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

79. Let the Games Begin

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"Here, darlin'. Hold onto this for me."

Striker removed his wide-brimmed sunhat and placed it on my head, and I smiled up at him and said, "I'll take good care of it. Just be careful."

He shrugged coyly. "Always am, darlin'. And besides, if I'm not," — a smirk crawled onto his face — "I got my own personal nurse to take care o' me."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms and shifting my weight onto one foot. "So are you gonna pay me for my services, then?"

Striker's smirk morphed into a mischievous grin at my words. "Oh, I'll pay ya' real good, darlin'," he purred.

"Good," I replied dryly. "Because rent's due next week."

His expression quickly turned flat at my remark.

"Don't look at me like that, cowboy," I quipped, then slapped a hand on his arm and flashed him a smile. "Now go win so we can get that prize money."

---

Bang!

At the near-deafening sound of the starting pistol, the large ensemble of imps dashed across the lengthy dirt field set aside for the games. Unsurprisingly, Striker was already at the front of the group, his long legs giving him an advantage over most of his competitors.

His height also gave him the upper hand when they reached the large wooden wall at the other side of the field, and he jumped past one of the other imps and hooked his hands over the top of the wall, using his booted feet to propel himself upward. Once he curled his upper body over the top of the wall, he swung his legs over and hurled himself onto the ground on the other side, avoiding the small muddy pond directly at the bottom of the wall. He shielded his head with his arm when he hit the packed dirt and somersaulted back to his feet, racing down the field with an almost excited grin on his face.

"He's really good," I said from the VIP booth at the top of the wooden bleachers.

"He was last year, too," Stolas remarked. "Though I can't say I'm surprised, given his occupation."

I pursed my lips for a moment before taking a small bite of my funnel cake. "I know last year's festival had a few hitches," I started. "Are you sure you feel okay hosting this year?"

"Oh, yes," he said matter-of-factly. "After all, this year there isn't a hitman my wife hired to assassinate me."

I raised an eyebrow, a small, humored smirk tugging at my lips. "Right. Instead, there's just the hitman your wife hired to assassinate you."

Stolas cut all four of his eyes at me, his mouth flattening into a quite unamused expression. It faded after a moment, however, and he closed the folding fan in his hand and asked quietly, "How have you been, my dear?"

I picked at my snack with a plastic fork as I thought. "The pain is a lot more manageable now," I answered. "The bad days are getting farther and farther apart — yesterday I didn't even have to take any of my pain meds."

"That's wonderful, (Y/N)," he responded earnestly. "I'm relieved to hear that."

"And Striker's been helping me a lot," I continued. "With everything, really. Cooking, cleaning — he even helps me with showers when it hurts too much to do it myself. And he helps me with my wound care, helping me change the dressings and stuff." I smiled sheepishly. "He's been pretty attentive to me lately."

"That's reassuring." He clapped the end of his fan in his free palm and added, "I won't have my friend accepting scraps."

I chuckled dryly. "Believe me, Stolas, I refuse to take shit from someone who won't keep their word. I've been there and done that too much, both in life and in death, and I'm not willing to do it anymore."

He leaned down and muttered in my ear, "You know, (Y/N), if I ever find out that he's mistreated you again, I'll do worse than just petrify him."

I ignored the subtle threat and half-smiled at the protective nature of his words. "I know," I said, my expression softening as I watched my lover take a celebratory bow toward the spectators after winning the first round by a landslide. "But he's kept his word. He's taken care of me ever since I left the hospital — you could even say he's been doting on me." My smile widened slightly when I caught sight of those bright yellow eyes looking up toward me. "He really has been good to me, Stolas."

A look of what I assumed was relief crossed Stolas' face, and he took my free hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "You know I'm glad to hear that."

I returned the squeeze, setting down my food on the seat beside me and covering his hand with mine.

---

The second round ended rather quickly, with Striker and a few other imps being declared the winners. It was around noon when the contestants broke for a recess, and I slipped out of the VIP booth and descended the bleachers to find Striker.

I weaved through the crowd forming near the concessions stand, trying not to pay attention to the many eyes staring at me as I walked by. Aside from Stolas and myself, the festivalgoers were all imps. I couldn't say that I was shocked — Wrath's population consisted almost entirely of imps, after all — but the number of ugly looks and hushed whispers I'd seen from passersby was far more than what I normally experienced back home in Imp City.

After a few minutes of searching, I finally spotted Striker leaning against a fence by the concessions stand. He had his back to me, and I opened my mouth to call to him when I noticed someone near him. The imp leaned closer to him, one hand behind her back, the other coyly twirling a strand of her ebony hair. She gave him an alluring smile, and I was too far away to understand what she was saying. I frowned, but watched warily as Striker pushed himself off the fence and straightened his back. The female imp's smile grew wider, and she slipped a hand under his jacket, her tail excitedly whipping back and forth behind her.

A bolt of angry jealousy surged through me, and I started toward them at a faster pace — then stopped when Striker pushed her arm away with the back of his hand.

"Young lady, I already told you I'm not interested," he said with a slight edge in his voice. "Now if you don't quit gettin' so handsy, you gonna lose that pretty head o' hair of yours."

The imp's grin dissolved at his words, her eyes briefly falling to me. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she stomped away from him, not-so-subtly shoving her shoulder into mine as she passed by me.

Striker turned his head when she walked away, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of me standing tentatively behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. After a moment, he let out a small sigh and approached me.

"I don't know how much of that you heard, darlin'," he started, stepping directly in front of me. "But she was comin' onto me. I wasn't buyin' her shit — "

"I know," I said quietly. "I heard you tell her no."

"I did," he reiterated. "Several times. But she wouldn't get the damn message. I was tryin' to be civil, but she was gettin' me to the point where I was about to fuckin' snatch her baldheaded."

I bit my lip, directing my gaze at a spot on the ground.

"(Y/N)," he said in a much gentler tone. "Will you look at me?"

Slowly, I shifted my eyes back up to him, struggling to read the expression on his face.

"I'm askin' you to trust me, darlin'." He lifted the brim of the hat on my head with his index finger, fixing me with a softened gaze. "I'm not interested in anybody else. I don't care to have anybody but you."

I looked away, focusing on the fence behind him, and apprehensively wrung my hands together. "I just . . . I-I'm not — "

"(Y/N)." Striker took the brim between his fingers and pulled his hat completely off my head, gingerly taking my jaw in his hand. "I know what you're doin'. Get outta your head." His thumb briefly stroked my cheek before he released me and placed the hat back on my head. "All that worryin' ain't gonna help with your healin', now is it?"

A small half-smile tugged at my lips, and I reached out and gave his shoulder a light shove.

He chuckled at my actions, turning toward the concessions stand and taking hold of my wrist. "Alright, darlin'. Let's grab some food 'fore I have to get back. I gotta get some protein in me if I'm gonna win that prize money for ya'."