Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

3. Wrath

It was after noon by the time we entered Wrath. The Wrathian sun burned in the ring's orangish-yellow sky and shone directly into my eyes when I stepped outside the terminal. I instinctively held a hand in front of my face. A suffocating wave of heat washed over me as I walked outside, and if I hadn't lived in the South on Earth, I might have been likely to choke from the stuffiness.

"Welcome to Wrath," Striker said as he stepped beside me, "the hottest and purdiest ring in all o'Hell."

"I may not have seen all the other rings, but I'm inclined to believe you might be a little biased," I quipped, earning an amused grin from him.

"That I might," he mused. "There's an inn not too far from here. We can rent a room and dump our bags there, then maybe hit the downstairs saloon for somethin' to eat."

I nodded. "Okay. Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Striker flagged down an elderly imp driving an old red pickup truck, and we hitched a ride to the inn in the back of his truck bed. The breeze as the truck rolled down the street cooled my flushed face, and I was sure my hair was slowly blowing out of my ponytail strand by strand. It wasn't long before the pavement ended and gave way to a worn dirt road. Pebbles flew out from under the rolling tires, hitting the metal framing of the truck with a dull tunk!

I spent the first twenty minutes of the ride looking out at the lengthy fields of crops and livestock, absentmindedly counting the herds of demon cattle and boars. After growing bored of that, I settled back against the side of the truck bed with my knees close to my chest. My eyes soon fell to Striker, watching his relaxed frame seated across from me. He was looking out at the dirt road behind us, one arm resting in his lap, the other stretched across the railing of the truck bed. He had a sort of pensive expression on his face, as if he was lost in his own thoughts, and his teeth toyed with a piece of hay he had plucked from the small bale beside him. I studied him curiously, noticing how his feet recoiled slightly when I stretched out my legs and nearly touched them. He suddenly looked at me, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

"Your daddy ever tell you it's not polite to stare?" he teased.

Flustered, I turned my head away. "You just looked like something was on your mind, that's all," I stammered.

He leaned back against the wall of the truck bed. "So what kind of errand does this friend of yours have you runnin' exactly?"

I adjusted my position, sitting cross-legged as I carefully put together an answer. "He just wanted me to get a few things from his house, since he can't make it out here."

"He sent you all the way out here for that?"

"Yeah."

Striker took the piece of hay from his mouth and tossed it out onto the road. "Hope it was more important than just some clothes or somethin'."