Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  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.

  “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.

  Chapter Seven

  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 t
o 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.