Strikers by Ann Christy Read Free Book Online Page A

Oaks.”
    He nods while I talk and then reaches out to stroke my hair and cup my face. He smiles like he’s happy, which is odd since he’ll probably be dead in twenty-four hours. Maybe less. But the smile is warm and contagious and I can’t help but return it.
    “It’s a long way. Don’t give up,” he says. Tears well up in his eyes again and he grips the back of my head and runs his thumb across my cheek. His voice is hoarse when he says, “I never would have left you had I known what would happen. I had no choice at the time. You were a baby.”
    This explanation is not enough for the younger version of me that hid on the roof in the rain while my mother rampaged around the house beneath me looking to break a bottle on my head. It’s not enough for the part of me that sleeps lightly or not at all even now when she gets mean or has to clean up the house because it would never get done otherwise.
    But for the part of me that’s starting to realize that life is complicated and generally sucky, it’s almost understandable. I can’t imagine trying to go Striker with a baby in tow. Getting through the dry lands, the wild lands and every person that lies between the border and Bailar is hard for a person who’s fit and well prepared.
    Striking with a baby would be an invitation for the baby to die. Probably for both people to die and if not, then most certainly get caught. Only the most desperate would try it. Someone who thought their baby would be loved and cared for by its mother wouldn’t risk it. I guess I never thought about whether or not my father would have taken me with him when he went Striker. I just sort of assumed he abandoned my mom and me. That he didn’t makes me want to cry again.
    I nod at him because that thickness is building up in my chest again. He has such kind eyes, though they are pulled down with sadness. He doesn’t look like a bad man. He looks like a farmer or a cattle worker or any other sort of hard-working man. Rough hands, sun-worn skin and a lean body from working more than he eats is what I see in front of me. I wonder what he sees.
    “I love you, Karas,” he says. “I never went a single day without thinking of you and wishing I could see you. I came as soon as I knew.”
    “You came back for me,” I answer. It’s all I can say, but it means so much. Only real love would make him do this, risk this.
    Before we say anything more, Jovan and Connor barge down the hallway and Jovan grabs my arm roughly. I sense my father stiffen at the move but I don’t have time to deal with it.
    “Talk sense into him, Karas,” Jovan hisses into my face.
    “I’m not leaving without Maddix,” Connor says.

Chapter Seven
    Connor looks adamant and he’s not even bothering to whisper. This is not good. More of the men are awake and they are certainly paying close attention to what’s going on in their midst. I gape at the two of them like a fish out of water for a moment, then yank my arm out of Jovan’s grasp.
    “We can’t do that, Connor,” I say, then jerk my thumb at Jovan. “They’ll know it was him.”
    “So,” Connor says, crossing his arms across his chest, a mulish look spreading across his face. “It’s one strike for him. But it’s my brother’s life. And your father’s.”
    He’s not thinking clearly. I never should have tried this. Or if I did, I should have left Connor out of it. Now it’s my turn to grab an arm and I do, gripping so hard I know it will leave a mark. He winces but I have his attention.
    “No, it’s not a strike,” I say and count off for him, raising a finger for each strike I can think of. “He came in with intent to commit a crime, he broke me in, broke you in. That’s three.”
    I can see Connor is getting it so I keep on counting. “And if he breaks out your brother and my father…” I let the sentence hang and allow the handful of fingers I’m holding up do the rest of the talking.
    Connor looks back at his brother. Maddix shakes