Page 5 of Striker’s Foul (Shiver of Chaos #3)

AMELIA

T he roadhouse was so busy tonight. I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off, putting out every little fire.

Nights like this happen, but tonight was almost too much.

To make matters worse, I got a call from Red Dirt Roadhouse about someone trying to break in. I don’t know what’s going on.

After my shower, I climb into bed, but even though I’m exhausted, I toss and turn.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I last saw Striker.

He just watches us but won’t come talk to me.

I’m sure he’s figured it out. Besides that, Julian and I still haven’t spoken.

It’s hard not having anyone to bounce ideas off of.

Of course, I wouldn’t talk to Julian about my feelings for Striker.

I finally settle, and my mind wanders.

“Why me?” he asked in his growly voice.

A shiver rolled through me. My body was already on fire for him.

“Because I love you. And because of this.” I held up the simple band with a very small gemstone. It was nothing flashy or expensive, but it was perfect—exactly what I wanted.

When Luke got on his knee and proposed to me tonight, it was more than I could have wished for.

We’d only been dating for twenty days, but it felt like the natural next step for us.

He was shocked I wanted to give him my virginity, but it was his first time too.

We had both saved ourselves for each other.

His hand slid up the side of my naked body as he wedged himself between my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist, opening up to him. His cock kissed my entrance. I was scared he wouldn’t fit. But I knew I was made for him, just like he was made for me.

“This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” He pressed in, not stopping until he was completely seated deep inside me. A tear rolled down my face, and he scooped it up with his finger. “I love you always, Amelia. You’re my one and only. There will never be another for me.”

“Luke, I only ever want you. I want to be your wife. I’ll be the Victoria to your Beckham.” I couldn’t believe I made a joke at that moment.

“That’s why I love you, angel. You’re perfect for me.”

He slowly made love to me until we both came, moaning, trying to keep quiet so my dad didn’t know what we were doing or that he’d sneaked into my room.

I come awake, clutching at the sheets, my body writhing, needing a release.

I’m so turned on from the dream it hurts.

I reach down and take care of myself. Luke and I made love several times without using protection when we should’ve.

I don’t regret having my son, but we should have been more careful.

A ll day I’ve felt off, and now I know why. Jude isn’t playing very well, and he’s frustrated. The team is on their halftime break, and the coach is railing at them for being distracted.

“He’s not watching the players’ cues,” Luke says from behind me.

I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn around, my hands going to my hips and my foot stomping.

“Why are you following us? Can’t you leave us alone like you did for so many years? Striker, I know Jude is stressed out because I am. If you leave us alone?—”

Luke pulls me into his body. “You don’t call me Striker. I’m Luke and always will be to you, angel.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Hey, get your hands off my mom.” Jude rushes over. He shoves Luke, who doesn’t budge but lets me go so Jude doesn’t hurt me.

“He drops his shoulder to the side, he’s going to fake too.

Watch him, and you’ll get past him. He has tells.

So does the goalie. His eyes flick in the direction he thinks you’re going to kick, and you do it every time.

Get out of your head and you’ll win this one.

” Luke leans down as he gives Jude the advice.

“Like you know anything about soccer. Just because you knocked up my mom, that doesn’t mean you know me or what I like to do.”

“I’m not called Striker for anything other than that was my position. Ask your coach.” Luke steps back, and Jude looks between us.

“You knew he played soccer?” Jude’s voice sounds hurt, and I have to fix this fast.

“I did. I wasn’t going to get you involved, but you liked it so much. Don’t worry about that. Go play your game.”

He nods at me, then stops to look at Luke. He nods again before he rushes over to his coach. When the coach gets animated, I know Jude is asking about Luke. Soon after, Jude dashes back onto the field.

Luke stays by my side as we watch our son play a better second half.

He listens to what Luke told him and uses the players against themselves.

When Jude scores the winning goal, I’m so excited that I turn and jump into Luke’s arms. He spins me around as he cheers too.

Once I’m back on my feet, I feel the awkwardness and step back.

“Thank you for talking to him.”

“It’s not just a game of skill; it’s a game of the mind too. Like chess.”

“You always said that.”

“Kid’s got natural talent. He’ll be fine.”

I nod, and Luke walks off while Jude rushes over.

“Thank you, Striker,” he hollers at him, and Luke just holds up a hand as he continues to his bike.

I don’t know why he’s keeping his distance, except for the fact that I asked him to stay away.

“Mom, my coach said that Striker was on the Olympic team and was going to the Cup but gave it all up. Was it because of you or me?” Jude asks as we drive home.

“I don’t know why.” I sigh. I don’t know why he never went. He had a promising career ahead of him, but instead, he joined the Army.

We get to the roadhouse, and I send Jude up to shower. I tell him I’ll have Leticia drop off his food, then he has to go to bed.

I work around the floor, getting everyone settled or helping where I can.

“You’re Amelia Pierceson,” a woman says from a nearby table.

I stop. It’s been a long time since I was called that. After Harold disowned me, I took my mother’s maiden name at her insistence.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I recognize you.”

She holds up her phone. On the screen is an image of Jude and me from around town a couple days ago. Under the photo is my old name, and they’re calling Jude an unnamed child.

I hand her back her phone, trying to keep my hand steady. I head to the kitchen to hide out with Alessa while I pull up the article on my phone.

“What’s up, boss?” she asks as she cuts up the brisket for tonight’s special.

“A whole bunch of bullshit,” I tell her, then read the article out loud.

It states I ran away from home, got pregnant, and went to prison for drug possession. Says my son was raised by my family. I’m so pissed at the blatant lies. There’s nothing about me owning the roadhouse, finishing high school with a newborn, or having a college degree.

“Damn, that sucks. It’s not true.”

“The press doesn’t have to tell the truth. If they did, this country might be a better place.”

I slam my phone down on the counter and decide to help out at the bar. I could use a drink, but I’ll wait until we’re closed and take one from my own personal stash. I never touch the stock.

B y the time I get the roadhouse empty and partially cleaned, leaving the rest for the cleaners in the morning, I’m exhausted. I decide not to have that shot after all. Maybe hindsight is telling me I made the right call when I sense movement behind me and hear a scraping sound.

I turn just in time to see a chair coming at me.

Moving fast, I slide into my attacker’s body and grab his elbow.

Using the training Julian had me take, I slam the base of my palm into his chin.

He groans and drops the chair. With both hands free, I box his ears hard, clapping my hands against the sides of his head. He cries out and stumbles back.

I scream, hoping the alarms will pick it up even though I haven’t triggered them yet. The system has a loud noise alarm, but it’s not very sensitive in the busy roadhouse.

The attacker lunges for me, but I twist to the side. I’m about to run for the panic alarm when I hear barking and know Jude is coming with Blaze. Fear for them both pushes me to react instead of flee. I spin around and punch the attacker. He gasps for air, then comes at me again.

“Mom!”

I turn toward my son and miss the hit coming at me. It connects with my cheek, and I scream as pain explodes across my face.

“Astros,” I yell our code word, and the panic alarm engages.

My attacker comes at me again as the alarm blares around us. He isn’t fazed, and that bothers me. Maybe he doesn’t realize the alarm connects not only to the police but also to Julian’s security company.

“You should’ve never come home, whore,” he growls as he reaches for my throat.

This time, I ignore Jude screaming. I raise my arms between us and bring them down hard on his elbows. When they fall away, I slam my palms against his ears again, then jab at his nose. He cries out with each strike and turns to flee, but he’s slow. Blaze leaps forward and attacks.

The guy tries to kick him, but Jude jumps in.

Jude blocks a punch aimed at his head and counters with an upper elbow to the attacker’s chin. Then my son pulls the ultimate move. He steps back and delivers a well-placed kick to the groin that would have been a goal in soccer. The guy crumples and passes out. Jude rushes to me.

“Get something to secure him before you check on me,” I say.

Jude runs behind the bar and returns with duct tape.

Striker

M y phone goes off, and I roll over to grab it. “What the fuck do you want?” I mutter, knowing it’s Commander from the ringtone.

“The panic alarm just went off at the roadhouse.” That’s all he says before the call cuts off.

I shoot upright and dial Gambit.

“My family is under attack,” I tell him when he answers.

“On my way.”

I know by the time I get downstairs, my brothers will be there for me.