Page 26 of Striker’s Rebel

For me.

“You really plan to stay all night.”

It isn’t a question anymore.

His green eyes hold mine.

“Go to sleep, June. I’ve got the door.”

Four simple words.

They hit harder than they should.

I swallow. “Goodnight, Striker.”

“Night, little rebel.”

I should argue about the nickname.

Instead, I step into my room and close the door before he can see me smile.

Chapter 4

Striker

By the time the house starts waking up around me, I’m pretty sure the damn chair is trying to kill me.

Wouldn’t be the worst place I’ve slept.

I’ve caught sleep sitting against concrete walls, folded into armored vehicles, flat on dirt with a rifle across my chest and men close enough to kill me if the perimeter failed. You learn fast in the military that comfort is a luxury and sleep happens whenever you can steal it.

Still, this fucking chair is impressive.

I shift my weight and one of the wooden legs gives a warning creak.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The hallway stays quiet.

June’s door hasn’t opened since she closed it a few hours ago, and that matters more than my back. After the night she had, she needs the sleep.

I’m staying until she gets it.

My phone vibrates against my thigh.

One of the prospects.

Quiet all night. Woman stayed inside. Nobody came to the house.

Good.

Keep eyes on it through the morning. Call if anything changes.

Got it.

Prospects get the jobs nobody with a full patch wants. Watching doors, running errands, cleaning the clubhouse, hauling shit, doing whatever needs doing while they prove they’ve got enough loyalty and sense to earn their colors.

Two men sitting on a house for a few hours is nothing, especially when it means June wakes up knowing her sister made it through the night safe.