Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2) (8 page)

“Storm said it wouldn’t work, but what does he know, right?” He waves a hand in the air, clenches it into a fist and sighs. “Goddammit, she has to make it out safely. Has to. I couldn’t fucking bear it…”

Is he referring to me?

Something warm unfurls in my heart.

“Hawk,” I say again, quietly, but come on, there’s no other sound in the whole basement.

And still he doesn’t turn. He tucks his hair behind his ears, wraps an arm around his middle, and limps toward the tray of food that’s left on the floor.

My heart pounding in my head, I get back on my feet, wincing only slightly, and take a step toward him. Then another, and another, until I touch his arm.

“Fuck!” He whirls around and stumbles backward, a fist cocked back, ready to fly. His eyes are round like saucers. “What the hell? Didn’t you leave?”

“Hawk.” I lift my hands and step back, too, incredulous.

The shock on his face is genuine.

He didn’t hear me.

Oh my God, it’s true. He can’t hear. Or can’t hear well?

And that’s just one of the things I’ve figured out in the past five minutes.

The other is that I should trust my instincts.

Hawk is hiding something. He’s here for a reason other than what he says, and I’m not done here—or with him—yet.

***

“Since when have you had trouble hearing?” I shove him gently back down to the floor, and he lets me, his eyes wide. “Is it why you’ve let your hair grow so long? To hide the hearing aid?”

He says nothing, his mouth flattening, eyes sparking with annoyance.

Ah.
So I’m right. I need to get to the bottom of this—and I’m not just talking about the deafness matter.

“You let it grow. Didn’t cut it after that accident you had with the motorcycle. You said you weren’t hurt. Hawk…”

He frowns when I settle beside him and give him the tray. If this is the first food he was given in God knows how many days, he has to be starving—but he glares at the bowl of some sort of stew, long gone cold, and clutches the sides of the tray.

“Why is it a big secret?” I press on. “Why can’t you just—”

“I hit my head.” His words drop between us like stones. “Wasn’t too bad. But I’d already lost some hearing years back. When I lived with my grandfather, some sort of viral infection, and now it got worse. But I’m not deaf, okay? I can still hear.”

“I know, so what’s the big deal? Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

He shrugs and winces. “Wasn’t important.”

Yeah, right.
I want to grab his shoulders and shake him until he opens up at last and tells me some truths, but I’m not sure it will help right now.

“What plan were you talking about earlier?”

His back stiffens and under the grime and blood, his face turns a sickly white. “Dunno what you mean.”

“The plan Storm told you wouldn’t work.”

He grabs the spoon for the tray and digs it into the stew. “Still dunno.”

Stubborn, I think, watching him as he forces spoonful after spoonful down, his eyes tracking something I can’t see. But I knew that already.

Hadn’t realized just how stubborn.

“Fine,” I finally say while he chews and swallows. “You don’t know anything about this plan Storm rejected. Also, you don’t want to talk to me, and you don’t want me here. I hear you loud and clear.”

And oops, bad choice of words, but too late.

He pauses, spoon in the bowl, and a muscle jumps in his bearded jaw. “That’s right.”

“So I’m just gonna be on my way.”

“Yeah. You should.”

I cock my head at him. “Unless you want to share this plan. And could use some help with it. You know, to avoid getting your head bashed in again. And your ribs kicked in.”

And the image shouldn’t make me catch my breath in sympathetic pain, but it does.

“All right,” I mutter. “Fine. I’m leaving.”

He lifts his head, his eyes narrowing to pale blue slits. “Are you?”

Yeah, I guess the turnabout is kind of sudden. “Yes, I am. Since you have it all under control, and you are where you want to be. The best place to gain power over a huge illegal organization for which you turned in your parents and all. Yeah, I’ll go and leave you to it. I’ll get out of your hair.”

It’s funny how he stares at me, slack-jawed, as I pick myself up from the floor and go to collect the spilled coins, stuffing them back into my wallet, and grab my purse. I sling my purse over one arm and wave at him jauntily.

“See? I’m leaving you in peace.” I smile, all fake brightness. “I’m guessing I won’t be seeing you again. A pity. You weren’t a bad fuck.”

Ah.
Sometimes I do get the dramatic parting shot right, don’t I?

A darkness flashes through his clear gaze, and for a moment I pause, my smile dropping—because it doesn’t look like anger, but rather like despair, like raw and naked fear and misery—but then it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared, leaving me reeling.

“Don’t even think about calling anyone,” he says. “Or the police.”

“I know.” If I do, chances are these people will kill him. Can’t risk it, and they wouldn’t listen to me anyway.

He nods. “Take care, Layla,” he says, his voice barely audible.

Something niggles at me as I cast him one last look and make my way to the stairs. I’m already halfway there when it hits me:

He said my name. For the first time since I introduced myself to him, he actually said my name.

I stop, turn around. He’s put the tray down and has his face in his hands.

Oh God.
I shouldn’t have turned. Forcing myself not to walk back to him and put my arms around him is tearing me apart. I don’t understand why I have tears in my eyes.

Never thought he could so easily break my heart to pieces.

Hawk

She was here, and now she’s gone again, and fuck, I wish she hadn’t come at all. I didn’t feel so alone before.

Dammit.
Shut the fuck up, brain. It’s good she left. I just hope to God she makes it out of this place safely and gets back to her quiet, simple life. A life that’s not mixed up with criminals and gangsters, like mine.

I’m used to it. Had many years to digest the concept.

I shouldn’t get used to her presence so easily. To the gentleness of her touch. Her concern.

Nothing to be concerned about. She thinks I didn’t expect this. That I wasn’t prepared.

She’s wrong.

I just didn’t expect her to be a part of it. But it doesn’t matter. She’s just a hot body. She doesn’t matter to me.

She doesn’t.

I repeat this to myself, force myself to believe it as I curl up as best I can for the night. It doesn’t matter she’s still wearing the bracelet I gave her, that she stuck around to make sure I was okay, that she believed even for a moment I’m a good guy.

My head is pounding, my heart is hammering, but exhaustion is dragging me under. I’ve been missing now three days… right? Time has sort of blurred, the hours stretching, day blending into night. I have one name. The Boss, if that’s who he really is.

Is it enough? I could run after her, ask her to call someone, anyone. Call the police, call my friends. Get me out this hell.

Tomorrow I could move things along faster, tell the Boss I’ll do whatever he wants and get a phone call. One phone call to any of my lawyers or admin staff will be enough for me to give the signal that I need rescue.

But I know it’s not enough. If I last one more day, get more info… then the GPS in my watch will be activated, wherever it is they’re keeping it, and the cavalry will come. I just need to hold out one day and one night more.

I can do this.

I can fucking do this.

Storm and Rook are gonna have fucking kittens if the signal doesn’t reach them on the fourth day.

The signal will reach them. It’s gonna work out just fine, and I’m losing the battle for consciousness. Sleep tugs me under, and it’s a fucking relief to give in, to lose track for a while. To let it all fade to black.

Sharp slivers of nightmare cut me up, wake me up throughout the night. I sit up gasping, the pain in my body echoing the pain in my mind.

My parents, explaining to the crowd around us how I destroyed them, how I signed their death warrant because I don’t care about them. I have no heart, they declare to the cameras. This boy feels nothing.

The crowd laughs. The sound is like a bullet through my chest.

I see my grandfather. He’s dead, and yet he grabs me by the neck and slams me against the wall.

Heartless, he yells in my ear. Arrogant, selfish. Is this who I raised you to be, boy? Untrustworthy, careless, skirting your duties.

I’m not all that, I try to yell back at him but my voice doesn’t work. I’m doing the best I can. Isn’t this who you raised me to be, Grandpa? To be like you?

It doesn’t matter. He left me, and his form dissolves into dust and ashes, so what am I to do?

I’m kneeling in the dust storm that’s swirling around me, and there’s a body in front of me. I lean closer, the dust stinging my eyes, and her still face hurts me in a way nothing ever has.

Layla, dead.

No. NO! No, she’s not dead. She’s alive.

She wakes up, then, blinking those whiskey-colored eyes, and I want to howl, the relief almost as strong as the grief I felt a moment ago.

I pull her into my arms and kiss her, thrust my tongue between her lips, bite at her lower lip. Punish her for scaring me like that.

For letting me think she left. For letting me think I caused her death.

She slides her hands up my face, digs her fingernails into my scalp, and I welcome the sting. Her body is warm against mine, soft curves molding over my hard lines. I steal the air from her lungs, and she moans in my mouth.

She’s somehow naked, lush and silky under my touch, pliant and warm. Familiar and exciting. I slide my hand to the front of her, find her mound, shaved clean and soft. I part the lips of her pussy, stroke her swollen clit.

Slipping a finger inside her pussy, I stroke her, slow and deep. Her head falls back, and she moans. The feel of her wetness on my fingers makes me so hard I’m about to bust a nut just from that.

I know what she likes. I use my other hand to stroke the seam of her round ass as I fuck her with my finger, squeeze her ass cheek, then put my mouth on her tits. Pillow-soft with rosy, hard nipples to lick and suck on, and she whispers my name before clenching around my finger and coming, her hips rocking.

God, I need to be inside her. Sliding my finger out of her, smearing her wetness on her thighs, I guide her to me, pull her on top of my hard-on.

Somehow I’m naked, too, bared, and for the first time ever I’m not hiding, not hiding my every weakness.

“Layla.” It’s as if speaking her name, at last, has broken a barrier. The sound tastes sweet on my lips, like candy.

My cock pushes into her, and we both gasp as I push deep into her, as deep as I can go. Hell, yeah, this is it. Her hot body joined to mine, around my cock, her arms around my shoulders. It’s the closest to home I’ve felt in a long time.

Our bodies move together, slow, then faster, faster and harder, until the pleasure crests, bowls me over, and I’m left gasping and holding empty air in my arms.

The cold is back.

I blink and wake up to find myself in the empty, frigid warehouse, lying on the bare floor, my body aching, my release cold and wet in my pants.

Disoriented. Alone.

Fuck.
It was just another dream, and I’m back in hell…

***

They arrive with a bang and crash of the doors against the wall that makes me flinch before I can hide it.

“Time for my morning massage?” I drawl, shifting where I’m sitting on the floor, my back to the pillar, trying in vain to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “I want my eggs sunny side up, and my coffee black. Thought you might wanna know.”

“Shut your smartass mouth,” the guy who enters snaps. It’s not one I’ve seen or heard speak before. He heads straight for the discarded blindfold and approaches me to tie it back on.

“You don’t need that,” I mutter, prepared to fight him. “I already told your Boss, I’m doing this. Hell, I turned in my parents for the privilege. When will he just fucking tell me—”

He shoves me back against the pillar and presses the black cloth to my eyes, and I let him, because this is the least of my problems right now, and I have to make this credible. Make them believe I mean every word I say.

Believe I’m all in.

So I sit still as he finishes blindfolding me and then ties my hands behind my back. Thankfully he stops at that, and I slump back against the pillar, running a new mantra through my head.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost fucking there.

Just one more day.

“Ready to play now, boy?” the Boss’s voice booms, and it bothers me that I didn’t hear his footsteps beforehand.

Goddammit, I hate surprises. They put you at a disadvantage. Turn you into the weak link, the losing party.

I hate being the losing party, and dammit, I hate being deaf and blind, even if it’s mostly temporary. But at least they didn’t gag me again.

“Depends. You still haven’t told me what you expect from me. And I sure as hell haven’t gotten any reassurances from you yet.”

“You will get what you’re after,” the Boss says and then something I don’t hear, goddammit.

“You haven’t even told me your fucking name.” I tilt my head up, even though I can’t see the guy. “If I’m gonna play, I want to know the players. I don’t deal with anonymous, invisible partners.”

“Not until I’m sure you’re one hundred percent on board.”

“You think I know nothing? Keeping your face, your name hidden from me. Let’s be serious… George Harry Sandivar.”

I imagine him sucking in a sharp breath, maybe curse under his breath. In any case, I feel the dynamic shift. I can smell it on the air.

“I see,” the Boss says slowly. “And what else do you think you know, Jamie Fleming?”

I lick my cracked lips, because
you first
might not go down so well. “I went through the papers my parents left behind. You know I did.” I draw a deep breath and force myself to slow down, not to sound as desperate as I am. “I have company names, numbers, transaction details. Want me to tell in front of your stupid bullies, want them to hear it all?”