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

83. Jawbone

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Author's Note: This chapter contains mild gore and violent content that may be disturbing or troubling for some readers. Please proceed with caution.

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"Glad ya' didn't have to share your title again this year?"

Striker lifted his head to see a familiar imp approaching him, her hands in her baggy overalls pockets and a grin on her round face.

"So, you did make it in time to see," he remarked as he slipped his case into one of Bombproof's saddlebags.

Miss Daisy shrugged. "I saw round four and the end o' round three," she replied, then added teasingly, "You're gettin' rusty in your old age."

"Whatchu' want, Miss Daisy?" he said playfully.

"Now, baby, you know better than to be actin' ugly to the person handlin' your food." Daisy removed her hands from her pockets, extracting two pint-sized jars of preserves and holding them out for Striker. "Some fig preserves for you and muscadine jelly for your girl."

Striker half-smiled and accepted the jars, placing them in a saddlebag before pulling out a slim stack of hellbucks to give her.

Daisy shook her head, gently pushing the money in his hand back toward him. "You don't owe me nothin', baby. (Y/N) already paid for both of 'em."

He let out an exasperated sigh and stuffed the cash back in his pocket. "I told her I'd pay for mine. She needs to be savin' money right now."

"Well then, you can pay her back with what you were gonna give me."

The two perked up when they heard a very brief incoherent scream coming from the fairgrounds, both turning their heads in the direction of the noise.

"The hell was that?" said Daisy.

Silence followed the cry, and a knot formed in the pit of Striker's stomach when the realization crept into his mind.

(Y/N).

Without another word, Striker darted past Daisy and his hellhorse back through the empty fairgrounds. His footsteps pounded heavily on the packed dirt as he ran, his heart pounding in his ribcage, and at some point, his brown sunhat had flown off his head. But fuck the hat — he paid it no heed and kept running.

Striker finally made it to the outhouses, turning the sharp corner and freezing to take a good look at what was in front of him. In the dim light, he could barely see (Y/N) lying limply on the ground; a large imp roughly grabbed her by the horn with one hand, the other curiously reaching for the Asmodean crystal hanging from her neck. A bolt of anger shot through Striker at the sight, and his tail began to rattle violently.

"Get your fuckin' hands off my woman!!" he shouted, launching himself toward the other imp with his hand raised. He swung to strike him in the face, but the imp blocked the attack with his forearm, releasing (Y/N)'s horns and hurling a closed fist at Striker.

The imp's blow hit Striker squarely in the jaw, shoving him backward a few steps. Striker hissed and lunged at him again, this time digging his claws into the imp's neck and throwing him down to the ground.

The imp pressed a hand to the side of his now bleeding neck for a moment and pushed himself to his feet. He glared back at Striker and grumbled bitterly, "Fuckin' sinner-lover. You're a disgrace to our kind, foolin' around with that little apple-eatin' bitch."

His blood boiling with rage, Striker removed his folding knife from his pocket and charged at him. The imp stumbled backward, receiving only a shallow gash on the arm from Striker's blade. Striker could see the imp's fist barreling toward him again in his peripheral, and he raised his arm to block the punch, ducking and stepping back. The other imp staggered toward Striker, but suddenly stopped mid-stride, standing stiffly for a moment before falling to the ground face-first. Striker peered behind the imp in bewilderment only to find Miss Daisy standing poised for a fight, her farrier hammer tightly clutched in her hands.