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

18. Colors, Pt. 2

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when I heard a stern knock on the door. I had been so consumed in my own reeling thoughts that I completely neglected to leave the door open for Striker. I turned to open it, but my hand stopped just above the doorknob.

He's probably still angry, I couldn't help but think. Maybe I should let him cool off outside for a while. . .

"(Y/N)," Striker said from the other side of the door. "Will you let me in?"

He spoke softly, but there was an impatient edge lacing his voice. Hesitantly, my hand still trembling, I turned the knob and cracked the door open. Striker pushed the door wide open to come in, then shut it behind him with a bit more force than I was expecting, staring down at me in frustration.

I looked away from him, suddenly taking an interest in the corner of the room. "I'm sorry," I muttered, but stopped myself when Striker held up a hand and leveled a finger at me.

"Don't start with that," he said, the edge in his voice growing razor sharp. "You say that shit too much."

I opened my mouth to apologize, but quickly shut it.

"You're upset with me," he said, already knowing the answer. He shook his head and let out a gruff sigh. "Well, shit, what did you expect me to do? You didn't look like you were makin' much of an effort to fight back — and given your track record, you don't. You didn't fight back when that guy stepped on your tail. And the only reason I made it to you before the fucker dragged you out of the inn last night was because y'all made a racket."

His looming stance and the anger in his voice made me shrink into myself. I stared down at the floor, thinking of something to say. I remembered how the imp had easily overpowered me as he tried to abduct me. He nearly strangled me, squeezing my throat so tight I now had a massive bruise. I'd tried to defend myself, but there was no way I could have fought him off. The only thing I could do was make noise to signal for help — with my tail.

My eyes still on the worn floorboards, I sputtered quietly, "I-I tried to use my tail. . ."

"Yeah, key word: tried," he retorted. He was starting to raise his voice. "It's not that you don't fight back. You can't. All these years down here, and you can't even use your fuckin' tail! It's not your tail that's the liability — you are!"

I froze, looking up at him with eyes gone swimmy with fresh tears. My frame shook in both fear and shame, and I stepped away from him. The tears spilled over onto my face when it hit me:

He's right.

Clutching my backpack, certain it contained all the belongings I had brought with me to Wrath, I walked around him toward the door.

A hand wrapped around my arm. His grip was firm, but loose enough that I could easily pull away.

"(Y/N), wait," Striker said in a low voice. "I didn't mean that."

I clenched my teeth, a scowl crossing my face. I couldn't look at him. "Yes, you did." I snatched my arm back, breaking his hold on me. Looking at my shaky hand on the doorknob, I said quietly, "Our contract is over, anyway. You don't have to worry about looking after me anymore."

I hastily strode down the hallway before he could respond. I descended the stairs to the saloon and made a beeline for the door, grateful the four imps who had harassed me were now gone. I stepped out into the darkness and headed to the road. Bombproof whinnied as I walked by, and I slowed to look at him.

I held up a hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Bye, Bombproof," I said through my closing throat, then started off down the dirt road. After a minute or two of walking, the tears began to pour.