by A. J. Norris
There was a long pause. She was probably trying to rein in her temper. “And you’re going to finally tell me?”
His smile vanished. This part was serious. “I think it’s important that I do.”
“Okay then. Pick me up at five. I’ll meet you at the elevator in the parking garage.”
“See you then.”
Hawke survived lunch with the guys. And he really did mean survive. They grilled him hard about his intentions with moving in with Cressida. Apparently, they were closer than even he realized.
A family.
Hawke didn’t even understand the word. He didn’t have a family. Never had one if he really wanted to admit it. His father was more of a mentor and not the doling-out-advice-about-girls kind. Lessons on switchblades and gang lords were their typical Friday night, and that was before he started throwing Hawke in the ring to get his ass beat for the sake of experience. Ceptor didn’t want a son. He wanted a prodigy.
Hawke hurried to pack his things up and get to the parking garage so he wouldn’t be late. He didn’t want to risk Cressida trying to take the train home by herself. He pulled into a space and got out only to have his heart sink.
Three men stood by the elevator. He recognized one of them as Bruce, his father’s driver and personal guard. Hawke sprinted across the garage, but it was too late. The doors of the elevator opened, revealing the blonde hair and soft features of his roommate. “Cressida, run!”
She paused inside the door, but Bruce grabbed her. Hawke ran for her, but the other men blocked his path. Hawke grabbed the man on the left first, throwing a hard punch straight to his face and then a knee straight up to his chin. The second man tried to pull a gun from his holster, but Hawke threw the man in his arms into him, knocking him off balance.
The gun was lost on the ground. The man tried to scramble to it, but Hawke caught him by the neck of his shirt and flipped him over. He landed punch after punch. His fury was relentless and his anger palpable in the echoed confines of the garage. The man went limp, but Hawke didn’t stop.
“That’s enough, Hawke. He’s out.” It was Bruce. Cressida was already gone from his arms inside the blacked-out SUV behind him.
His fist paused at the man’s bloody face. “He deserves worse and so do you.”
“Come with us willingly, Hawke, or he’ll make you. It won’t end until you face him.”
Hawke gritted his teeth, but let the man fall limp to the ground. He stood over his victim like he’d done so many times in the ring, but this time he wanted more. Toying with him was one thing, but laying a hand on Cressida Wales wouldn’t go unpunished. That shot of fear on her face would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was time he ended it for good. He wouldn’t allow Ceptor to ruin her life too. Hawke stepped over the man at his feet. “Take me to my father. I’m ready.”
Rain pelted against the blacked-out glass of the SUV as fog rolled out of the city. Cressida’s hand trembled and he hated himself for it. Hawke pulled her into his side, holding her close. A soft hint of lavender engulfed him as his lips touched her hair. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be safe.”
She turned her face into him, her hand relaxing as her thumb grazed the top of his hand. “I know.”
A dormant fire blazed inside of him as her fingers gripped his hand. Hawke leaned his head down, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’m sorry about this. I was going to tell you tonight.”
“Shh.” She reached up and tipped her fingertips to his lips. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”
Her reassuring tone calmed him, but not for long. Instinct over took him and everything inside of him knew he would do anything to protect her. It wasn’t just guilt at the thought of dragging her into the middle of his feud with his father. It was something deeper than that. It was something stronger and more complex. He couldn’t name it, but he saw it in her eyes and knew she felt it too.
He couldn’t let this go on any longer. Live or die, he had to put an end to his father’s involvement in his life and there was only one way to do that. The Circle’s rules were clear. The King called the shots, which meant if Hawke wanted to end this then he had to challenge the one man who hadn’t been beaten…ever.
They drove inside a giant gray warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of the city. He didn’t want to know how his father commandeered such a place so quickly. Illegal street fights weren’t Ceptor’s only vice. Familiar faces appeared outside the window as they parked. The metal door to the warehouse clanged as it rolled shut.
A man Hawke knew as Felix opened the door, motioning them toward a crowd of people at the other end of the warehouse. It was a traditional fight day setup. Ceptor wasn’t going to even give him a chance to talk. The ring was ready.
A circle outlined by a couple of broken bricks placed a few feet apart was a far cry from the ring of fire he’d fought in his last time. He paused in front of the first brick, Cressida tucked safely behind him, staring his father in the face.
Ceptor had aged. Three years in a life like this did that to a person. Hawke felt a lot older than twenty-four. His father pulled his jacket off, revealing the long row of black marks down his arm symbolizing his wins. The red one at the bottom was the most important. It symbolized the kill that made Ceptor king.
At least thirty men gathered around the circle, their voices a thrum of chatter as the energy began to build. Ceptor hadn’t stepped foot in a ring since the day of that kill because no one had the guts to challenge him. “Nice to see you again, son.”
Hawke let out a cruel laugh. “Son? Is that what you call the person you stuck a knife in because they refused you?”
“You know the rules.”
“You don’t own me.” Hawke squeezed Cressida’s hand one last time. He didn’t dare look at her. He didn’t want her to see the callous hatred on his face.
Challenge accepted, old man.
He stepped into the ring. It was real now. There wasn’t any turning back. “And if you think you do own me, then you’ve got ten feet of ring here to prove it.”
Ceptor’s lips curved into a smile as he leaned back to take his stance. “And to think—all it took to get you here was a girl.”
“This isn’t about her.”
“But it is, Sascha. What was the one rule I gave you? Tell me.” Hawke clenched his jaw tight, his gaze darting to Cressida. Ceptor’s face moved closer to him. “Don’t fall in love.”
“I’m not—”
Ceptor laughed. “I see it in your eyes, son. Lie to yourself, but that woman has you. The same way Lena had me.”
The sound of his mother’s name sent a jolt of lightning down his back. Ceptor’s grip tightened. “Don’t make my mistakes.”
“You’re the one who brought her here. You’re the one putting her in danger.”
“You can consider this me saving her from you.”
Hawke gritted his teeth, trying to pry his father’s cold grip off of him. Ceptor landed a hard right punch straight to his face. Blood filled his mouth. Ceptor’s gaze hardened. “The only way out of The Circle is to beat the king. Then you call the shots. You beat me then you can take that girl and go.”
Hawke swiped at the blood on his lips. “You want me to kill you?”
“I want you to win.”
“Dad—”
Knuckles cracked across Hawke’s jaw and he saw stars. “My pride won’t let me go down easy. This life—it’s too ingrained in me. Beat me, Sascha. Remember everything I taught you. Stand up and fight me.”
Hawke shoved his father’s face back far enough that the punch could gain enough velocity to make it count. Pain seared through his wrist, but it felt good. Familiar. This life was ingrained in him too. Ceptor stumbled back, touching his lip that was busted open, and he laughed.
“That’s my boy. Damn, you’ve gotten stronger since the last time.”
Hawke got himself to his feet, falling into his stance. “I’m not a fucking sixteen-year-old kid anymore.”
Che
ers roared behind them and it was as if a black curtain fell around the ring. His senses heightened. His vision focused. The blood in his mouth was nothing more than fuel for his vengeance. Because of the man in front of him Hawke had lost his mother…his childhood…everything innocent and decent that once dwelled inside of him. It was time to take it all back. He couldn’t save his mother, but by damn he would save Cressida Wales.
They circled each other, the crowd closing in around them. Adrenaline shot through him and Hawke went for him. Hawke barely registered the jabs to the ribs, but he felt the knee to Ceptor’s chin and the hard right to the side of his face. Ceptor stumbled—a sign of weakness. Hawke speared him in the chest before crashing him to the concrete. Anger and resentment followed behind every punch he took straight to his father’s face until Hawke could barely register his father’s features.
“Sascha!”
It was Cressida. Now she was scared—frightened of the trained killer he was born to be. Ceptor choked up blood, his voice rough and coarse. “Finish me. Get your mark.”
Hawke stared at him, his gaze dropping down to the red slash on his father’s arm. He recalled the night he got it so perfectly. His father had made a choice. Win the fight and become king or forfeit and save his mother.
Everything suddenly became very clear. “Come on, boy.”
Hawke shook his head. “No.”
“Finish me!”
Hawke stood and backed away from his father’s bloody and broken body. The crowd roared, echoing his father’s words. “Finish him. King! King!”
“No,” Hawke yelled above their cheers and they fell silent. He looked over his shoulder at Cressida, then down at his blood-stained hands. “No. I don’t want to be your king.”
If he killed his father The Circle would never let him out. He would be king and as his father always said…the rules of The Circle are clear. His father wasn’t offering him an out…he was cementing Hawke as his prodigy.
Hawke backed away. “I don’t want to be king. The Nikolaev Dynasty dies today…with him. The question is who has the guts to finish him.”
“Son.” It was stern. His father rolled onto his side, attempting to push himself up, but it was too late. He was down.
Hawke glared over his shoulder. Ceptor didn’t care about him or Cressida the same way he didn’t care about Lena. He could fool himself into thinking he wanted to do the right thing, but all Ceptor wanted was his legacy to go on. Hawke would never give him that.
He stepped out of the ring. “Go on,” he yelled toward the men surrounding him. “Here’s your chance. I’ve heard the whispers all my life about those of you who want to lead, well do it. Finish him. Take his place.”
Ceptor crawled to his knees. “Finish me, Sascha. This is your fight!”
“No, it’s not. It never has been.” Hawke turned his back on him and went to Cressida. She rushed the final foot to him. “Let’s go.”
He pulled Cressida into his side and walked toward the exit. He had no idea how they would get home, but they needed to get out of there before the bloodshed started. A new king would rise; it was only a matter of time.
His father’s voice was desperate behind him. “Get back here. Finish this.”
Hawke didn’t bother to turn around until they got to the exit. Ceptor’s screams had ceased because a challenger had stepped into the ring, the figure nothing more than a shadowy outline. The Circle would go on about business like it always did. People died every day. It wouldn’t miss Ceptor for very long.
Rain hit his face as the last light of the day disappeared behind the gray horizon. Wide blue eyes shined up at him. Hawke wanted to stay and watch his father die. He wanted to finally see fear or maybe even a little regret in the eyes of the man that stripped his life down to a prize fee. He would have done just that if not for those blue eyes. Hawke needed to keep Cressida safe.
And he would. Always.
Chapter Eight
Cressida’s Will
Hawke locked the apartment door. “I need to get this blood off me. Shut the curtains and lock the balcony door.”
Cressida’s heart beat in her ears, but she complied. In fact, she double checked every lock. She found Hawke in his bathroom, slipping a fresh shirt over his head. The sink was stained a watery red, one of his knuckles cut completely open. She gasped and took a step toward him without thinking, but then caught herself.
Hawke’s smile was slow. “It’s okay. Come here.”
She went to him as if for the thousandth time. Her arms eagerly wrapped around him and he returned the embrace. “I really am sorry I put you in the middle of all this.”
It all made sense now. The reporter. The bar brawl. Why he showed up at her door to be her roommate. Cressida buried her face against his chest, recalling the sincerity of Hawke’s vow.
You’ll be safe.
His body was made of stone, but everything else…he was a good man.
He lifted her chin to look at him. “Say something.”
“Thank you.”
Hawke brushed his lips against hers and Cressida’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers grasping his shirt at his waistline.
His lips curved into a smile. “Promise me you’ll do that every time I kiss you.”
She smiled against his lips before kissing him again—the hum that came out had a growl mixed in. They both knew this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. It was too good. Too natural.
He sucked her bottom lip between his, cupping his hands under her chin, tilting it up. She pressed her fingers against his chest, temporarily pausing what she could only assume would be a successful pursuit of her. “Will those men come for us here? Tonight?”
His breath was soft against her lips, his forehead close to her. “No. They know I have you, so they won’t risk it. They can’t beat me.”
“So, we’re safe?”
His eyes drifted shut, tensing. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Cressida’s lips parted, prepared to ask him a million things, but Hawke cut off her words and kissed her again.
Deeper. Longer.
I could have lost him tonight.
“Hawke—”
He placed his finger over her lips. “Shh.”
Cressida leaned into him and he held her tight against his chest. “Taking a chance on me is a risk…I know that.” His hand dropped down to her waist, holding her in place. “If you want me to leave, I understand, but if you tell me to stay, I fully intend to kiss you again.”
Cressida reached behind her and pushed the door shut, smiling against his lips.
Innocent thing. He doesn’t understand yet. But he will…
She wouldn’t let this moment with him pass. Being with Sascha Nikolaev was no longer a mere craving. Cressida needed him. She’d never been one to think much about tomorrow, but the thought of what could have happened weighed heavy in her thoughts and on her heart. She needed to let this thing between them play out and if all she had was tonight…well, then she would make tonight worth it.
She kissed him. Her answer was clear in the way she greedily accepted his offer. He backed her against the door, one hand in her hair while the other fought to find skin beneath her shirt. His touch lit her on fire. Every inch of her. The way his hands moved over her body caused her to feel exposed and raw. She’d never desired anything more than him.
Cressida not-so-gently nudged him, never breaking the kiss as she maneuvered him toward the bed. Hawke quickly caught on, grabbing her up by the hips then settling her into the middle of the bed. The sudden pressure of his body against her encouraged her hips to rise and her body to shift into the perfect position beneath him in order to create the most contact.
He groaned. It was deep and ragged in his chest. “Cress.”
Hawke would have to pay for that. The use of her nickname, so soft and tortured on his lips…it wasn’t playing fair. “Yes, Sascha?”
She didn’t wait for his reply. Cressida pulled the hem of his shirt up, expos
ing his bare chest at eye level. He eagerly pulled it over his head, his hair ruffling at the top. She grinned at the ridiculously beautiful sight of him. She would need more of him like that. She could already tell. Cressida glanced over, her gaze training to the long row of black marks tattooed on his arm.
It wasn’t a tally of his shutouts. Her fingers traced down his chest, stopping at a jagged mark below his ribs. It was a scar. Actually, there were three of them. Her smile faded, caught off guard by the sting of sadness.
He’s gone through so much.
His lips brushed against her as he watched her fingers touch each scar in turn. “I’m not a bad man, Cressida. Dangerous when I need to be, but I don’t want you to fear me. Ever.”
She softly kissed him. “I’m not scared of you. I’m disappointed.” He frowned and she quickly kissed him again. “Disappointed I didn’t find you sooner…save you from all this.” She touched the scars then the marks on his arms.
His eyebrow cocked as he peered down at her, apparently amused. “You save me?”
“Shut up and kiss me.” She laughed, pulling his lips down to her. “Smartass.”
He smiled, tracing kisses down her neck. “You’re so bossy. I kind of like it.”
She shoved his chest, rising up to roll him over. He followed her lead without hesitation, his hands resting on her hips. Cressida began to unbutton her blouse, his gaze following each inch of revealed skin, his brows furrowing together. “Are you sure about this?”
“No.” She slipped the shirt off her shoulders, tossing it on the floor. “But that’s never stopped me before.”
A small smile played on his lips. “Are you always like this?”
“In charge? Yes, you might as well get used to it.”
He laughed, leaning up to kiss her. “That’s not what I meant. Fearless. I could see it in your eyes the moment you walked into that locker room.”