Page 83 of Striker’s Rebel

He kisses me once, then heads back outside.

A second later, I hear the bike start.

I lock the door and stand there listening until the sound disappears down the road.

Chapter 10

Striker

A few hours pass. Long enough for me to start checking the time every ten minutes and pretending I’m not.

Striker texted once.

Stay inside. Getting close.

That was almost an hour ago.

I’m curled into the corner of his couch when the window behind me explodes.

Glass sprays across the floor. Something metal hits the wood, rolls beneath the table, and starts pouring out thick white smoke.

I’m on my feet before I really understand what I’m looking at.

Then I breathe.

My throat closes.

“Shit.”

I grab my phone and stumble toward the back door, coughing hard enough that my eyes water. By the time I get it open, the room is disappearing behind smoke.

I hit Striker’s name as I stagger outside.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

“June?”

I barely get a breath.

“Striker—”

An arm locks around my waist and jerks me backward.

The phone drops from my hand.

I drive my elbow behind me, but whoever has me only grunts and pulls me harder against him.

“Easy.”

“Get the fuck off me.”

Something cold presses into my ribs.

A gun.

That gets my attention.