Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2) (14 page)

Plus, he’s hunched over, clearly favoring bruised ribs, and limps a little, and I’m spaced out and my stomach is unhappy with me.

We’re a hot mess.

When we stagger like drunkards out into the first main street, I don’t expect to find a cab rolling down toward us, and when Hawk lifts his hand, I don’t expect it to stop.

After the past few days, I’m suspicious of anything that seems to be going our way.

But the cab is there, coming to a halt in front of us, and like in a dream, I let Hawk drag me closer. He opens the door and helps me inside, then slides in beside me, his thigh warm against mine.

“To the police station,” he says, “and I need to use your phone. This is urgent.” A beat passes. The cabbie stares at us through the rearview mirror, as if suddenly noticing our appearance.

“My phone? I dunno, man…”

“Look, I’m Jamie Hawk Fleming. We were robbed. You’ll get a huge tip for helping us out.”

Hawk holds the cabbie’s gaze until the man nods. “Fine. You do look familiar.” He swipes his cell phone from its holder by the steering wheel and passes it to Hawk. “You’d better be telling the truth.”

“I am,” Hawk mutters, taking the phone and punching in a number. “I fucking swear it. Christ.”

I put a hand on his arm, and he glances my way, his gray eyes stormy. “We’re out of there.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah.” Then he brings the cell to his ear, gripping it so tightly I swear I hear the casing creak. “Hello? Storm, that you, asshole? Yeah, I’m still alive. Yeah, okay—no, listen. Need you to meet us at the police station. I got some info, and there are guys after us, probably. And we need…” He rubs his forehead, and I want to do it for him, erase the headache born of all this stress and abuse. “We need money. And someplace safe to go afterward. Can you—? All right. Fucking awesome, man.”

He throws the cell phone on the seat beside him and leans back his head, closing his eyes.

“All good?” I ask, suddenly unsure of what I’m doing here with him. I’ve never even met his friends, but I know Storm must be Troy ‘Storm’ Jordan, of Jordan Enterprises, Developers and Investors.

I forget sometimes just who Hawk really is.

“I’m as good as can be, Doll,” he mutters, squeezing my hand again, making me feel more at ease. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

***

The trip to the police station doesn’t seem any more real than escaping the warehouse. The memories from our time there are both frighteningly vivid and vaguely surreal, like frames from a nightmarish reel.

When we stop at the station, I have to force myself to move. It’s warm in the cab, comfortable. Safe.

Not sure I’m ready to face any more adventures. I mean, give me a break. After everything that happened, the last thing I want is to walk into the police station and give a statement.

I want a shower, clean clothes, my bed. My friends. Guess I’m not ready to face the real world so soon, not yet.

But Hawk comes around to open the door for me and pulls me out, leaving me no option.

He hauls me out and into his arms, and okay, that feels good. Keeps the world at bay for a moment longer as he turns me around and walks us toward the station.

Toward someone who’s heading in our direction, a guy almost as tall as Hawk, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, in a gray suit. He’s flanked by two bodyguards in black suits, the handles of their guns jutting out of their back holsters.

He comes straight to us and grabs Hawk in a sideways man-hug, clapping his back before drawing back.

“Motherfucker. You look like shit.”

Hawk looks pleased at the description. “Feel like shit, too. Let me introduce to you my savior. Layla, this is Storm, my friend who vanished for two years and resurfaced recently. Storm, this is Layla.”

Storm’s eyes widen. “This is Hot Body?” he asks, and it’s like a cold shower.

He calls me that to his friends?
Jeez.

Hawk seems to sense my shock because he hugs me to him more tightly. “Her name’s Layla. And without her I’d be in really deep fucking shit, Storm, so be nice to her.”

So I’m the hot body he liked to fuck, and now I’m his savior.

Good to know that’s all I am. Yeah, good to clear the cobwebs and see the picture as it is. Though, like I said, I’m not ready for reality yet, and my eyes burn like fire.

“Let’s get inside. I informed the team in charge of the investigation. You give your statement, and we get the hell out of here.”

“Where’s Raylin?” Hawk asks as we enter the building. “She okay?”

“Yeah. She’s fine.” There’s a twinkle in Storm’s gaze. “You’ll see her later.”

We’re immediately whisked to a tiny, windowless room, and I feel Hawk tense against me. Heck, I’m tense myself. The confined space reminds me too much of the basement of the warehouse and all that happened down there.

Thankfully a detective arrives ten minutes later and sits down with us, bringing surprisingly good coffee in paper cups and placing a recorder on the table.

Then Hawk starts talking, and I just listen as he recounts how he planned to be kidnapped by the Organization in order to gather information about its council and the companies it controls. Apparently Hawk’s parents have refused to disclose any details about the Organization, and Hawk thought this a good way to get some info, fast.

The look the detective gives him clearly says what he thinks of this crazy plan. “I see,” he says and motions for Hawk to go on.

He tells him how I appeared out of nowhere and helped him. He seeks my hand under the table and wraps his long fingers around mine, making me forget for a while that he’s just grateful I helped him get out.

That I’m just a hot body to him, after all, and that stupidly I went and fell for him. Hey, dangerous conditions can cause feelings to form, right? Braving the odds together, life-or-death situations. That’s all. I’ll get over it.

I have to.

The detective asks me a few questions on how I entered the warehouse and about my dad. I tell him all I know, which isn’t helpful since I had no clue my dad was involved in this business before I entered the warehouse and found Hawk.

A heaviness settles on my chest. I’d managed to forget for a moment there my dad’s involvement. God, I need to talk to my mom. Not that I think she knows anything about this, but I need to hear her voice. I’m so off-balance right now it’s not even funny.

“Look, we’re really fucking exhausted,” Hawk finally says, leaning forward, his face tight. “I think we told you what really matters. We’ll be at your disposal later, but, man, we’ve been through a couple of hellish days. We need a shower. We need food and sleep. How about we call it a day?”

I’m pretty sure nobody tells detectives what to do and when to wrap up an interrogation, if this is what this is, but it seems Jamie Fleming can, because the detective just nods and gets up.

“Right. Your friend Mr. Jordan has a car waiting for you outside. We’ll escort you there.”

A shake of hands that I avoid by pressing my face into Hawk’s chest—God he feels so good, like he’s the only thing keeping me up and going—and he steers me out of the tiny room. We walk down a dark hall, and I hate how I press myself to his side, but I can’t help it.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to relax again. Not tonight, that’s for sure. I keep expecting Sandivar and his thugs to appear around the corner, looking for us, ready to drag us away.

But we reach the end and step out the side of the building. A black limo is idling by the curb, and Storm waves us in from the back, just like the detective said. There’s a driver seated behind the wheel, in a suit with brass buttons and a cap.

This is like going to the movies, like Layla Bond and her bodyguard or something, and I can’t help gaping while Hawk tugs me toward the open door.

Look I’ve never been poor. I was quite pampered all my life, in fact. Good upper-middle class family. Both Mom and Dad made good money from their jobs and could cater to most of my whims.

But this… this is something else. Having a limo and a chauffeur. Sitting down on the plush leather seat and have a small fridge slide open with refreshment drinks.

Hawk did take me in his limo once, but it was just a quick ride to the restaurant. And maybe after this trip to hell and back it all seems so much more luxurious and soft.

Or maybe Storm’s limo is better than Hawk’s? I run my hand over the seat and reach for a drink that Storm plucks out of the mini fridge for me. It’s fizzy strawberry-flavored water, I think, and I guzzle it down, barely tasting it. Hawk does the same, splashing half of it on his beard and shirt, and I want to laugh.

But I can’t. Because his hands are shaking, because he went through some awful things. Storm doesn’t even know it as he chuckles and elbows Hawk, who chokes on the flavored water and coughs.

“Hey.” I lean over Hawk’s legs and push at this Storm guy’s arm. It’s like trying to shove off a titanium beam. “Watch it.”

He blinks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Watch what?”

“He’s hurt. They beat him up and kicked him and took away his hearing aid and you have no idea…” I swallow past a knot in my throat, the images replaying in my mind in a never-ending loop. “Just… stop.”

Storm’s eyes are round as saucers. They are an electric blue, I realize, and shock shines through them loud and clear.

Then Hawk puts a hand on my shoulder and gently pulls me back until I’m pressed to his side. His arm encircles me.

“Is it true?” Storm demands, turning to Hawk, those electric blue eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you say something? Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Hawk grinds out, then he presses his mouth to my forehead, such a sweet gesture. Why is he doing this?

“They kept punching his face and kicking him in the ribs,” I whisper, and Hawk says nothing. I wonder if he heard.

Storm seems to catch on this, too, and he eyes Hawk speculatively.

“And what was that about a hearing aid?” he whispers back.

Wait, he didn’t tell them about this? Just how much has he held back from people who act like they are his family?

Hawk doesn’t lift his head, the long strands of his hair tickling my face. Because of course he hasn’t heard the question.

“Fuck,” Storm mutters fiercely and punches the partition between us and the chauffeur. “Fuck, man. Why didn’t you tell us? How did this happen?”

Hawk lifts his head, gives a slow blink. “What?”

“Nothing. We have a lot to talk about,” Storm says through gritted teeth. “As soon as we’re in a safe place.”

SEX

Layla

It was four months ago.

Hawk parked his bike at the curb and took off his helmet, his pale hair lashing across his face. He grinned as I walked up to him and climbed up behind him. His bike intimidated me.

He intimidated me.

Strong. Handsome. Rich. Successful. Why was he sticking around? I wanted to think I was getting good at sex, after all I’d had lots of practice with him—but hey, I wasn’t delusional. There had to be lots of other pretty girls out there to satisfy his needs.

And maybe he did have more girls, I thought for the millionth time as I put on the extra helmet and curled my arms around his waist, holding on to his hard stomach. Only the tabloids seemed baffled by the lack of gossip around him lately, and we met often enough it almost felt like we were dating.

An illusion. I knew that, okay? We just fucked. This sexy thing between us could end at any moment.

I tightened my hold, but soon enough we veered into a side street and stopped in front of a hotel. He always took me to hotels. Beautiful rooms, suites that had to cost a fortune, so I don’t think it was pay by the hour, but still.

I’d never seen his car. His house. His penthouse.

Though he’s a millionaire, and he’s always picked me up on his bike and we went to private boutique hotels where he proceeded to screw my brains out regularly.

Looked like that night was going to be the same, and I couldn’t deny the excitement rushing through me as he pushed the kickstand into place and waited for me to climb off his bike.

He looked at me as I straightened my jacket, a lazy smirk on his lips, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe.

He made me feel hot all over.

I followed him inside the hotel. The man at the desk placed a key in front of Hawk with a nod, and we headed to the elevators without a word.

He unlocked our room, stepped inside—and the moment I entered, he pushed me up against the wall and crushed our mouths together, kissing me silly.

He wasted no time pushing down my jeans and panties and wrapping my leg around his hip to fuck me with his fingers. Kissing me, stealing my breath as he twisted his fingers inside me expertly, stroking me hard until I came, moaning in his mouth.

Then he unzipped his pants, pulled out his rock-hard cock and fucked me right there, my head thumping against the wall, my body on fire as he threw me into another earth-shattering orgasm.

And then… then he pulled out of me and carried me to the bed where he started to undress. He shrugged off his leather jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, tearing it off his powerful shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time I saw his tattoos. For someone so loved by the tabloids, he managed never to get himself caught on camera bare-chested—although there is a photo of his muscular, naked back as he fucks a woman from more than a year back.

Lifting my hand to his chest, I touched his ink. Roses. Black roses twining over his stomach, over his pecs, thorns spreading on his side. Words, Latin probably, curling on his arms.

He pushed his pants down, and I was done for, because he’s beautiful down there, too—his muscular thighs covered in blond hairs, his narrow hips, and his large, flushed, pierced cock.

I’d touched his tattoos many times by then, I’d marveled at them but never found the courage to ask what they stood for.

But this time, long after he’d fucked me into a near-stupor, I did.

Sub rosa
, he’d whispered in reply.
Secrets hidden under the roses. Secrets I’ve never told anyone.

Never thought until now he kept his secrets from the men who are like his brothers, too. And that he told them to me.