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

124. Forgiven

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"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

— Edgar Allen Poe

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"Easy, darlin'," Striker said as he wrapped an arm around my waist and helped me up the last few steps. "Little bit more."

I flashed him a reassuring smile and pushed myself up the final step. "I'm okay, honey," I replied, holding a hand over my belly. "It's not like it was when you brought me home from the hospital."

"I know," he said softly, grabbing his spare key out of his pocket and unlocking my apartment door. He ushered me inside first, then entered behind me and closed the door, promptly removing his boots and taking his revolver out of the waistband of his blue jeans.

I dropped my purse on the back of the couch near us and eyed the skimpy bandage I'd hurriedly placed over the gash on Striker's arm. The wound had still bled for a good while after I'd dressed it, and a thick layer of inky black stained most of his forearm and hand. "We need to get that cleaned up," I said, kicking off my shoes and taking his uninjured hand. "Come on."

We went to the bathroom, where I spent about twenty solid minutes scrubbing the dried blood off his skin before I could even begin tending to his wound. After every speck of black was washed off his arm, I poured a generous amount of rubbing alcohol on a piece of gauze and told him, "This might sting a little."

I saw Striker's lips curl downward into a small frown as I dabbed the wet gauze across the open gash, but he said nothing. He watched me clean and disinfect his wound, his bright eyes calmly following my hands while they carefully wrapped his arm in a clean roll of gauze and secured it with a few pieces of tape.

"Looks like you're going to have yet another scar," I thought aloud, tossing the leftover supplies back in the basket on the bathroom counter.

Striker leaned down and pressed his lips to the crown of my head, looking at me through our reflections in the mirror. "This is nothin', darlin'," he said with a half-smile. "What's another scar out of a hundred?"

I lifted my head to meet his eyes. "I was worried," I said to him. "I couldn't help but wonder if she was going to take her anger out on you." I shook my head, looking down at our feet. "Or that you'd actually left . . . I don't know. . ."

"Woman, if you think I'd leave you to travel all the way back here by yourself in the middle of the night, you've done lost your mind." He gingerly took my face in his hands, planting a long, tender kiss on my forehead. "There ain't a chance in all o' hell that I'd just leave you to fend for yourself, not anymore."

I craned my head upward, standing on my tiptoes, and he obliged me, letting out a low chuckle and pressing his lips to mine. He was gentle at first, but as I snaked my arms around his neck, he began to kiss me more longingly, tilting his head slightly to the side and parting his lips to slide his tongue into my mouth. Our tongues danced together for a moment before he pulled away to leave a string of kisses down my neck.

He snickered to himself. "I meant to tell you earlier," he murmured into the crook of my neck, inhaling slowly. "But you smell so good tonight, darlin'."

A satisfied grin tugged at my lips. "Thanks, hon," I said. "It's a new perfume Angel gave me. It's supposed to interact with your pheromones to enhance your natural scent—or, at least, that's what he told me."

A low, contented hum rumbled in his chest as he began nibbling at my skin. "It's a keeper, for sure."

"Yeah?"