The Way I Like It (The Soldiers of Wrath MC, #5) Read Free Page B

music to his ears. He also relished the sounds of screams as he kept on with the assault.
    The man he’d thought passed out came up behind him, and using all of his weight, he pushed both of them against the wall, cracking their heads together. He didn’t stop there, landing blow after blow after blow to their faces.
    Only when he was sure they weren’t going to get up, he turned and faced the woman again. He found her crumpled on the ground. She was a full round woman, but compared to the theses motherfuckers, she was small.
    Blood coated his hands, and he wiped the remains on their shirts.
    His heart was pounding, and he was also shaking from the adrenaline. The beast inside him had grown quiet. He could clearly see the pile of men before him, and it didn’t look like they were going to get up anytime soon.
    Moving toward the woman, he saw she was now unconscious, and he released a sigh. He wasn’t going to leave her there, and he wasn’t interested in looking through her purse to see who she was and where she lived. Leaning down, he picked her up easily, and carried her out of the alleyway. Striker stood with her in his arms, hailing down a cab.
    One guy pulled up, looking really unsure.
    “I’ll pay you two hundred dollars to not ask questions and take me home.”
    The man looked at the woman.
    “Eyes to me fucker, or do you want to get mixed up in the Soldiers of Wrath?” he asked.
    The man looked at his cut, and the fear and knowledge of who Striker was associated with was clear. He instantly turned away, breaking eye contact. Climbing into the backseat, he held the woman in his arms, and told the driver where to go. Grabbing his cell, he called one of the prospects and told him where get his bike, his mind only thinking about the woman in his arms. The prospect didn’t ask questions. He wasn’t about to take this woman to the clubhouse, no matter what.
    With one arm around the mystery woman, he reached into his jacket, and pulled out several bills to pay the cab. The drive took twenty minutes, and the driver climbed out of the car to open the door. Striker didn’t say anything as he tossed the money to the man. His apartment was on the top floor, and he made his way toward the elevator with her still in his arms.
    “I should have just fucking walked away.” He glanced down at the woman in his arms. There was blood coming from the cut on her forehead, and she looked so damn helpless, bruised, and battered. A bruise was already forming across one side of her face, and her eye was swelling up. He took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head, trying to stay calm. The last thing he needed was to get angry once again. She didn’t need his rage, and it wouldn’t solve any problems, not in the slightest.
    The elevator dinged open, and he stepped out and walked toward his door. With some serious propping up action and strength, he made it into his apartment. Just as he was about to close his door, the woman in his arms started to wake: panting and moaning.
    She started moving, and he quickly walked to the couch and set her on it. She twisted on the cushions, her eyes closed, her mouth parted. She started crying out, finally opening her eyes, looking around as panic set in, and she covered her face with her hands to try to hide. Cursing, he went to reach for her, and it only made her scream more. She started pushing him away, and Striker saw the terror on her face. It twisted his gut.
    Standing still, he held his hands up in surrender, to show her he was no threat to her.
    “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”
    He kept on talking until he saw the words were getting through to her. She was still sobbing, but the tears had stopped. The silence hung in the air.
    “Where am I?”
    “I brought you back to my apartment. Do you remember what happened?”
    “I remember serving you at the diner, walking home, and then I was attacked. What happened after that?”
    “I stopped those men