Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  He’s alive.

  ***

  A chopper flies us to a private hospital. Dorothy is clutching my hand as we fly over the city in silence, uniformed SWAT cops sitting on either side of us, their guns held loosely in their laps.

  Rook is sitting beside Hawk who’s lying on his stomach, a blanket thrown over his bruised back, his face slack and white. His lids look bruised in contrast, and there’s blood on his pale lashes.

  Swallowing hard, I look away.

  When I asked Rook earlier if Hawk was going to be okay, he gave me a vague reply, and what I gathered was that, yes, he will be—if the bullets haven’t hit his spine. Even through the plates of the bulletproof vest, the impact is serious, and if the spine is badly hit, then…

  Paralysis. Even death.

  And I should stop thinking the worst. We made it this far. I’m not giving up hope now. On him. On us.

  No way.

  “You okay?” Dorothy asks, and I realize my hand has drifted down to my belly, an unconscious gesture I find myself doing more and more.

  I nod, unable to lie out loud. I’m not okay. Not until I know Hawk is fine. This hellish week, and my whacked hormones, have stripped me bare.

  I can’t hide anymore—from my feelings, from others. From myself and the truth.

  If I lose him…

  No. Not now, Layla. Have to have hope.

  That’s my new mantra, and I repeat it in my head as we land on the roof of the hospital and the paramedics come running with a stretcher to get Hawk. As I watch them handle him, as he lolls in their hold like a rag doll, hair falling in his face, his lips bloodless.

  Like he’s already gone.

  He’s not. He’s not gone. I swallow a sob as Rook reaches for me and pulls me to my feet. I sway, then, my knees too weak to hold me, and he swings me up in his arms to lower me to the ground and another team of paramedics waiting there.

  “She’s pregnant,” he tells them, and his arms feel all wrong, his scent unfamiliar. Not Hawk’s. “Here you go.”

  Everyone is gentle and careful, and Dorothy is walking by my side, refusing to be carried. I’m grateful for her presence, but it’s not enough.

  Nothing will be enough until I see for myself that Hawk is fine.

  ***

  I’m supposed to rest. My blood was taken for analyses, the doctor examined me and asked me questions, and I was settled on a hard bed with an equally hard pillow and was told to sleep.

  Ha. As if I could. I tell them that, and they smile indulgently and tell me to try.

  Whatever. I can’t.

  Of course I’m asleep so fast after I can’t remember anything after that—until I blink crusty eyes open sometime later and find Storm and Raylin sitting by the side of the bed.

  It takes me a few moments to process this, and then I’m sitting up, alarmed. “Hawk? What happened?”

  “He’s fine,” Storm says and gestures for me to lie back down.

  My head is spinning, so that’s a good idea. I sag back against the hard pillow. “How is he?”

  “He hasn’t woken up yet. But the doctors say the bullets didn’t hit too close to the spine. He’ll be fine.”

  “So why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

  Storm and Raylin exchange a quick glance. “His body is probably dealing with the trauma. He has several broken ribs and some organ bruising.”

  God. “But that’s not all, is it?”

  “He might have hit his head. It might be something else they haven’t yet figured out. But, Layla—”

  I’m already swinging my legs off the bed, shivering in the thin hospital gown. “I want to see him.”

  “He’s been seen by the best doctors. He has the best care.” Storm is hovering by my elbow as if afraid I’ll faceplant. I might. “Don’t worry.”

  “Don’t tell me not to worry, when all this is my fault. I should never have left and put him in such danger. And then when I…” I glare at him. “Why are you snickering?”

  I look down at myself, then twist my head to look behind me, in case this is one of those hospital gowns that leaves your butt hanging out.

  Nope. Everything is covered.

  “It’s just that… you’re so similar, you and him.” Storm rubs a hand over his face, his laughter dying.

  “Similar?” Last I checked I wasn’t a six-foot-four hulking Viking with a beard.

  “Yeah, similar. He also thinks all this is his fault—for getting you involved, for being an ass to you, for… everything. All this guilt and worry.”

  I sit back down, trying to process this. He thinks it’s his fault. It makes sense, knowing Hawk, knowing how he thinks all his parents did, all the Organization did is on him. That he has to always put his life on the line to fix other people’s mess.

  It’s part of who he is, and I love his selflessness. But it’s time someone told him he has a right to be selfish, too. That he deserves to live and let those who screwed up pay for their mistakes.

  “How can you be laughing,” I ask Storm, “when your friend is lying unconscious in the other room?”

  “He will wake up,” Storm says, and his eyes flash. “He’s too stubborn not to.”

  He sounds so sure of it, but then Raylin puts her arms around him, and I realize it’s all a front. Storm is scared, like I am, but he’s hiding it. He’s lost people he loved, I remember from what I read in the newspapers a few months back. His parents, and his uncle, killed by the Organization.

  “Take me to him,” I tell Storm and push to my feet again. “Please.”

  I need to make Hawk listen, and although he’s out of it, I really hope he can hear and come back to me.

  ***

  “Miss, the doctor wants to examine Mr. Fleming,” the nurse tells me, and I ignore her.

  I’ve been sitting on Hawk’s bed for the past hour—or two?—talking to him, stroking his hand. He’s breathing on his own, which the docs say is a good thing, but hasn’t shown any signs of waking up, or that he’s heard a single word I’ve said.

  “None of this is your fault,” I tell him for the millionth time, squeezing his hand, tracing his big fingers with mine. “I waded into it of my own volition. Besides, I’m fine. We’re fine. The baby’s fine, Hawk. Your baby. And I’ll sit by your side until you open your eyes and look at me. Look at me, Hawk. Look at me!”

  “Miss,” the nurse tries again, putting a hand on my shoulder. “The doctor is waiting. And you should be resting.”

  “No.” I shrug her hand off. I can’t leave before I see a sign he’s waking up. I can’t stand the thought of walking out of the room and not knowing if he’s aware of me or not. “Not yet.”

  “Miss…”

  I lean closer to him, brush my mouth over his. “I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. Come back to me.”

  Someone is talking behind me, probably the doctor, growing impatient with my insistence to stay—but I feel it.

  I feel his hand tighten around mine, I feel his lips move.

  Drawing back, I stare at them and read the words he’s breathing.

  “Layla,” he whispers. “Don’t leave.”

  I let out a long breath and give him a shaky smile, although he hasn’t opened his eyes yet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  ***

  Dorothy is seated beside me, her arm linked to mine. She says nothing, but her presence is comforting. She’s been so quiet since we got here at the hospital, and I feel so guilty for dragging her into this.

  She smiles when I glance at her, though. She’s a strong girl. We’ll get through this together.

  “Sandivar is behind bars,” Storm is saying, stroking Raylin’s hand with his thumb, and probably not even aware he’s doing it. “And the Big Boss is facing charges. Incriminating evidence was found in his accounts. He’s awaiting trial, but the prosecutors are confident he won’t walk away.”

  Good. I nod, glancing at the door to Hawk’s room where the doctors a
re checking him over yet again.

  “You did this.” Storm leans forward, looking at me. “If you hadn’t been in that basement with Hawk, if you hadn’t helped him, he might have died in there.”

  I nod, although my mind is far away. Okay, not so far away—just behind the door to Hawk’s room. And to be honest, I don’t care about the Organization. All I care about is that Hawk’s still alive.

  The rest of the world can go screw itself.

  Maybe I’m more selfish now that I have Hawk back and a baby on the way. Honestly, I don’t feel guilty about that.

  If my dad and Hawk’s parents had thought about their loved ones first, about their kids and the danger they were putting them in, if all the Organization members had thought about specific human lives first, then maybe all this wouldn’t have had to happen.

  The door opens and the doctors walk out. “Mr. Jordan?” one of them says, and Storm stands up and walks over to them. “Mr. Fleming has to stay for another two days, to be monitored, but after that, if there are no complications, you can take him home.”

  Home.

  I stand up, too, putting a hand to the wall to steady myself. Hawk will be fine.

  We’re going home—and home is wherever Hawk is. He’s all that matters.

  “Ms. Green?” The doctor nods at me. “Mr. Fleming would like to talk to you. Keep it brief, please.”

  I walk back through the door as if in a dream. Because Hawk is sitting up, the back of his bed propped up, and he’s looking straight at me.

  When he opens his arms, I almost trip over my feet in my haste to sit on the bed and fall in them. Resting my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, that’s where I want to be. Where I want to stay.

  “Love you, Layla,” he says after a while, and I hug him harder, unable to speak. “I am so sorry I was such an asshole to you.”

  “I’m not asking anything from you,” I whisper, finally finding my voice.

  “And what if I want something from you? What if I want everything? Everything with you? Can’t I want you and love you like any other normal guy? Can’t I love my girl, the mother of my baby? Have you thought about that?” When I shake my head against his chest, he kisses my hair. “I really want to be with you. If you’ll have me. I want to be your boyfriend, your man. I want to be the father to our baby. I want you to let me love you and show you how much I want you.”

  “You should rest,” I tell him, my heart booming. “We can talk about this later.”

  “No. I won’t wait any longer. Every time I waited to say something, it was too late, or I thought it might be. Remember your dream, when I said I can’t do this with you?” At my nod, he goes on. “I can do this, Layla. I want to do this. But not without you. Not with any other woman.”

  “Oh God.” He’s saying everything I want to hear. It’s too good to be true and too complicated to be that simple. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Be with me. Please be with me, Layla.”

  “I’ve been with you from the start,” I whisper, and he trembles against me, murmuring my name.

  Epilogue

  Four months later

  Hawk

  “We’re going to be late,” Layla says, a crease of worry between her pretty brows. She is distressed, I know, even as I move behind her and zip up her dress.

  She spoke to her dad the other day and is still upset about it. I mean, these days she gets easily upset, but anyone in her shoes would be, hearing their father confess he had been foolish enough to let the Organization help him with his business when he got into trouble and then had to play to their tune and allow horrible things to happen under his company’s roof as payback.

  Her dad doesn’t seem like a bad person. Which makes me think again about my own parents and wonder if I should try talking to them again. See if they finally decide to speak to me and tell me a similar story to Layla’s father.

  Only her father wasn’t one of the leaders. My parents were. Kinda difficult to think of sufficiently extenuating circumstances for that, right? The truth I have to finally accept is that my grandfather was right, at least in this: his daughter found a man just like her—greedy for power and money. They were a perfect match.

  Hell, I hope I won’t turn out like them in ten years’ time.

  But as Layla turns around and smiles at me, as I put my hands on her swollen belly and feel our baby kick, I doubt that will happen. I can’t feel their motivations. Never could. I don’t care about more money—I mean, fuck, how much money can one person need?

  I have all I need right here, in this room, with me.

  And like every time I look at my girl, I’m floored by her glow.

  “God, you’re so pretty,” I breathe and kiss her, frantically trying to calculate if we have enough time for a quick, hot fuck before we leave.

  My dick is rock-hard in my dress pants, and like every time I take in her accentuated curves—the roundness of her belly, the heaviness of her tits, the hardness of her nipples—I’m close to blowing my load just from looking at her.

  “No,” she whispers back, “we’re late,” but she’s pressing her body to mine, kissing me back, and I walk her backward until she sinks down on the bed.

  I have plans for some more exciting sex today, but for a quickie this will do. I can’t even walk, I’m so hard for her, and seeing her underneath me, in her glittery dress and sparkly high heels, all dressed up for Storm’s and Raylin’s wedding, is too much to resist.

  The need to peel her clothes off her is a constant in my life lately, but now I also need to mess up her perfect hairdo, pull loose those shiny locks, pull off her dress to see her lacy panties and bra, throw her legs over my shoulders and eat her up.

  She moans when I lift one leg and kiss her ankle, then the inside of her knee, then her inner thigh. I can see her panties now, a pale blue, and I nuzzle her pussy through the lace, drawing in her scent of arousal.

  “I want you,” I grunt, pulling back reluctantly so that I can undress her, “so fucking bad.”

  She laughs breathlessly. “Even like this?” She pats her belly and color spreads on her cheekbones.

  She really doesn’t get it. “Especially like this.” I sit beside her, unzip her dress and have it off her in a heartbeat. “Listen, babe. I hope we’re gonna have fuckloads of children, so that we can have lots of pregnant sex.”

  Giggling, she turns toward me, and God, I love the sparkle in her eyes. My hands are all over her body, over her tits. They’re more than a handful now, and I reach behind her for the clasp of her bra, impatient to have them bare in my hands, in my mouth.

  The moment I draw one nipple into my mouth, she goes wild. She grabs my shoulders and grinds herself on my hard-on, and pleasure shoots up my spine, sparks behind my balls.

  Oh yeah. I suck on her other boob, kneading the first one with my hand, torturing her nipple, and her movements grow frantic, her hips moving in circles on my crotch, her belly pressing into my stomach, until I’m panting with need.

  She comes with a soft cry, pushing her tits into my mouth, into my hand, slumping against me.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper again. So damn perfect.

  I carefully pull her off me and settle her on the bed to unzip my pants and pull my aching cock out. “On all fours,” I command her, and she obeys immediately, turning her lovely heart-shaped ass to me.

  God, this girl. She’s killing me, every day. Every night. She’s all I want.

  I pull down her soaked panties, nudge her legs apart, and lick at her opening, one long lick that has her rocking back into me and calling my name. She tastes sweet and musky and the taste zings straight to my cock.

  Taking myself in hand, I push the tip between her folds, into her pussy. I groan as I slide home, deep inside her, and she rocks back, taking me even deeper. Reaching around her, I palm her tits, pulling on her nipples, and she clenches around me, gasping.

  I pull back a little, then thrust again into her, my hand sliding down her s
ide and then between her legs. Her clit is swollen and hot, and I rub it with my fingertips, circling it, stroking it until she cries out and shudders with another orgasm.

  “Fuck, babe.” I grab her hips and pull her back to sit fully on me, wrapping an arm around her, under her tits, and putting my other hand over her throat, controlling her breathing. “Again. Come again. With me.”

  She swallows against my hand, testing my grip. I relax it, let her draw air, then tighten it again. My other hand is now back between her legs, and my dick is so swollen it hurts. Her passage is tight like a fist around my hard-on, and when she shifts and rolls her hips, it tightens more, drawing a broken groan from my throat.

  I stroke her clit harder, then trail my hand lower, where I’m sliding in and out of her, and she shudders. She’s moaning, I feel the vibrations against the palm I have on her throat, and I squeeze it lightly as I slam into her, my whole body straining to be inside her.

  Her pussy ripples around my dick, and her head drops back on my shoulder as she rides her pleasure. Seeing her, feeling her triggers my own release, and I let out a hoarse shout, spilling inside her. Letting her have all of me.

  I cling to her, hugging her to me as we both struggle to catch our breaths. Fuck, I wanna stay here, like this, inside her. With her.

  “To hell with Storm,” I pant.

  “It’s his wedding.”

  “Fuck him.”

  She laughs. “Come on. You promised me you’d go down on me in the back of your limo.”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love this girl. Well, one of the reasons, but the main reason my dick loves her.

  “Let’s go.”

  ***

  The wedding is about to start. Storm and Raylin chose to have it at one of Rook’s estates by the sea, not far from Baltimore. So of course we are taking the limo.

  And of course I’m about to make good use of the back seat.

  However, Layla distracts me right before I close the partition between us and the driver, right before I push her back on the seat and spread her legs. I’m already salivating at the thought of making her come with my mouth, of the way she will come apart so completely while lying back on the white leather, her hair loose on the seat, her eyes closed, her body trembling.