by James, Tate
"What does, uh," I try to remember the name of the company we work for and come up totally blank, "HQ want from us?"
"HQ?" Hawke asks, and this time, he finally flicks that mean-ass gaze of his in my direction. I lift a brow and cross my arms under my breasts with the sole intention of turning his blue balls a brilliant sapphire. By the time I'm done with him, he's going to be jizzing at the sight of a provocative swirl of leaves. "You've seen too many stupid ass movies. Just think of these guys like a manager at Wal-Mart. They think they have power, but they don't, not really. Only the CEO does."
"What's a Wal-Mart?" I quip, but I'm only half serious. I might've grown up privileged (economically speaking), but I'm not completely disconnected from society. Hawke doesn't even smile. Instead, he turns his attention back to the road and then reaches over to the radio to flick it on. The song is "Sit Still, Look Pretty" by Daya. I choke back a snort and Hawke's hands tighten even further on the wheel. "I bet you have this whole song memorized," I tease, just because I know it'll piss off his fragile masculinity. Still no response from him.
I decide I'm done pouring energy into his stone golem facade and turn toward the window. We take a creepy access road up the mountain, and it occurs to me yet again that if Hawke wanted me dead, he could very easily kill me and dump my body. Nobody would be looking for me; my corpse would never be found.
My tongue runs across my lower lip in nervousness, but when I said I wasn't afraid, I meant it.
He isn't going to kill me.
Hawke has too much of that 'lawful-good' sort of personality, like he thinks he can save the world by making hard choices.
We head even further up the hill and come around a sharp bend. As soon as we're past the trees, I can see it, this glorious lodge with rough-hewn log walls and smoke billowing from the chimney.
What the actual fuck?
"They stuck us in that falling down shack, and then hole up here?" I choke out, and Hawke grunts.
"We were offered accommodations here, but I turned them down."
My head snaps in his direction and my eyes go wide.
"Are you fucking insane!? I mean, we both know you are, but really?! I've been sleeping on a gross, lumpy mattress when I could've been living it up in luxury?"
Hawke stops the car at the bottom of the wide porch steps, a swing hanging from the rafters that's draped enticingly with blankets, just ready for a cup of tea and a good book. I'm practically drooling. I've never been much of a reader, but I feel like I could really get lost in another world right now. Mine isn't exactly the greatest.
"Exactly. Luxury. Luxury breeds lazy, useless recruits. The last thing any of you undisciplined assholes needed was somewhere to lounge. Now get the fuck out and don't embarrass me in here."
My nostrils flare as Hawke kicks open his door and pauses just once to slick his fingers through his short, brown hair. His gray eyes scan the three story building before he heads up the steps and does a hard-ass cop knock on the door. You know the kind, the one that scares the ever living shit of you when you're not expecting it.
But Janet clearly is.
She opens the door and gestures for Hawke to step inside, pausing and lifting a brow at me, still standing awkwardly next to the car. With a deep breath, I lift my chin and head up the steps to join them in the massive foyer. There's a huge chandelier above my head, made up of antlers. I shiver, thinking of the dead deer, how it was alive one minute and gone the next. Just like Kisten. Just like I'll be soon if I don't deal with my father.
"You brought the new recruit, interesting choice," Janet murmurs, her short dark hair feathering around her angular face as she looks me over. "You look much better than before though, less ..."
"Princess-y?" I suggest, and she laughs.
"I was going to say soft, but that works, I suppose. Follow me." Janet leads us down the hall and into an office that overlooks the soft, mist-tipped tops of the trees surrounding the house. It's infinitely better than the Rogue Elk, and my eye twitches in irritation.
"What do you mean he brought the new recruit?" I ask, and Hawke stiffens up at my side. I'm surprised. I didn't think the man's muscles could get any tighter. At this point, it's going to take a skilled surgeon to remove the stick he's got shoved up his ass.
"Well, this is a simple job briefing. As the least experienced on Hawke's team, I just didn't expect to see you here." Janet's gaze travels between us and then flicks back to her laptop screen. My lips purse and I give Hawke a look that he ignores.
"What’s the job?" he barks, and I'm at least happy to see that he's as much a dick to other people as he is to me. "We're already working two active cases."
"Understood, but something's come up, and we don't have enough resources to shift another team to this ... area." The way she says that last word, and the way her lip curls, tells me that Janet most definitely doesn't enjoy the remote Oregon wilderness as much as Mace or Arsen. Janet glances up, her eyes straying to Hawke yet again. A small pit forms in my stomach, but I ignore it. Or, at least, I try to. "Shady Cove Motorcycle Club is preparing to move a large shipment of product this coming weekend, and our client isn't happy about it. She wants them dealt with sooner rather than later."
Hawke grits his teeth.
"We're doing the best we can; we have an injured team member and a green-ass newbie who doesn't know how to take orders. Add this shit on top of our Konstantin problem, and we're spread a little thin here."
"I understand that, which is why I'm stepping in to assist."
"What?!" Hawke roars, and I cringe. I notice that Janet doesn't skip a beat. "We don't need assistance, we need time."
"Well, you don't have it. Our client is afraid that product is going to kill more kids, like her own. We need to move now. I'll be heading back with you to the Rogue Elk to prep for this weekend. You and the recruit can pack up my equipment while I gather my personal belongings."
"You called me all the way over here to help pack up your shit?" Hawke snaps, gritting his teeth. "Jesus Christ, Janet."
"I ..." She pauses and glances my way before turning back to glare at him again. She's pretty, with those strange alien-like features you always see on the runway, just a little weird, just a lot gorgeous. That pit in my stomach grows three sizes too large, and I start to feel nauseous. You're jealous as fuck, Natalia, I tell myself, but I refuse to admit it. "I was thinking you might come alone," she whispers, and my brows go up. A cold chill goes through me as Hawke shoots a nasty glare in my direction.
"Out," he barks, but when I open my mouth to protest, I notice that Janet is watching me, too, and I decide it's not worth my dignity. I don't need Hawke—and I especially don't need Janet—to know that I actually, maybe, almost, sort of, kind of like the asshole.
I do as I'm told, and the door slams so fast and so hard that it hits me in the ass, and feels like a spanking. I actually ... sort of like it, too. Damn, I have problems.
Instead of moving away from the door like a proper human being would, I eavesdrop. Seriously, I can't help myself.
"This is bullshit, and you know it," Hawke growls out, his voice so loud and booming that I could probably hear it from the fucking Rogue Elk. "You called me over here because you're jealous of Natalia."
Jealous ... of me? What the fuck?
"Hawke," Janet begins, and there's a distinct pleading in her voice that I can't fathom how I missed before. That pit in my stomach becomes an abyss. "We could be good together, you know that, right? Honestly, we'd make a perfect team—in and out of the bedroom."
My eyes widen, and I realize suddenly why it was so damn important for Hawke to bring me out here. He was parading me in front of his ... his ... lover? I almost choke on the jealousy surging through me. This place isn't so far from the Rogue Elk. What if he came up here yesterday and slept with Janet? The thought makes me see red.
"Don't make it out to be anything more than it was—a convenience fuck. Now, I have shit to do. If you're coming with us, then hurr
y up."
"Hawke ..." There's the sound of footsteps, and then a quiet, awkward span of time that has me shaking with fury. When the door opens a few minutes later, I've excused myself to a leather couch in the fancy living room, my breath coming in harsh pants.
Hawke storms up to the doorway and glares at me.
"Get up and let's start moving equipment," he says, and then proceeds to push me into a half hour of grueling physical labor, loading up a small trailer with wooden crates, and then hooking it up to his Navigator. He barely looks at me as we do our work, and when Janet rejoins us later, the air gets tight and stale with tension.
I try not to glare at her—it's not her fault if she and Hawke slept together—but I can't help myself. Some primal part of me wants to punch her right in the tit.
When Janet climbs into the passenger seat of the SUV, I really start getting pissed.
On the drive back, Hawke actually engages her in conversation. By the time we pull into the driveway at the Rogue Elk, I'm silently fuming.
"Get back here and unload this," Hawke yells as I take off for the house, flying past Colt and Weston as they smoke on the porch and exchange a pair of looks. I don't stop until I'm in the training room, tearing off my jacket, rolling my shoulders, and going for the punching bag like it's Hawke's stupid, infuriating face.
Did he sleep with her? I keep wondering as I hit the bag again and again and again. I go at it until my knuckles are bruised and bloody, and my arms and shoulders ache. When I'm finished, I collapse to my back on the mat. A few moments later, Hawke's boots appear next to my face.
"You disobeyed another direct order. Get up and get ready to run. You've got a five mile sprint ahead of you." My mouth drops open as he walks away, and I sit up, glaring after his perfectly tight ass. He pauses at the doorway when Janet approaches him, and they speak in low tones.
Oh, fuck this.
I get up and storm over there, leaving my jacket abandoned on the floor. I'm hot and achy all over. It might be cold as my father's heart outside, but I don't need the damn thing.
"Let's do this," I say, leveling a Hawke-worthy glare on our fearless leader. Both he and Janet glance my way, and he shrugs, grabbing his keys from the hook near the door.
"It's your funeral," he snaps, and then climbs in the SUV, driving alongside me as I take off down the dirt road. Back in the day, I could barely walk a city block without whining about it (to be fair, I was always wearing heels), but now, I take this challenge like a champ.
Unfortunately, when Hawke said five mile sprint, he meant five miles both ways.
When we turn around and start heading back toward the Rogue Elk, I start to flag.
"Not as tough as you think you are," Hawke growls, coming to a stop as I bend over, choking and gasping for air. I didn't think to bring a water bottle, so I'm shit out of luck. And as darkness falls, the night gets crisper and colder, and I realize that I'm starting to shake. "You're just lucky I'm not making you swim on top of everything."
"What ..." I start, choking and struggling to catch my breath. "What's up with you ... and ... and Janet?" I lift my head up, sweat dripping into my eyes, and focus on Hawke's gray eyes. His face gets tight, but he doesn't say anything. "Did you sleep with her yesterday?"
"If I did, would it be your business?" he asks, and this time, it's my turn to grit my teeth. I start running again, pushing myself harder than I ever have before. I'm already tired out from my boxing session, and this is a hard run, uphill back to the Rogue Elk. But I'm determined to finish it and show Hawke that I'm not afraid of his 'punishments'.
Unfortunately, about halfway back, I start to stumble, and I don't stop. When I hold out a hand to catch myself, I end up just hitting the gravel hard and stumbling. My tired body collapses and bits of rock embed themselves into my hands and knees.
"Get up," Hawke commands, but when I try, I can't seem to find my feet. My head swims, and I end up lying on the ground without realizing quite how I got there. I'm shaking all over, and I can't decide if I'm burning hot or ice cold. Hawke curses under his breath, shuts the engine off, and climbs out, lording over me like the asshole that he is. "Stand up, recruit," he commands, and just to spite him, I try again. Unfortunately, when I try, I don't get any further than my knees before I collapse.
After a moment, Hawke kneels down beside me.
"If you're fucking with me ..." he starts, but I barely have the energy to curse him out. Instead, he puts his big, strong arms underneath me and lifts me up, carrying me to the back of the SUV, and maneuvering me around so he can hit the button that opens the hatch. He lays me carefully inside and then retrieves a pair of water bottles and a small first-aid kit from the back seat, passing over the water and cracking the case open to look for bandages.
I'm a bit wary of his motivation as I sit up, my mind straying briefly back to Janet again. "I don't like her," I announce, and he knows exactly who I'm talking about.
"You don't have to like her, recruit, but you do have to respect the chain of authority." His words are impersonal, but they lack the same biting cold that he's been using lately.
I snort and roll my eyes while he swipes alcohol over my grazes and gently applies sticky bandages. "So we're still on the recruit bullshit, huh?" I shake my head, bitterness and regret clawing at my throat. "Why are you even doing this, if you care so little about me?" I indicate to the way he's tenderly caring for my scrapes. Somehow, it's this that is pushing me over the edge. This ... gentleness, it's making me snap. I can handle Hawke when he's being an arrogant, egotistical prick. I can handle him when he's using his sex appeal as a weapon. I can even handle him when he's being a sadistic, controlling monster.
But this Hawke who cleans the gravel from my grazed knees, who smooths the edges of my bandage down with soft strokes of his fingers ... fuck me, this Hawke will break me. And my heart.
He doesn't answer my question. Of course he doesn't.
"I didn't sleep with her," he says instead, and my heart skips a beat. "I mean, I did"—my heart sinks—"but not last night. Not recently. She was a mistake I made months ago."
"Before ..." I start to say, then realize what a desperate, weak bitch I must sound.
Hawke nods anyway, though. "Before you."
A wash of relief floods me and my arms—the only things holding me upright—turn to jelly.
"Ow," I groan when my head hits the hard plastic lining of Hawke's Navigator trunk.
"Jesus fucking Christ, pet," Hawke growls, leaning over to run a hand through my hair. "You're a damn mess."
I snort a laugh. "Your fault." I'm so lightheaded from the intense run. I'm still shivering and aching and my whole body feels like it's made of silly string. Somehow that makes everything really funny.
"I really don't like her," I murmur again, closing my eyes to fight back against the dizziness. It's like I've been on a roller-coaster sixteen times in a row after eating way too many churros.
Hawke's calloused fingers stroke my face, then slap my cheek lightly. "Hey, wake up. No sleeping until I know you're okay."
I crack one lid open, just enough to glare at him.
"You're jealous," he accuses, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "It's cute."
"I'm not jealous," I reply, scoffing at the ludicrous statement—even if it is true. Damn him. How can I seriously still want him so badly when he's been such an epic thundercunt lately?
Hawke nods, like he really believes me. "Okay, well if you're not jealous, you won’t mind staying behind on this mission then? Janet and I can handle it alone."
I don't totally know what comes over me, but, well, next thing I know my fist is connecting with Hawke's face.
Whoops?
"What the fuck?!" he roars, but he's quickly silenced by my mouth on his as I fucking throw myself at him like ... I don't even know what. Nothing dignified at any rate.
For the first time in, I think, ever, I've shocked him. When my lips crush against his and my hands tear at his shirt, he's j
ust ... frozen. It's kinda creepy, come to think about it.
I'm about to stop—because I'm kinky but I don't go for dub-con, thank you—when he wrenches his mouth away and grabs my face between his hands.
"What the fuck?" he repeats, but this time he's less enraged and way more turned on. Trust me. When I threw myself at him, I landed halfway into his lap so I know how turned on he is. "You have some serious fucking issues, pet."
"So do you," I reply, arching a brow. "Are you saying no, boss? I'm sure Janet is ready and waiting back at the house if you're done with me."
Fire sparks in Hawke's gray eyes. "Green is a good color on you, Miss Petrova."
Before I can deny my jealousy again, he drags me fully into his lap and slams his lips into mine. Ah, fuck it. We can go back to hating each other tomorrow. Right now ... right now, I need to reassure myself that he's not lying about Janet. That he didn't go there and fuck her the other night, that he still wants me as badly as I want him.
"Off," I order, pushing his dark t-shirt up to his chin. I pause to drool a moment as his muscles bunch and flex with the motion of dragging the fabric over his head. These mercenaries seriously keep in shape. It almost makes me embarrassed when I think of the rich, mob sons I used to be attracted to. Lean, soft playboys who thought working out consisted of drinking protein shakes and jogging around Central Park.
"Off," he growls back at me, snapping the elastic waistband of my workout pants. “I’m giving the orders here; don’t make the mistake of trying to tell me again.”
I do one better. Scrambling out of the vehicle, I toe off my boots, shimmy out of my pants and underwear, then do an awkward contortion act to free myself from the tight, strappy sports crop top I'm wearing. Those things are comfy as all shit, but damn they’re hard to get on and off. All the working out, good food, and lack of cocaine have boosted my bra size up two cups as well, so it's honestly like wrestling two rabid beavers into the little scrap of black spandex every morning.
Hawke slides out of the Navigator as well, shedding his boots and pants in a liquid motion. He prowls towards me like a hungry panther and a spike of delicious fear zaps through me.