The short walk to Marty's new residence helped sober us both up. When we had left the dive bar, I had been filled with liquid courage, but now, my courage was fading with the liquor. But Striker kept me going forward step by step until we were standing at a door with a faded number 53 painted on it.
Reaching around me, Striker knocked on the door with two sharp taps. His grin made the lamplight above the door catch his gold tooth. With his brim pulled low, he looked like one of those menacing characters from an old western.
"When he opens the door, step out of the way," Striker ordered, his voice a low hiss that I hadn't heard before. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a scowling Marty dressed in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.
Before he could say anything, Striker barreled through the door, knocking my ex flat on his ass. Pistol cocked, he placed the barrel against Marty's temple and growled, "If you know what's good for you, you'll let the lady get her things."
Marty sputtered something, but couldn't get the words to come out. I stepped around the pair, watching the scene. Marty had always talked a big game but was weak when it came time to put up or shut up. Striker, on the other hand, radiated confidence.
It was kind of...hot.
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Nowhere But Up | A Striker x Reader Story
RomanceWhen you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere to go but up. And sometimes, you have the opportunity to meet that special someone along the way.
