Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2) (7 page)

Another growl rumbles from my throat while I fuck her hard, harder than ever, my balls slapping her pert ass, my hand tightening around her throat. She squirms and fights for breath, and I allow her a few gasps before I clamp down my hand again.

“I deal with the Chinese mafia,” I tell her, “I turned in my parents for a chance to make the Fleming Empire greater. They were soft. They didn’t have the guts to take risks. Oh fuck…” My teeth are gritting. My dick is twitching, the pressure behind my balls hot and heavy. My body bows with my approaching release. “You
will
leave, and let me. Do. My. Job.”

The pressure crests, and I hover for an endless moment on the razor-sharp edge between pain and pleasure. Then it breaks, and it’s all I can do not to howl as I come hard, spilling inside her warmth.

Fuck me.

The room darkens in my eyes, tilts. Releasing her throat, I pull my dick out of her quickly, while I still can. A second later my arm bends, and I do my best to roll to the side, not to crush her.

The world vanishes, and I float in blackness. Weightless. Pain-free. Carefree.

Done.

It’s a relief. I feel that I’ve been running toward the finish line all my life, only to find it was never there.

***

When the world returns, my head is resting on something soft and warm. It smells familiar, smells good, like flowers and sugar and the musk of sex.

Like my girl.

No, fuck, no, I’m all confused. I have no girl. Just Hot Body.

Haven’t had a girl since I was fifteen and realized my dad dealt with dangerous men. Since he started walking around with bodyguards, and I was forced to do the same, since one of my schoolmates was taken and badly beaten to give information about our house and the location of certain documents.

Since I figured out that anyone who came too close to me could get hurt.

That was when I was sent to live with my grandfather and was assigned a tutor. When I learned how to fix and ride motorcycles, cook meals and mend socks and clean. How to be a human being.

Slender fingers comb through my hair, and I flinch. The fingers still, then move again, stroking the hair out of my face.

Hell, this feels nice, like a distant memory. Did my mom do that when I was little? Feels like centuries since I was a kid.

And then finally my brain catches up with everything, and I lift my head from Hot Body’s lap.

“Fuck. You’re still here.” Groaning, I push myself to a sitting position and rub a hand over my face. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

After what I did. After doing my best to hurt you.

She shakes her head and gathers in her long legs to hug her knees. “You passed out. I wasn’t leaving you like that.”

“Yeah, you should have.” But something hot is worming its way into my chest. If I let it, it can break me to pieces.

“You. Bastard.” She sniffs and gets to her feet, glowering down at me. “Fuck you. I don’t answer to you.”

Ah yes.
All fire. Always liked that about her. “Don’t be stupid, girl. This is for your own good.”

“Don’t patronize me. As if you know what you’re doing, dealing with gangsters.” She lifts her chin in challenge, and hell, she’s right. “I’m going. Waste your life, if that’s what you want. Destroy other people’s dreams. I thought you were a decent human being. I was wrong. I’ll never forgive you for this.”

There. Mission accomplished. She hates me.

It shouldn’t sting so much, now, should it? It’s good that she will go, get to safety, get herself out of this nest of vipers I was born into.

Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have fucked her the first time we met. She’s a nice girl, innocent. She’s a goddamn college student, her attention divided between her classes and having fun with her friends.

But when I saw her that night, crying after that asshole of a boyfriend had broken up with her while on the arm of another woman, well…

She had fire in her, even then. And she was so damn pretty. I couldn’t look, couldn’t walk away.

So here we are because of that decision, a decision I made over and over, every time we met. Because she’s hot. And warm. Because the thought of her makes me smile, makes my body hard and eager.

Because I like her.

And that’s something I need to forget about, like every time.

Layla

Douchebag.
I thought I knew enough about him to care if he lives or dies, but there you go. He’s right. I’m stupid.

Stupid to think a man like Hawk—oh, excuse me, Jamie Fleming, heir to the Fleming Empire, millionaire, and notorious bad boy, could be a good guy.

A guy who flirts with the mafia. A guy who’d turn in his own folks to become the top dog.

That’s not the guy who took care of me when my asshole boyfriend cheated on me and dumped me.

He never was that guy. Dodo was right when she said I should cut loose and run. That guys like him are sharks and only care about some fun and then leave you. Not that she said it in those precise words, but she did say millionaires can’t be trusted.

And I… I always sort of hoped he’d change his mind about this thing between us. That he’d decide he wanted more. More of me.

Guess not. Ten points for Dodo.

Zero for Layla.

Could never have guessed he’d call me an idiot, tell me to get out just like my dad had.

God, my dad…

Yeah, Hawk told me to get out and then fucked me raw, not even trying to get me off. Not seeming to care whether he hurt me or not. Whether he was forcing me or not.

To be fair, he wasn’t. I wanted it, wanted him, like every time. I didn’t even try to push him away, or tell him to stop.

Guess I was in shock. Guess I hoped he’d return the favor after he came.

But then he collapsed and God, he scared the bejesus out of me. I was so worried. So worried because this isn’t like him—but I was wrong to think I knew him.

So wrong.

I straighten my borrowed clothes. What a joke, that I was concerned about him, that I swapped personalities with Dorothy to sneak in here, meaning to help him when he obviously is right where he wants to be and has everything under control.

Well, fine, then.

He’s still sitting on the floor, long hair hiding his face, his gray pants dusty and splattered with blood. What need does a millionaire have for more power? A young, handsome millionaire with his whole future in front of him?

Jesus.
Some people are blind to what is right in front of them. He’s throwing his frigging life away for this crap.

And it feels good to be mad. It takes my mind away from other stuff.

Like Dad.

How could he? How could he get involved in this filth? Talk about being blind to what you have. About throwing it all away, and for what?

Okay, breathe in, Layla. Breathe in, breathe out, and walk away. That’s what Hawk wants. And that’s what you should do.

Maybe I should finally take the leap and move to New York, with Mom. At least she’s not involved in illegal crap, as far as I know.

He’s watching me. I can tell without even looking. I can feel his eyes on me, a hot touch.

I grab my purse and push hair out of my eyes. I feel hot tears in the back of my throat, but I tell myself it’s the anger, and the shock.

What a day.

I open my mouth for the parting shot—and it needs to be something memorable and suitably dramatic, like, “Fuck you, douchebag,” or even, “Eat shit and die, asshole.”

But I’m at a loss for words. The best comebacks are never there when you need them. I’ll probably have a better line tomorrow, when it’ll be too frigging late to deliver it to this dickbag.

But noise from behind me stops the words on my tongue.

The door. The door is opening.

With a heartfelt curse, I sprint toward my hiding place behind the stacks of crates and huddle down as the door swings open.

***

“Your Boss said he’d come back tomorrow, so what the fuck d’you want?” Hawk drawls, pulling himself to a kneeling position. He glares at the goons approaching him through his hair but doesn’t move.

Why doesn’t he stand up?

“Miss me, cocksucker?” The massive one of the two thugs crouches down to Hawk’s level and grins. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you. I knew you’d be sad without me.”

“You should learn to control your urges,” Hawk mutters.

“Is that why your zipper is down? Been jerking off, have you?” He leans in. “Did I say you were allowed to?”

Cold slithers down my spine.

Crap.

“You’re not in charge here, freak.” Hawk lifts his head and the look in his blue eyes would put an arctic winter to shame.

The effect of his words is startling. One second the beefy guy is crouching there, the next he’s bowling into Hawk, punching him.

Oh my God.

The other thug glances between the fight and the door. “Hell, Johnny, keep it down this time. We’re gonna get into trouble.”

I glance at the double door opening to the staircase, too, but it stays closed. Two metal containers sit beside it, often used as seats for the workers to rest.

God, it feels so weird to be in this place I know so well with this drama unfolding before me.

Because Johnny pulls back, licking blood from his lips, shoving Hawk back to sprawl on the floor.

Holy frigging crap.
I may be mad at Hawk, but my chest tightens when he grunts and curls in, cradling his ribs, more blood running down his face.

How can he want this? I never understood the appeal of power, and this… this is sick.

Even more so when a hoarse sound rings out, and I realize it’s him.

He’s laughing.

I press my hand to my mouth to muffle a gasp. That’s it, he’s gone crazy.

“Not very obedient, are you, Johnny? I bet Mr. Sullivan won’t like it. Was your fun with me worth it?”

“Mr. Sullivan? His name’s Sandivar, you idiot. If you don’t even—”

“Johnny, goddammit, shut your mouth and let’s go.” The other guy is getting nervous, but Hawk isn’t done.

“Sandivar, that’s right. And he holds the throne of the Organization.”

“That’s not him, that’s—”

“Johnny! Jesus fucking Christ, man, let’s go!”

Johnny mutters something, then spits at Hawk. “Do you know how I enjoyed it when the Boss crushed your earpiece? Almost came in my pants. I should’ve blindfolded you again. See how cocky you’d be, deaf and dumb as you are. See if you could read my lips then.”

A stillness falls over Hawk even as I try to process what was said.

Then he launches himself at the two thugs, snarling like a savage animal, hair flying, fists raised. He punches and kicks, until they shove him off and this time when he falls to the floor, he cries out, and my heart just about stops.

“Stay down, motherfucker,” the leaner thug warns, grabs Johnny’s arm and hauls him away. “And you, enough. Jesus fuck.”

I watch them go in a daze.

Okay, back up. What was that about? Come on, Hawk is
deaf
?

He can’t be. Definitely can’t be. He was talking to them, talking to me. And hey, I’ve been going out with the guy for months. Sleeping with him. Wouldn’t I have noticed if he couldn’t hear?

Maybe I’m the one going crazy…

***

Should I go to him?

I’ve been watching him struggling to sit up for the past five minutes. I’m still mad at him. Really pissing mad for fucking me without caring for my pleasure. That was deliberate. He didn’t even try to make it good for me.

He’s never done anything like this before. He’s always put my pleasure first. Goes to show how little I know him.

I should stalk upstairs to the bathroom, slip out the window the way I came and leave when I’m sure nobody’s around. And then… then I’ll decide what to do.

Decide how I’ll ever be able to ignore everything I’ve seen and heard, everything I found out.

The fact that Hawk is a criminal, and an asshole.

All this should be more than enough to send me running the other way, and still I’m huddled in my hiding place, observing him.

He needs my help.

No, he doesn’t.

He can’t hear me.

Or can he?

I bite my lip and shift. The sweat is drying on my skin, and it’s cold.

Hawk finally sits up, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. One side of his face is swelling up fast, darkening with a spectacular bruise, and I wince in sympathy.

No, Layla.
You can’t have sympathy for this prick. Not anymore. He made his choices, and he’s a big boy.

Let go.

Leave him.

I pull myself to my feet, and ow, my legs are cramped. My knees barely hold as I straighten.

Keeping an ear out for the thugs returning, I trudge toward the double door to the stairs and my path to freedom, passing directly behind Hawk to do so.

He doesn’t turn to look at me.

Fine. I’m not in the mood for a dramatic exit anymore. I’m sick and tired of this mess I should never have gotten myself into.

The door isn’t far.

So it makes perfect sense that I should stumble on the only obstacle on the entire basement floor—a wooden plank—and faceplant.

Ouch.

My purse goes flying, crashing against a metal crate, and it bursts open, spilling my wallet, and coins go rolling.

I’m okay. I’m okay. Only skinned my elbow and my palms a little.

But I stay sitting—not because of the shock of my fall or the pain, no. Not that.

It’s Hawk. He’s got his back to me and hasn’t turned to see what the noise was.

He’s probably ignoring me, I tell myself. He wants me out of here. He doesn’t care if I break my neck, doesn’t give a damn whether I’m okay or not.

“Fucking plan,” he mutters. “You’re so brilliant.”

Huh.
Is he talking to me?

“So fucking brilliant, Hawk,” he goes on, his voice rising and falling. “Got yourself into this goddamn mess. But it wasn’t for nothing, dammit. You rattled him. Just need a bit more…”

What is he talking about?

“Hey, Hawk,” I mutter, and I mean, I’m pretty close to him. He’s close enough I can see the flecks of dried blood on his shirt and the fresh ones. I can see the muscles bunching in his arm as he pushes himself up and climbs unsteadily to his feet.