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

11. Burning Peaks

It was late afternoon when we finally stopped. Bombproof slowly came to a halt when Striker pulled on his reins.

"We're here," Striker said as he hopped off Bombproof's back and landed on the ground. He held out a hand for me.

I looked around. We were miles away from any town, and the land was dry and barren save for a few cacti and tumbleweeds. Out in the distance were several steep mountain-like formations that were open at the peaks. Hovering above each peak was a glowing ball of flaming lava.

"What are they?" I said, taking Striker's hand.

Striker caught me by the waist when I slid off Bombproof's back and gently set me on my feet. "They call it the Bad Man Lands. There's an old abandoned mine and a whole series o'tunnels under the mountains."

My eyes were instinctively drawn to the giant balls of magma; they poured slow, steady streams of lava on and into the mountains. They burned a vibrant orange-yellow, putting the Wrathian sun to shame.

"They're beautiful," I said. "They're like a bunch of little suns. I bet it's still really bright out here at night, huh? With all the. . ."

I had turned back around to face Striker, but he was now sitting cross-legged on a tan afghan on the ground. I raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?"

He held out his arms and shrugged coyly. "I figured it was obvious. Hell, I even brought food." He opened the leather satchel beside him and extracted a few containers of food.

"A picnic?" I thought aloud, then crossed my arms. "So, this is our 'not-date' you were talking about?"

Striker smirked and leaned on one hand. "Don't look at me, darlin'. You're the one who wanted to 'see the sights'."

I felt the heat rising in my cheeks, and I knew they had turned red when the smirk on Striker's face grew wider. I sighed and sat down on the afghan. "So what did you bring?"

He opened the containers to reveal fresh fruit, pâté and toasted sippets, and a half-pint of Miss Daisy's fig preserves. The whole thing looked utterly delicious, and my mouth watered at the sight of it.

"Dig in, darlin'," Striker said. He didn't wait on me, however, and proceeded to spread a thick layer of pâté on a sippet and pop it in his mouth.

I took the silver flask poking out of the satchel and took a sip, uncertain of what it was. Sure enough, it was booze. My nose wrinkled as I swallowed the burning swig. "Don't you have any water?"

Striker hopped to his feet for a moment to retrieve a canteen from Bombproof's saddlebag and handed it to me. "Had enough of the hard stuff, huh?" he teased.

I took a large gulp of the water, quenching my thirst, and screwed the top back on the canteen. "Actually," I said, placing the canteen on the ground beside me, "I just really don't want a repeat of last night."

He stopped mid-chew, swallowing hard after a moment. Without a word, he took the flask and tossed it back in the satchel. "Point taken," he said in a low voice, then looked back at me and smiled. "We don't need it to have a good time."

I returned the smile. "That's right. Now pass me the blueberries."

Striker picked up the small container of blueberries, then paused. With a smirk, he took a single berry in his fingers and held it out for me. "Here you are, darlin'."

I scrunched up my mouth at him, but then mirrored his smirk as a thought came to mind. I leaned forward, sitting up on my knees, and engulfed both the blueberry and his fingers in my mouth. I held still for just a little too long — making sure to let my tongue linger on his fingertips — before slowly pulling back, the blueberry now between my teeth.

Striker's eyes widened at the action, and for a moment he was seemingly unable to speak. I chewed up the berry with a mischievous grin on my face. He attempted to hide the hitch in his breath by letting out a heaving sigh, and I almost didn't notice the pink dusting his cheeks in the low orange light.

"You better quit that, little lady," he said, his voice a guttural growl. His pupils dilated slightly in those hypnotic glowing eyes. "Unless you don't plan on walkin' for a few days."

My heart seized, and my face became burning hot. Fuck, my brain moaned. He kept his knee-weakening gaze on me while he picked up another blueberry and held it to his lips. He stuck out his forked tongue and wrapped it — rather skillfully — around the berry and slowly drew it into his mouth. He quickly chewed and swallowed before licking his lips with that long, slender tongue.

FUCK.

Mortified, I turned away from him and covered my mouth with my hand to suppress the scream building in my lungs. My entire body was smoldering, and I felt my heart would burst out of my chest.

A devilish laugh escaped Striker's throat. "Now c'mon, darlin'. Don't go pullin' back now." Seeing my unmoving, petrified frame, he chuckled and held out the container of blueberries in front of me.

I eyed the container, then him, before taking it and grabbing a small handful of berries. I chewed each one thoroughly, realizing that the sight of Striker's mesmerizing gaze and long forked tongue was now branded into my mind.

Fuck, I thought, then shook my head. Was that really all I could think? Had he seriously reduced me to a bumbling fool with just a stare and a suggestive lick of his lips?

I glanced back at him; he was leaning back on one hand looking out at the mountains, taking a bite of a sippet coated with pâté. His eyes fell on me briefly, as if he sensed that I had been looking at him.

Yep. He definitely did.

We gorged ourselves on the food Striker had brought until we were both more than satisfied. Finished with the food, we closed up the containers and placed them back in the leather satchel. At some point, after I'd finally calmed myself, I had moved to the spot directly beside him on the afghan. We watched Wrath's atmosphere turn a richer orange as the sun began to set, the floating orbs over the mountain peaks still illuminating the sky and land. I adored how the lava's light dyed the desert land in dark, rippling shades of red, orange, and yellow.

"It's beautiful out here," I said, leaning on Striker's frame. "I find it hard to believe there's not a town out here."

"There used to be," Striker responded quietly.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "You said there's an old mine under the mountains, right? I guess it must have been a mining town, huh?"

He let out a nearly inaudible "hm" of confirmation, then fell silent.

I looked up at him after a moment. His face adopted an unusual softness, his eyes never leaving the mountain view. I was reluctant to ask, but my damn curiosity got the best of me. Against my better judgment, I asked in a hushed voice, "You were from that town, weren't you?"

Striker stiffened, and I could practically see his mind putting up its walls. His expression now bore a foul bitterness, and he answered curtly, "Yeah."

I sat up, watching him carefully, suddenly regretting having provoked him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

He let out a long sigh through his nose, his gaze lowering slightly. "No. You're alright." He leaned forward and rested his arms in his lap. "What's done is done. No sense in sulkin' about it now."

There was a razor-sharp edge in his voice that hindered me from responding. I didn't want to upset him any further — but truth be told, I was mostly just afraid of what he was capable of when he was angry.

I bit my lip in thought, examining his features. He looked out at the mountains with a hardened glare. But I could see a brokenness in his eyes, and it made my heart clench. Leaning close to him again, I reached out a hand and laid it gently on his forearm.

Striker instantly flinched at the contact, but remained still when he looked down and saw my hand. Slowly, the anger in his features dissipated, leaving just the tired brokenness he was only partially able to mask. He took my wrist and placed my hand in his, his long fingers weaving themselves between mine. He clapped his other hand over mine and gave a gentle squeeze, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.