Page 87 of Striker’s Rebel

Striker is off his before the engine fully dies. Grim, Riot, Torch, and Hound fan out behind him.

Striker sees me.

Then the gun.

Everything in his face goes still.

“Let her go.”

The man laughs softly.

“You always were predictable, Sanders.”

Grim’s attention locks on him.

“It’s over, Munn.”

Munn.

At least now the bastard has a name.

“You should have taken the offer I gave you,” Munn says.

Striker doesn’t answer.

“Career. Rank. A future. All you had to do was tell them what they needed to hear.”

Striker’s eyes stay on me.

“I remember.”

“And you wasted all of it.”

“Maybe.”

One word.

Nothing else.

Munn clearly wants more from him.

Striker doesn’t give it.

Munn’s attention shifts between Striker and Grim, waiting for a reaction neither of them gives him. Little by little, the gun stops digging into my ribs. His wrist turns just enough toward Striker.

Striker sees it.

That’s what he’s been waiting for.

He moves so fast I barely register it.

One second Munn has me. The next Striker has his gun wrist twisted away from my body and Munn is going down hard.

The shot cracks harmlessly into the dirt.

Riot takes the gun before it stops moving.

Hound gets Munn upright while Grim catches Striker by the shoulder before he can put him back on the ground.