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

33. Claws

"Is it really that noticeable?" I said as I pulled down the bandana around my neck to reveal the hickey Striker had given me.

He raised an eyebrow. "If it wasn't, you think I'd've lent you my bandana again?" he snarked. "You bruise too easily."

"It's not my fault," I retorted, crossing my arms. "I bruised easily in life, too."

Striker stuck out a finger and poked the side of my arm. "You're just too sensitive."

I frowned at him in annoyance. "Well, if I'm too sensitive, then you're too jaded."

"You're probably right 'bout that, darlin'," he said with a smirk. He shrugged. "Besides, I like 'em sensitive." He leaned down, bringing his mouth just inches from my ear, and purred, "Means they make more noise."

I stiffened, my face beginning to burn, and I quickly stepped to the other end of the wide sidewalk. He chuckled and continued walking with his hands in his pockets. I followed him, and I pulled out my phone when I remembered my conversation with Stolas the previous week. I pursed my lips in thought; Striker didn't seem like the type who liked getting his picture taken — even the lewd photo he'd sent me was evident of that.

Maybe I could just sneak one. . .

It was worth a shot. I quickened my pace just enough to get a few feet ahead of him, and when he turned his head away from me to glance at the crossing light, I snapped a few pictures of his lovely mug. I exited the camera app and turned off my phone just before he looked back at me. He place a hand on my back and nudged me forward onto the crosswalk.

The dive bar we had settled on for dinner was on the edge of Imp City near a local elevator terminal. A thirty-minute walk, give or take. The joint was pretty crowded by the time we arrived, but we managed to snag the last two stools at the bar. A waitress approached us a few minutes later to take our drink orders, looking the two of us up and down with a blatant condescension. She sauntered through the swinging kitchen doors and returned a minute later with our drinks.

"Charmin' little place," Striker remarked as he examined our surroundings through his peripheral vision.

I shifted in my seat and leaned forward on the bar, noting the dingy floors and tables. Every third ceiling light was dead or flickering, bathing the place in a low yellow light. And it was when I looked over the throng of patrons in the dive that I realized there wasn't a single imp or sinner among them. They, including the staff, all appeared to be aquatic hellborn, with the exception of a few succubi and incubi scattered here and there. Every now and again, I noticed some of them cutting their eyes at me and Striker.

I clasped my hands together on the countertop, my eyes falling to the small shelf of assorted alcohol behind the bar. "I'd never been here before," I said, careful not to speak too loud. "I didn't realize it was going to be this . . . seedy." I side-eyed the customers near us and leaned closer to him. "Did you notice that there aren't any other imps or sinners here?"

Striker took a sip of his glass of straight whiskey, the cheap taste causing his nose to crinkle as he held it in his mouth. "Looks more like somewhere I'd see in Greed," he said, giving his glass a small shake. "Maybe Envy."

"Makes me wonder why somewhere like this would be in Imp City, of all places." I held my glass to my lips. "Must be a drug ring running out of it or something."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

I felt something bump into my shoulder and shove my upper body forward against the counter. I yelped when a sizeable amount of my cold drink splashed onto my chest, a few ice cubes falling down the front of my low-cut shirt. I stiffened, trying to discreetly fish the ice out of my bra before it melted and sling it on the floor beneath my stool.