his master. I can’t believe our own were treated this way.” His puma flashes, the shape in his eyes changing. “I want to kill every last one of them.”
We will . It’ll take time, but we’ll have our revenge. “Did she offer any details about who else held her captive? Who worked beside Locke? Names? Locations?”
His eyes move over my face, like he’s trying to understand my lack of ferocity over what was done to Twelve. Being a prisoner takes many forms, boss .
“Not yet,” he says. “There’s much to ease out of her.”
I cock my head.
“It will take a gentle hand.”
“There’s a reason why you sent Rookie to visit his sister, isn’t there? Not to just shoot the shit with me?”
He nods. “She doesn’t want to stay at the clinic. And after what she’s been through, I completely understand why.”
What this has to do with me… “So let her stay elsewhere.”
“We have. We…will. But—”
There it is. The but . The reason I’m sitting here.
“She isn’t comfortable staying alone.”
The emphasis on that last word has my gut tightening. It was just three days ago that Raphael called me in here for Mission One: fuck the female back to health and sanity. Now he’s looking for what? Someone to guard her?
My eyes flash ferocity at my superior. “No.”
He sighs. “It’s just until you leave for the Everglades.”
“No.”
“Goddess, Striker,” he grinds out. “There isn’t that option. Not if I order you to.”
I push forward in my chair, aware of the aggression of my body language. “Raphael, think about this—”
“I have.”
“No, you haven’t. Not if you keep coming up with the same answer. You know me. What I’m capable of, and what I’m not. And there’s a lot more things in the ‘not’ department when it comes to females. How you can believe I’m the best Pantera for this—”
He cuts me off. “I don’t.”
The tone, and the truth, stall me. “Then…why?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not me who wants you for this job, Striker. I do know you.”
My brows go up.
“It’s her.”
“What?” I exclaim.
He looks as mystified as I feel. “She feels safe with you.”
I laugh. The idea is so fucking preposterous…I mean, sure I can keep her safe in the physical sense. No one would get to her, unless they stopped my heart. But she’s so not safe in the feelings and emotions department. I stopped knowing how to talk to, comfort or support females a long time ago. Somewhere around the time my mate left me for my twin brother.
I push out of my chair.
“Where are you going?” Raphael demands.
“To speak with her. Reason with her. Where is she?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Raphael?”
“You hurt her more than she already is, and I swear I will kick your ass myself.”
“That’s my fucking point,” I tell him. “That’s what I’m trying not to do.”
He looks away. “Fine. I told you. She’s back at the cottage.”
Right. I head out the door. The cottage. Martha Stewart Hell. I sniff, shake my head. The poor female. No doubt she’s confusing my three-day fuck mission for true care and concern. Time to show her the real Striker. The one no female wants by her side. On top of her or between her legs, yes. But by her side, never.
CHAPTER 3
Twelve
It’s hard to believe I’m safe. It’s hard to sit here on this couch, in this lovely cottage, with the sun streaming in through the window, and not shake. Not anticipate someone jumping out from another room or behind the door and sticking a needle into my skin—then just a few seconds later, a hungry, vacant, drugged-up male climbing on top of me…
“What else can I get you?”
My heart kicks in my chest.
But I have to believe it. I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a victim. Not anymore. Because it’s the only way I’m going to stay lucid—and find out the truth.
I glance up. The woman, the human doctor, Julia, is coming out of the bedroom. Her long
We will . It’ll take time, but we’ll have our revenge. “Did she offer any details about who else held her captive? Who worked beside Locke? Names? Locations?”
His eyes move over my face, like he’s trying to understand my lack of ferocity over what was done to Twelve. Being a prisoner takes many forms, boss .
“Not yet,” he says. “There’s much to ease out of her.”
I cock my head.
“It will take a gentle hand.”
“There’s a reason why you sent Rookie to visit his sister, isn’t there? Not to just shoot the shit with me?”
He nods. “She doesn’t want to stay at the clinic. And after what she’s been through, I completely understand why.”
What this has to do with me… “So let her stay elsewhere.”
“We have. We…will. But—”
There it is. The but . The reason I’m sitting here.
“She isn’t comfortable staying alone.”
The emphasis on that last word has my gut tightening. It was just three days ago that Raphael called me in here for Mission One: fuck the female back to health and sanity. Now he’s looking for what? Someone to guard her?
My eyes flash ferocity at my superior. “No.”
He sighs. “It’s just until you leave for the Everglades.”
“No.”
“Goddess, Striker,” he grinds out. “There isn’t that option. Not if I order you to.”
I push forward in my chair, aware of the aggression of my body language. “Raphael, think about this—”
“I have.”
“No, you haven’t. Not if you keep coming up with the same answer. You know me. What I’m capable of, and what I’m not. And there’s a lot more things in the ‘not’ department when it comes to females. How you can believe I’m the best Pantera for this—”
He cuts me off. “I don’t.”
The tone, and the truth, stall me. “Then…why?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not me who wants you for this job, Striker. I do know you.”
My brows go up.
“It’s her.”
“What?” I exclaim.
He looks as mystified as I feel. “She feels safe with you.”
I laugh. The idea is so fucking preposterous…I mean, sure I can keep her safe in the physical sense. No one would get to her, unless they stopped my heart. But she’s so not safe in the feelings and emotions department. I stopped knowing how to talk to, comfort or support females a long time ago. Somewhere around the time my mate left me for my twin brother.
I push out of my chair.
“Where are you going?” Raphael demands.
“To speak with her. Reason with her. Where is she?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Raphael?”
“You hurt her more than she already is, and I swear I will kick your ass myself.”
“That’s my fucking point,” I tell him. “That’s what I’m trying not to do.”
He looks away. “Fine. I told you. She’s back at the cottage.”
Right. I head out the door. The cottage. Martha Stewart Hell. I sniff, shake my head. The poor female. No doubt she’s confusing my three-day fuck mission for true care and concern. Time to show her the real Striker. The one no female wants by her side. On top of her or between her legs, yes. But by her side, never.
CHAPTER 3
Twelve
It’s hard to believe I’m safe. It’s hard to sit here on this couch, in this lovely cottage, with the sun streaming in through the window, and not shake. Not anticipate someone jumping out from another room or behind the door and sticking a needle into my skin—then just a few seconds later, a hungry, vacant, drugged-up male climbing on top of me…
“What else can I get you?”
My heart kicks in my chest.
But I have to believe it. I have to keep reminding myself that I am not a victim. Not anymore. Because it’s the only way I’m going to stay lucid—and find out the truth.
I glance up. The woman, the human doctor, Julia, is coming out of the bedroom. Her long
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