Striker: A Dark Bully Romance (Redwood Rebels Book 1) by Rachel Leigh (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

and he’s been using me. And I’ve let him! I’ve let them all do whatever they please with me. I can’t imagine how pathetic I look. I bet they laugh at night when I’m sleeping because they have me right where they want me.

This was a bad idea. I never should have agreed to spend the night with him. Being here like this, it’s wrong. This isn’t us. Talon and I yell and scream at each other until an insatiable hunger consumes us. One so strong that we are forced to satisfy it. This whole scenario feels too intimate. Far too intimate for a guy who is mind fucking me.

“I couldn’t find my toothbrush.” I grab it from the bag and hold it up.

Without a word, he walks out the door and closes it behind him.

Before I get in, I let the shower run for a few minutes and when I step inside, I do what I’ve done during every shower for the last year. I cry.

Full on snot nose, heaving sobs. I cry for my mom. I cry for my dad. I cry for the life that I had that was ripped away from me by the cartel that sucked my dad in. For the cancer that took my mom. For the sleepless nights and tired days. For the body-numbing anxiety, and just plain old fucking life. This dark hole that has sucked me in and no matter how hard I try to climb out, I keep getting pulled deeper into the pit.

Then there’s Talon. A guy who screams dominance and hostility to the entire world, but shows me a sliver of conviction and I hold on so tightly to it because I'm the one who gets to see it. Not the guys, not the girls from his past. Me. He let me touch it. Balled up in my hand and stuffed inside my heart, I take it out as a reminder every time he does something hostile. Because I know that somewhere inside of him, there is a fire that burned out when he was a kid and he so desperately wants to rekindle it. And I want to be the one to light that flame and shield it from the wind.

Minutes pass and the tears have stopped. I wash myself up as if I didn’t just have a complete breakdown and I step out to grab a towel, feeling slightly less burdened. My hand wipes over the fogged-up mirror, and I stare back at my swollen eyes, knowing that I can’t leave this room until they’ve settled.

When the bathroom door flies open, I tug the towel around me firmly and avoid looking at him. “Seriously? Again?”

“Damn woman, do you always take hour long showers?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.”

My entire body is now turned to the wall opposite him, and when I sense him coming closer, I tense up.

“Turn around,” he says, as he stands directly behind me.

I shake my head no. “Just get out!”

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he turns me around. “Why are you crying?” he asks, all too calmly. As if he’s asking me if I want a glass of water.

“I’m not.” I lie.

His thumb sweeps under my eyelid. “You were.”

Shoving his hand away, I clear my throat. “Talon, just get out! I need to get changed. I’m tired.”

“Then get dressed. You had no problem stripping down last week in front of both me and Lars. What’s the difference?”

The difference is, I was doing it to prove a point. Now, I’m feeling a clusterfuck of emotions that have me second guessing every stupid thing I’ve ever done. But, I don’t say that. Instead, I swallow my pride and drop the towel. “Fine.” My lips curl into a sarcastic smile meant just for him.

I bend down and grab the lotion from my bag, all while watching him. Even as I stand here completely naked, his eyes stay fixed on mine. Squeezing a dollop into my hand, I slop it on my body much quicker than I normally would. As I bend down and rub it on my feet, I’m eye level with Talon’s semi that’s peeking through the fabric of his grey sweatpants. Gulping, I pick up an oversized t-shirt from my bag and pull it over my head hastily, then slide on a pair of underwear.

I toss my hands out. “Satisfied?”

He looks my entire body up and down. “Hardly, but I’m definitely intrigued.” His brows waggle as he takes me by the hand and leads me out of the bathroom.

Beads of water trail down my back from my tangled, soaked hair. I don’t even care. I’m too focused on him—on this.

Untucking the blanket from the neatly made bed, I climb under it and tug the silk comforter up to my chin. Talon stands there, watching me, studying me.

“Why were you crying?” he asks again, as he climbs on all fours and crawls toward me.

I shake my head. “I wasn’t.” My voice cracks, and I know that he’s seeing right through the tough facade I’m putting on for him.

“I don’t like when you cry.”

A bout of laughter rolls out of me. Cynical and breathy. He doesn’t like when I cry; yet, he’s keeping me here as his imprisoned pet.

One hand presses into the mattress by my rib cage, and the other by my hip, as his face lingers over mine. “Why is that funny?” Feathery strands of hair cascade down his forehead and touch the tip of his nose.

“Because you’re the reason for my tears. Isn’t that obvious?”

He shakes his head no. “Not all of them. You’ve been different. What happened?”

Tugging the blanket up further, I roll over to my side and face the wall away from him. He’s forced to reposition and does so by lying directly behind me. In my peripheral, I can see his hand levitating over my body. As if he’s unsure where to put it. At war with