Striker had good taste in whiskey. He also was surprisingly pleasant company...when he wasn't pointing the barrel of a gun in my face. As the bottle drained lower and lower, the hours ticked by. Since he had been on the job longer, Striker knew more about our target than I had been able to gather yet. He also knew about the target's bodyguards.
"You showing up may just be the luck I need," Striker said, tossing back another shot. I was twirling my empty shot glass in circles on the side table, wondering how the hell I was going to make it back to my own room without the world flipping upside down.
"'Cause some psycho-bitch stabbed you in the back?" I replied, my words slurring more than slightly.
Striker grinned, slurring himself, "Something like that. Another round?"
"What the fuck, sure." I stopped spinning the glass, set it upright, and watched him pour.
When the amber liquid brushed against the brim of the glass, I picked it up and tossed it down my throat with surprising skill. Striker chuckled and raised his own in a toast before downing it.
And that was the last thing I remember about that night...
YOU ARE READING
Jaded | A Striker x Reader Story
Roman d'amourAfter your entrance into the underworld, you begin to make a living disposing of your client's cheating partners. Love is completely off the table. After all, who would be able to find true love in a place like Hell? From the author of Dancing With...
