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

150. Home

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Author's Note:

We've reached the final chapter of Come Hell or High Water. It's a bittersweet feeling to finish it after all this time. This story has truly become a labor of love, and while life and burnout definitely took a toll on my drive here and there, I enjoyed writing every line of every chapter.

I will be publishing more writing in the future set after the events of this story, but they will be in a separate book so those who haven't read CHOHW can enjoy them, too. I managed to write a fanfic with a higher word count than Moby Dick, and I don't expect everyone to read it in its entirety.

It's been a wild ride, and I thank all of you for coming along with me. It means a lot to me that this story has touched so many people—and it truly warms my heart just how many people love our sweet Miss Daisy. 

Thanks for sticking around. Enjoy the finale to Come Hell or High Water, and hopefully I'll see y'all in the next story.

Abyssinia.

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Chapter Playlist — Listen While You Read:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxEUWEc36sfCpdXG1bM5CQ8gdb6IRm6_C

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The Wrathian afternoon sun beat down on Striker as he rode Bombproof through the sandy pasture, guiding the small herd of hellhorses back to the stable. After following the final horse into the corralled timber building, he took the lasso from his belt, giving the rope a laxed twirl or two over his head before throwing it with expert precision at the stable gate. The lasso looped around the steel bar near the end of the gate, and he tugged at the reins in his other hand to nudge Bombproof to the side a few feet. He yanked the rope toward him, shutting the gate behind them with a sharp clank!

Hopping out of the saddle onto the straw-covered ground, Striker blew out a heavy sigh and sawed an arm across his forehead, his sleeve wicking away the beads of sweat that had formed on his skin. He held a hand to his belly when he felt a slight sting in his stomach, but ignored it as he locked the gate and hung the length of rope back on his hip—he was used to the chronic aches and pains by now.

Most of the hellhorses calmly entered their respective stalls once the gate was locked, so all Striker had left to do was shut each stall door and check their water troughs.

After guiding Bombproof to his stall, Striker heard the side door creak open, and he turned his head and smiled at the woman stepping into the stable.

"'Bout quittin' time, don't you think?" she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"I'd say so," he replied, removing his hat to briefly fan himself with its wide brim. "Y'just come to tell me that?"

Daisy approached him and presented him with a sealed mason jar full of an opaque pinkish substance. "Some raspberry jam for you and the missus. No charge."

"Mighty kind o' you, Miss Daisy," Striker said with a nod, accepting the gift before following her back the way she came.

She waved a hand in dismissal. "I had a surplus this year, so it really wasn't any trouble."