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

45. Standoff

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"Get away from her!! "

Striker approached us from across the empty street, a revolver with a glowing white barrel clutched in his fist. He looked like he had put on his clothes in a hurry, his vest unbuttoned and his black shirt only partially tucked into his jeans. His eyes burned with a feral rage, directing their gaze square on Stolas.

"Your royal cunt may've changed her mind about wantin' you dead, but that don't mean much to me now," he snarled, lifting his revolver. "This time I won't miss, feathers!"

My pulse bounding in my ears, I stumbled clumsily off the sidewalk toward him, standing between him and Stolas. "Striker, stop! He's my friend!"

Striker paused and looked at me, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "Wha — he's your. . ."

It took a moment, but I could see the realization slowly sink in — and his eyes grew wide as a new flood of anger surged through them.

"This is the friend you went to Wrath for, isn't it?"

I stiffened. His low, seething tone, his yellow eyes glowing hot with rage, every slight movement he made left me paralyzed with fear. I had never seen him so angry. . .

"Shit! " he hissed, his tail rattling loudly behind him. "And all this time, I thought it was a fuckin' incubus! All this time. . ."

My heart dropped as I watched his anger distort his features. He looked at me with large, livid eyes.

"All this time, you've been rubbin' elbows with one of them. Fuckers like him are the reason we live like we do. They're the ones who take everything from us!"

"And yet you're still willing to work on our behalf," Stolas said coldly behind me.

"You shut the fuck up!" Striker snapped.

I felt my hands trembling horribly as I clutched my phone in them. I felt so small under his looming frame. "Striker. . ."

"I overlooked you knowin' the princess because you were part of her little redemption experiment — but this . . . I can't fuckin' believe you. You of all people. . ."

I took a step toward him, slowly reaching for the empty hand at his side. "Striker, please — it doesn't . . . My knowing him doesn't change anything."

My fingertips lightly brushed against his knuckles, and he instantly recoiled at the contact.

"No," he growled bitterly. "It changes everything."

My heart dropped into my stomach like a stone. There was so much venom in his words, and I felt them splash my body with a stinging cold.

He doesn't mean that, I told myself — but the doubt had already crept its way into my head.

Fearful tears pooled in my eyes, and I muttered through a closing throat, "Striker, he's not . . . H-He didn't do anything to you. . ."

"Save your breath, my dear," Stolas said, a wariness in his voice. He grunted softly as he sat up on the sidewalk. "He won't listen. His hatred for the Goetia won't end because of anything you say now. He's beyond reason."

The crushing weight of what was happening caused me to crumble. I bowed my head and hunched my shoulders in an attempt to shrink myself, secretly hoping I would disappear.

Striker lifted his revolver again and cocked the hammer. He looked down at me, his eyes an icy cold. "If you don't move right now, (Y/N), I swear. . ."

My frame shook violently. The tears fell forcefully now, blurring my vision. I shut my eyes as they rolled down my cheeks in large droplets.

"Please." My voice was just a frail whisper. "Please stop."