Page 89 of Striker’s Rebel

Munn tried to bury them once and almost succeeded.

This time he tried to kill the man who could expose him, use the club’s whiskey to do it, then let Grim and Striker’s history finish the frame job for him.

Except Jamie talked.

The club found the bottles.

Vale lived.

And Colonel Adrian Munn is standing in Striker’s yard with Riot holding one arm and Hound holding the other.

Grim jerks his chin toward Munn.

“We’ll handle him.”

Riot and Hound drag him toward the waiting truck, and the others follow.

A few minutes later, the clearing goes quiet.

Striker still hasn’t let go of me.

I look down at his hand against my back.

It’s shaking.

“You were scared.”

His jaw flexes.

“Yeah.”

No joke. No denial.

Just the truth.

“I thought I was gonna get here too late.”

“You didn’t.”

His eyes close for a second.

When they open again, whatever usually keeps him guarded isn’t there.

“I love you.”

Everything inside me goes quiet.

“I love you, June.”

My throat tightens.

“I love you too.”

His forehead rests against mine, and for a few seconds neither of us says anything.

Then his fingers close around mine.

“I never had much of a family. Never knew my father. My mother left. Then the Army went to hell.”