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

42. Disillusioned

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My heart sank like a stone, and I felt the blood begin to drain from my face.

"That . . . That can't be right. You — You've got him mixed up with someone else."

"I would think I'd remember the face of the man who tried to assassinate me, (Y/N)," Stolas retorted. "I have a very good memory. And I never forget a face."

I shook my head in denial. "That was a terrible picture I sent you — how can you say it was him based off one shitty-quality picture?"

"His name is Striker," Stolas said, his voice growing a little sterner. "He lives and was born in Wrath. He owns a black hell horse with orange flaming hair. He has a gold tooth on his left side, and his tail rattles when he's angry. He is an assassin my wife hired to kill me — a murderer, (Y/N). He's manipulative and opportunistic. He is able to win the favor of anyone he meets and then use them as he pleases to get what he wants. He did just that to Blitzø and his cohorts, and I know he wouldn't have any second thoughts about doing it to — "

"Stop," I muttered as I looked away from him, my voice breaking. A tight knot had formed in my gut. I wanted to vomit. Every inch of me had tensed up, like a tightened coil, and I clenched the arms of my chair in a vise-grip, my nails digging into the upholstery. My pulse rushed in my ears, blocking out all other noise.

"I'm sorry," Stolas said softly after a moment. "I know it's . . . I wish that I. . ."

I felt my body break into a cold sweat, and I began to shake. My teeth clamped down hard on my bottom lip until it bled, and I eventually stood to my feet and grabbed my bag.

Stolas leaned forward in his chair. "(Y/N) — "

"I can't — I can't stay here right now." I spoke quietly as I turned to leave. "I'm sorry. I can't. . ."

"Let me take you home," he said, pushing himself to his feet and clutching his cane. "It's the least I could do — "

"No," I interrupted, my tone a bit harsher than I'd intended. "Just . . . I want to be alone right now."

"Here." He waved his hand in a horizontal line, opening a bright blue portal near me. On the other side of the portal I could see the front door to my apartment.

"I won't follow you," he said. "I won't say anything else. I will let you have your time to process. Just know that I am here if you need me . . . and that I'm sorry."

Without another word exchanged between us, I walked through the portal and stepped in front of my apartment door. The portal closed in a small blue flash when I exited, leaving me alone in the dim breezeway. I tasted iron; my lip was already beginning to swell where I'd bitten it. A shaky sigh escaped my lips, and I slowly dug in my bag for my keys.

Once finally inside, I closed the door behind me and leaned my back against it. I dropped my bag on the floor, tears blurring my vision. I slid to the floor, my breath hitching as a series of panicked sobs tore through my throat.

It's not true. It's not true. It's not true. . .

Oh, but it was. And the signs were there all along. I knew from practically day one what he did for a living — and just how dangerous he could be.

"I'm sure you already have a sneakin' suspicion, darlin'."

"I'm a hitman — usually, anyway. Naturally, a lot of my targets didn't wanna go down without a fight. Some more than others."

"We're not as good as you make us out to be. Some of us can be just as evil as you were led to believe."

"I'll need to lay low while I'm on the job, which means no calls, no texts, no nothin'. There's a big possibility I could run into some . . . conflict."