother. They kept her overnight to monitor her since she blacked out, but she’s in better shape than you are.”

Striker closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed. The relief was staggering. He didn’t have a clue what was going on with his own body, but he was alive, and Hook didn’t look worried, so he figured he’d stay alive.

“Listen, Striker. Now that you’re awake the cops will be in soon. We’re pinning all this shit on Rock. Blamed drugs, said he snatched Lila because we were kickin’ him out of the club. We busted up his house to make it look like it happened there, and we scoured the other house. Story is he snatched her after the fights. Lila was able to free herself and call you when he stepped out for a while. You came for her, fought with Rock, and rescued Lila. Rock took off.”

It was a good story. No one would ever find Rock’s body, the Grimms would make sure of that. They could easily say he split to avoid the No Prisoners’ wrath after snatching Lila.

“Your girl did good, man,” Hook continued. “She had the cops eating out of her hand. Stuck to the story beautifully. Jester stayed with her, acting all mamma bear.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Who knew he had such maternal instincts.”

“She seem okay?” He didn’t mean physically.

“Something ain’t right. That’s why Jest won’t leave her alone. Physically she’s busted up, but nothing serious. Something seems off emotionally. She’s real skittish.” Hook had questions in his eyes. The guys must be dying to know exactly what happened in that house.

Striker closed his eyes as unpleasant memories assailed him. Lila had saved both their asses, but she’d paid for it. Watching her endure that pervert’s hands on her body sickened him. The shattered look on her beautiful face when she awoke and realized she wasn’t wearing any clothes was the same look she got when that piece of shit pawed at her. Striker knew it was a scene that would haunt his dreams for years. She was his woman. It was his job to protect her, and he’d been unable to do a damn thing beyond watch the horror unfold.

Everything she’d said to Earl was bullshit, and he knew it. Not for one second did he think she was with him because she was trapped. But he knew her well, and she’d worry he now doubted her.

Hook must have been growing impatient waiting for answers because he prodded Striker along. “She showed up at the gym wearing your hoodie, and not much else.”

Striker swallowed down his disgust, and explained to Hook how Earl White ambushed them in the parking lot with his Taser, and filled him in on the rest of the story. When he got to the part where Lila saved them, he almost couldn’t get the words out.

“You good, brother?” Hook asked.

It was hard for Striker to look at Hook while he reiterated the tale. The feelings of anger and inadequacy were too great. He nodded, and continued the story, staring straight ahead.

“Lila was fuckin’ incredible. She played him like a fuckin’ violin. Told him she was only with me out of fear, made him feel like her savior. He fell for it hard, and uncuffed her.” Striker paused. He needed a minute to get himself in check before he continued. For some reason saying it out loud was worse than reliving it in his head. “She gave him what he wanted. Came on to him, let him put his filthy hands all over her. When he was distracted, she sent his balls up to his tonsils.”

He finished telling Hook the story, at least up until he passed out. By the time he finished Hook looked almost as irate as Striker felt.

Eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in an expression of anger, and fists clenched, Hook leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “He was still at the house. Gumby took some of the guys to check it out. They moved him to the warehouse. Prospects are babysitting him until you’re out of here.”

Striker finally looked at him. Immense satisfaction welled inside him. He was surprised. He’d assumed Earl would have escaped somehow by the time anyone went back to check out the house. This time around he would enjoy the moments spent with Earl. The same couldn’t be said for the other man however. In fact, Striker could guarantee Earl would not fare well in their next meeting.

Hook leaned back in his chair. “Did some digging. You know how Acer is with computers. Not sure what he hacked, but turns out our buddy Earl has a naughty past. Multiple restraining orders against him. He was charged with kidnapping, rape, and the murder of a twenty-year-old girl three years ago in Mississippi. Case was open and shut. Some sort of error occurred during the trial, and a mistrial was declared. Bastard got off with nothing and moved here to start over.”

“Jesus.” Striker ran a hand through his hair, possibly the only part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. He should probably take something for it, but wanted to be fully alert when he saw Lila.

The conversation with Hook came to an abrupt halt when a sharp knock on the door grabbed their attention. Without waiting for an invitation the door opened, and Jester came through, pushing Lila in a wheelchair. She looked exhausted, dark rings rimmed each bloodshot eye. His heart squeezed painfully with the knowledge that he’d been unconscious while she dealt with the aftermath of their nightmare.

She still wore his sweatshirt, but someone had given her a pair of scrub pants to cover up her exposed lower half. A bulky boot encased her right ankle, and he assumed that was the reason for the wheelchair. Her poor face was a colorful mess, and her neck looked raw and bruised as well. But she was alive, and she’d never looked more beautiful.

Jester looked tired as well, and Striker was immensely grateful for his care of Lila. His loyal brother had stayed with her in his place the entire time.

Hook rose and pushed his chair into the corner of the room so Jester could steer Lila right next to the bed. He lowered the bedrail so she could reach Striker. With a nod to Striker, he and Jester quietly left the room, allowing them a few moments of privacy. It wouldn’t last. The police would arrive any moment for his statement, and a nurse or doctor was bound to check in soon, but he was relieved to have a few minutes alone with her.

“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.

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.