Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  Fuck, my body is one giant bruise. I take slow, geriatric steps, waiting for my fucking muscles to relax a little and allow me full body movement.

  This damn dizziness isn’t helping. God, I hope I didn’t get a concussion. Concussions suck, and I should know. I never told Layla, or the guys, that the accident that left me just a little bit deafer wasn’t as insignificant as I pretended.

  I mean, to get your eardrum perforated and fucked up so badly your hearing goes down by thirty percent from its already low capacity is no small deal, and the concussion was bad enough to keep me in bed for quite a few days and depressed for a good while longer.

  Mix it up with the shit going down with the Organization, with my parents on trial and the nightmares about it, and the coincidental discovery that I have more responsibilities than I ever imagined I’d have at this age… Well, let’s just say it wasn’t an easy time.

  If it hadn’t been for Hot Body… if it hadn’t been for Layla, I honestly don’t know how I’d have made it through that strange time. She’ll never know that her body, her hold on me was my lifeline for so many months. That the thought of seeing her again was what kept me floating.

  Don’t show weakness. Ever. That’s what my grandpa taught me, and it’s a habit too ingrained to break.

  Damn good thing, too, with everything that’s been going on. I’ve never been so torn between what I should do and what I fucking need before. And I fucking needed her then.

  Just like I do now.

  Stopping, I slam my fist into the wall and try to control myself. This isn’t about what I want. It’s as if the hits I took to the head weakened my resolve, my will.

  Fuck you, Hawk. You’re not three. You don’t always get what you want. Is the safety of those you love not enough? Should it all go down the drain because you decided you need a girl—a hot, sexy, kind girl, sure, a sassy, funny girl—but so what?

  Suck it up.

  So I get going once more, hugging the wall, and the next door to my left has TOILET written on it in bold black letter. I shove at it.

  It doesn’t budge.

  Dammit!

  Okay. Upstairs. Layla went through the door, so it’s probably unlocked. No reason to lock all the doors when the warehouse main is as tight as a safe, right?

  They know I can’t escape, damn them.

  Ah there. Another door with a TOILET sign on it, and when I shove at it, it opens and I stumble inside.

  First thing I notice is the sink.

  Water.

  I stumble to the counter holding the sink and turn the water on full blast, then shove my hands under the cool flow and splash my face. I rub the water over my swollen jaw, over my filthy beard, swallow some and let it travel down my parched throat.

  God fuck, it feels good.

  I brace myself one-handedly on the sink and put my mouth under the tap, swallowing, choking, drinking more.

  The things we take for granted… Can’t ever remember going so thirsty in my life. Or so hungry, so cold. So fucked up.

  I bow my head, let the water drip from my long hair over my face. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? At least I’m not tied up anymore, and—

  Movement from behind me makes me flinch. It’s the door of the toilet stall. I turn around so fast my heads spins, and bile rises in my throat.

  The fuck? I clench my fists anyway, getting ready for a fight.

  And blink at the girl coming out of the stall.

  “Layla?” I whisper, my fists dropping to my sides. I’m gaping at her like an idiot, because how is she still here? Why?

  Am I still fucking dreaming?

  She’s staring back at me, clutching her purse in one hand. Her dark eyes are wide and red-rimmed, as if she’s been crying.

  I frown. “Hey. Come here.” I open my arms and she says nothing, but a moment later, she slams into me, throwing her own arms around me, her purse thudding to the floor.

  “Shh.” I stroke her back, stroke her hair as she cries against my chest, sobs racking her body. I bury my nose in her silky hair. “What happened? Are you all right? Has anyone hurt you?”

  She shakes her head, sniffing, her tears soaking through my shirt, and it shouldn’t feel so good.

  Not her tears, not her sadness, but her. Having her in my arms, so trusting, so soft and sweet-smelling. Knowing she let me hold her to ease her pain.

  And her body, pressed so close to mine, has its usual effect, only this time it’s stronger than ever, the need sharp like a blade. I grunt, my dick hardening, pushing against my zipper. Seeking her out.

  It knows what it feels like to be inside her, how fucking good it is. It wants her, craves her heat and tightness, the feel of her, and we are in total agreement.

  She lifts her tear-streaked face, and before I know it, I’m licking saltiness off her soft lips. She moans softly, pressing her mouth to mine, and I lose control

  Just like that, just from her mouth on mine, her sweet body in my arms, I snap, not caring if Sandivar or his men come inside and find us, if it puts her in danger, if it destroys all the work I’ve done, everything I’ve endured and put in line to get the information back to the police.

  Yeah, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of it as I turn us around and push her against the counter, lifting her until her cute little ass is parked on it, pressed up against the sink.

  Then I yank down her leggings and panties and press my thigh between her legs, while distracting her with a deeper kiss, twisting my tongue around her tongue, licking up the inside of her mouth—until I’m distracted too and moaning against her lips, unable to remember what I’m supposed to be doing, my dick on fire.

  She folds her arms around my neck, holding on to me, her pussy rubbing against my leg. Her naked pussy, I think, and oh yeah, I remember now.

  Gotcha, babe. I’ll take good care of you.

  Unlike last time, and hell, even knowing my reasons for what I did, for taking my pleasure and not caring about hers, I feel like a heel. Swearing on my grandpa’s grave I’ll never do anything like that again, not even if my motivation is sound, not even if I’m half-concussed and out of options, I slip my hand under her loose blouse and find her breast.

  It fills my palm. Kneading it, making her shift restlessly and moan, I find the hardened nub of her nipple through the silky material of her bra and torture it with my thumb, back and forth, back and forth.

  She gasps in my mouth and writhes on top of my thigh. My dick jumps inside my pants, and I pull back to push my hard-on down before I push my other hand under her blouse and grab her other breast.

  I’m in titty heaven. I want to see them, lick them, suck on them, but her movements are growing frantic, her whimpers loud.

  “Oh God, Hawk,” she breathes, “oh my God, I’m going to come.”

  She’s never come from my mouth on her tits before, let alone my hand, but hell yeah.

  “I’ve got you,” I tell her, squeezing her tits, pressing my thigh between her legs, and suck in a sharp breath when she moans my name and shudders. “That’s it. Come for me.”

  And she does. She comes apart with a soft cry, her hips jerking, her nails digging into the back of my neck, her head thrown back.

  Jesus Christ.

  Hottest. Thing. Ever.

  And I want more. I want to see her come again under my hands, under my mouth, before I sink into her.

  I need to see her tits right the fuck now, need to have her naked, so I push her blouse up before she has stopped shuddering, getting rid of it, then unclasp her bra and let her tits spill out.

  Oh fuck me. I steady myself with a hand against the counter, because the sight nearly finishes me. I push down on the steel rod in my pants as I take her in.

  Holy shitballs, she’s so crazily sexy. I reverently cup her tits, brush my fingertips over the tips, and she moans, looking down at my hands.

  On her tits.

  Shit, I can’t remember her tits being so large, her nipples so hard and sen
sitive. Must be that time of the month, I guess. It would explain the crying, too.

  Not that I’m complaining. I’m totally a tits kind of guy. I love her tits smaller or bigger, no problem, but bigger is definitely good in my book.

  She leans back when I take a dark, diamond-hard nipple in my mouth and tangles her fingers in my hair. “Oh shit,” she gasps, and I grin against her breast.

  This is the best time I’ve had in a while.

  “Oh God, please,” she whispers when I switch to her other breast and bite lightly on her nipple, making her jerk. “Please.”

  I release her nipple and lick her sweetness off my lips. “I don’t have a condom. You’re on the pill, right, babe? Because I’m gonna fuck you real hard.”

  “Yes,” she whispers, dark lashes fluttering, her mouth slack. “Do it.”

  Not sure I could have stopped if my life depended on it. Shoving down my pants and boxer briefs, I grip my dick and squeeze it once, twice, my breath catching at the massive pressure behind my balls.

  Goddammit, this chick really does it for me. Never desired any other girl more.

  I guide my cock between her legs, push into her wet pussy, and a growly sound leaves my throat. “Fuck, yes. Damn, it feels good.”

  “Hawk…” My name on her lips is like a spark under my balls, and I thrust faster, harder, the piercings dragging against her passage, tugging on my cock.

  “Layla. Oh my fuck, Layla. You feel so good.”

  I can see us in the cracked mirror behind the sink, see her arched neck as I fuck her, see the rise and fall of those luscious tits, see the dark place where our bodies are joined.

  I reach down, touch where my cock slides into her, wet with her previous release and her arousal. Lifting my fingers, I smell them, smell her light, sweet musk, and my brain short-circuits.

  Boom.

  My hips jerk before I even know what’s happening, my dick swells so much I think I’ll burst, and then I’m coming, even as she’s gasping my name and clenching around me.

  Goddamn.

  I grab hold of her hips as I slam into her again and again, my mouth slack, my balls contracting and my dick jerking inside her, until my vision dims and flickers.

  Shit.

  So much pleasure. I’m in danger of passing out from the force of it. It rips through my body like a gale, leaving me shaky and disoriented.

  “Fuck, I really hope you’re right about the pill,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath in vain, “because baby, I came so hard you’ll have little swimmers inside you for weeks.”

  Suddenly she’s shoving me off, and I blink, caught my surprise.

  “You asshole. After what we’ve been through, you think I’d do that to you? That I’d lie? I’m not one of the stupid sluts you hang out with.” She beats on my chest, sending blinding pain through my bruises, then just as suddenly stops, her eyes filling up. “I’m not having your baby, ever, okay? Want me to sign some paper?”

  “What?” I’m totally confused now. “I didn’t say I don’t want a baby, but it’s complicated right—”

  “Oh, you want a baby? Well, too bad.” She’s crying openly now, and Christ, I’m totally out of my fucking depth here. “I can’t have your baby.”

  “But I’m not asking… Fucking hell, Layla, what are you saying?”

  “I can’t have your baby ever because I can’t have babies.” She slides off the counter and wraps her arms around herself. “So you don’t have to worry.”

  But I do worry. About my mental state. Because the idea of a baby with her is strangely appealing, and the fact she can’t have any is a bummer. No, it’s a total fucking injustice.

  And then she turns toward the door, the blood draining from her face. I read her lips as she utters the fucking last thing I wanna hear:

  “They’re back.”

  Chapter Ten

  Layla

  He pins me with his gray eyes, and I wish I could decipher the emotions flashing through them because they are strong and heart-wrenching.

  Like he’s sorry instead of relieved that I can’t have kids. Like I kicked him in the nuts.

  Or maybe it’s the fact that his captors are back. Duh. Stupid, Layla, to think he was concerned about you.

  “Stay here,” he hisses, tucking his blood-stained shirt back into his pants. “Get out. Don’t let them catch you, Layla. They’ll hurt you.”

  “You let them hurt you.”

  “Listen… You were right. I need something from them.” His gaze is clear, focused on me, earnest. “I need information to shut down this Organization that’s trying to run the city, and the country, and maybe more.”

  I shake my head, although my heart misses a beat. He’s talking to me. Opening up, and suddenly everything else takes a backseat. “But why you? Why not let a cop handle it?”

  “I need to do this. My parents were part of it, do you understand?” His gaze is clear and earnest. “It’s my responsibility.”

  “No, it’s not. Hawk.” I put a hand on his arm. “You don’t need to die for your parents’ sins.”

  “I don’t want to die either.” He winks, and I stare at him, at the old Hawk, the flirt, the charmer, the easygoing and carefree rich boy I knew before. “Let’s just hope things work out in my favor, okay?”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “You have to, babe.” He closes the distance between us, takes my face in his hands, and gives me a quick, hard kiss on the lips. “You have to. This is my family’s mess to clean up, not yours. I want you safe and far from here, no matter how fucking much I like having you around.”

  I swallow hard. “How will you get out?”

  He sighs. “My watch. It should send out a signal tonight with my location. Look, if you want to help me… if I don’t call you by tomorrow, call the police.”

  “Didn’t you say that by doing that I’m signing your death warrant?”

  He doesn’t reply, his face hardening, and then he releases me, opens the bathroom door and steps out. He closes it behind him and walks away.

  That’s what I should do, too. Obey his wishes. And make that phone call, like he asked me, if he doesn’t contact me tomorrow.

  But when have I ever done what I’m supposed to do?

  ***

  Of course, Hawk is in smartass mode when I finally gather my courage, climb down the stairs, creep through the open door and return to my hiding spot behind the boxes.

  He’s on the floor, and my stomach clenches with fear even though he’s talking and doesn’t seem to be too shaken.

  The one shaken is me. I’ll never be inside a warehouse again and not feel like throwing up.

  “Oh come on,” Hawk is saying to a guy I’ve never seen before. Another huge, tank-shaped guy with a scar on his cheek. “That’s all you got? ‘You’re dead?’ How about ‘Suck my big hairy dick,’ or at the very least, ‘Eat shit and die’?”

  I smile at that. That’s the parting shot I had chosen for him. Feels like weeks have passed since then.

  “I would challenge you to a battle of wits,” Hawk drawls, “but I see you are unarmed.”

  “You think you’re so smart,” the guy spits and kicks at Hawk who rolls, hopefully out of reach.

  “Shakespeare thought so.”

  “Shut up. Boss wants to see you.”

  “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll see if I can make time in my busy schedule. Wait… oh no. Sandivar isn’t the real boss, is he? I bet nobody knows who the real boss is, least of all you.”

  The thug kicks at him again, and this time his boot connects with Hawk’s side because he lets out a pained grunt.

  God, he’s pushing it again. Pushing for information, I know that now, but it doesn’t make watching any easier.

  “You’ll never meet the Big Boss,” the thug hisses so low I’m not even sure Hawk can hear him where he’s curled on the floor, turned away, his face a mask of pain.

  “I bet you don’t know who he is,” Hawk mutters.
/>   “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? I’m Sandivar’s right hand, he tells me everything.”

  “His right hand, huh? The one holding his dick?”

  Oh crap. Seriously, I can’t look. I peek through my fingers.

  The thug grabs Hawk and lifts him to his feet. “You think I’m stupid, that I’ll give you names? That I don’t know that’s how you got your dad to confess and put him in prison?”

  Hawk grunts, grabs the man’s arms and glares are him through his filthy hair. “I have no recording device here.”

  “That so?” another voice asks and awesome, the Boss, Sandivar, is here. He’s holding… a watch? “And what about this?”

  “That’s my father’s watch,” Hawk says, trying to shove the thug off him and failing. “He gave it to me when I was twelve. Family heirloom.”

  “Funny he didn’t explain to you the use of these buttons here. See, I have a similar watch. It can record, both video and audio, and… see this? It has a GPS function, too, that can be used with a timer. Quite nifty, right?”

  The thug releases Hawk who stumbles backward, then catches himself, his face white. “Fuck.”

  “Well, since you betrayed your father, the one who gave you this watch… you don’t mind if I smash it, do you?”

  Hawk flinches when the watch crashes to the ground, and the Boss nods at the huge guy with the scar to step on it.

  And oh boy he does, shattering it under his heavy boots, again and again.

  The GPS signal he talked about.

  Gone.

  “Now that we got this out of the way… The transaction you told your lawyers to rush didn’t come through.”

  “It takes fucking time for such a transaction to—”

  “Don’t bullshit me anymore. You think you have secrets from me, Jamie Fleming? I know everything about you. I know things about you that you don’t even know. I know how to hit your friends and make them bleed. You can’t hide anything from me, and I have you in the palm of my fucking hand.”

  Hawk curses, and he fists his hands like he’s two seconds away from launching himself at Sandivar.

  This isn’t going well at all.

  God, how can I get Hawk out of this place? He can’t fit through the bathroom window I have been using. His shoulders are twice as wide as mine.