Unbeloved

by Madeline Sheehan

  My lifeless marriage had led me to Jase, and Jase had led me to Hawk. And Hawk and I had created a child we both cherished.

  None of it had been a mistake. It had just been my path, my cracked and broken road to home.

  And if I hadn’t loved him already, I would undoubtedly love him now.

  It had taken me half a lifetime, years filled with heartache and one bad decision after another. But I’d finally found him, my prince, hiding inside a man who’d been there all along.

  • • •

  Dorothy had been naked.

  Granted she was still naked, had been naked for a while now and they’d already fucked, but still, Hawk couldn’t get that image of her walking out of the bathroom butt-ass naked out of his head. She’d never done shit like that, not in all the years they’d been together. It had always been him who’d made the first move, him who’d undressed her, him who’d initiated sex.

  This. Her. Naked. Them. It was like Christmas fucking morning.

  Now she was lying on top of him, her back to his front. Because he couldn’t lie any other way except on his back without the accompanying pain, he’d had a hard time touching her while they’d fucked. Unable to touch her the way he’d wanted had pissed him off so badly that for the last hour, he’d forced her to lie on top of him so he could easily grope all those parts of her he’d missed out on. Because of how short she was, this worked out perfectly for him, and also allowed their heads to rest side by side.

  At the moment he had one hand between her legs, a finger up inside her, softly stroking inside and out, over and over again, while his other hand alternated between stroking her breasts when he could focus long enough to switch it up.

  When he bit down softly on her shoulder, she let out a small gasp, and Hawk grinned against her skin, biting down harder, thrusting his fingers faster.

  He knew he should tell her what the coming weeks were going to bring, but for some reason he couldn’t force himself to do it just yet. He needed this, her and him, her content and happy because of him. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, or be the cause of any more tears that would inevitably flow from those beautiful green eyes of hers once he told her everything.

  That and he really wanted her to come again. Wanted to feel her little body tighten up, see her hands clench into fists, her toes curl, all while making those incredibly sexy mewing noises she always made. Increasing his speed, he gripped her breast, biting first her shoulder, then her neck. Then, as her back bowed, her whimpers catching in her throat, he took her mouth, sending her over the edge. Finishing hard, she cried out loudly as her body squeezed around his fingers.

  While kissing the single tear sliding down her cheek, he had a fleeting thought that he should thank his traitorous uncle. After all, it was Yenny’s doing that had brought this about, brought Dorothy and him back together. This time, and for the first time with no secrets.

  “I love you,” she whispered, turning her face, nuzzling her nose against his cheek. He turned to meet her and their mouths met. Slow kisses ensued, wet and soft, making him hungry for more, making his body twitch with the need to intensify this insatiable pull between them.

  And goddamn it, he just wanted to be able to throw her off him, climb on top of her, and hammer the hell out of her.

  You’re beautiful, D,” he said softly.

  “I’m getting older,” she whispered, her smile suddenly waning.

  He almost snorted, but reminded himself how insecure she’d always been and held his solemn expression. He’d dealt with her insecurities back then, and knew exactly how to deal with them now.

  “Woman,” he said, slipping another finger inside her. “Quit your fuckin’ nonsense.”

  Then he kissed her before she could say another word.

  He’d fucked a lot of women since going nomad, all younger than her, and yet not one of them could hold a damn candle to the way he felt about her, the way he saw her.

  So her skin wasn’t as smooth as it had once been, her breasts weren’t as high and her stomach not quite as tight. None of that mattered to him.

  Dorothy was still herself, still beautiful, and she was still the lone woman on this earth who’d been able to give him any sense of comfort. She was the one woman who’d grounded him when he’d needed it most, who’d given him the one thing he’d thought he’d never have again: a flesh and blood family.

  No matter how much she aged, when her hair turned white and her skin was a cascade of wrinkles, he’d find her beautiful, above all others, and love her still.

  “I feel like we should be talking more,” she mumbled against his mouth, “but we’ve barely spoken, it seems like.”

  He kissed her again, her mouth, each cheek, and then her pert little nose. “When the fuck have we ever needed words?”

  Because they hadn’t needed them, not back then and not now. Maybe a few would have come in handy toward the end there, and maybe getting to this point wouldn’t have been such a long, hard road, but it didn’t matter anymore because they were here. They’d both made it to the finish line.

  And words weren’t fucking needed.

  Except when they were.

  “D,” he whispered, removing his hands from her body. “We need to talk.”

  Slowly, looking slightly dazed, her lips swollen from kissing and her skin reddened from his touches, she rolled off of him and onto her side.

  “Hmm?” she murmured, nuzzling into his arm. As her hand slid over his stomach, her nails lightly grazing his skin, he closed his eyes, biting back a groan. He wanted to do this, do her, all night long, all week long. Hell, he wanted to make up for lost time and do this for a year straight.

  But he didn’t have a year. He didn’t even have a month.

  And if he didn’t tell her now, she’d hate him for it later. That wasn’t something he could live with.

  Wrapping his arm around her back, he said, “There’s somethin’ you need to know, baby.”

  “Deuce already told me everything,” she whispered, kissing his arm.

  “No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

  All at once her body language shifted from languid and soft to rigid and alert. Shifting off of him, she moved to a sitting position and pulled a pillow in front of her, covering herself and hugging it to her chest.

  “What?” she asked, sounding wary.

  It hurt. It was physically hurting Hawk to try to get the words out, because once he freed them, there would be no taking them back. The damage would be done and he’d spend his last few weeks with her trying to repair that damage instead of simply being together. It would be the elephant in the fucking room, too momentous to ignore.

  But even though he hated it, hated the very idea of hurting her, there had been enough secrets between them in the past. He didn’t want that to be who they were anymore.

  “This shit with the Russians,” he said, his voice giving away the emotional strain he was feeling. “It’s . . . not over.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, it’s not over?”

  He took a deep breath, a blatant and unlikely show of emotion that surprised both himself and Dorothy.

  “Hawk,” she said, her voice small and unusually high, a testament to her growing fear. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  “There’s somethin’ I gotta do,” he said, reaching for her. Cupping her cheek, he smoothed his thumb across her bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. “Somethin’ you’re not gonna like.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Life was made up of moments, big ones and little, the good and bad, dark and light. We never remembered the gray, the times in between, but instead only the moments that had the ability to transform us in some way, affect us so completely that the memory would be forever etched upon who we were, who we are, and who we would become.

  My moments were many. Becoming pregnant at fifteen, married to a man I didn’t love at eighteen, falling in love for the first time while I was still married to a man w
ho was also married.

  Losing the respect and support of my family.

  And then falling in love again, this time for the last time with a man who was virtually a stranger to me, and again becoming pregnant.

  The day Chrissy shot me, the first time I saw Christopher’s face and innately knew he was mine, the day my memories started to return.

  All a mixture of devastation and happiness that I’d never forget.

  My daughter falling apart in my arms after Cage had been shot, and then the look on her face when she’d married him and finally had the one thing she’d wanted most in this world.

  Each and every one of Christopher’s smiles.

  Hawk not showing up for Christmas and all the events that followed, leading to me finally having the courage to face Jase, to let him go, and by letting him go finally allowing myself to accept my true feelings for Hawk.

  And Hawk. Having him, for the first time, really, truly having the man I undeniably loved, a man who loved me unconditionally in return, having him in my heart and in my arms, and unashamedly, unapologetically, finally being able to tell the world that he was mine and I was his.

  Those were the moments I’d remember forever, the moments of my life, the story of me.

  And it was all ending with Hawk leaving.

  He was leaving me.

  Not by choice, but because of his sense of duty—to Deuce, to all the Horsemen, even to Preacher.

  Neither Deuce nor Preacher would ever allow another organization to dictate how they ran their businesses, who they bought from, who they sold to. And because of that, in return for saving Hawk’s life, Hawk had to sacrifice his freedom for the good of both clubs.

  In a few days there would be a meeting with the club’s lawyer to discuss their strategy, and in three weeks’ time, Deuce would accompany Hawk to the FBI headquarters where Hawk would reveal who he really was, ultimately turning himself in.

  And I would lose him all over again.

  Moments.

  Good . . . and bad.

  My life.

  At first I’d cried.

  Then I’d asked Hawk, my voice a hoarse whisper, “How long will you be gone?” And he couldn’t give me an answer, just a look that told me, in no uncertain terms, that he didn’t have an answer for me but he expected the worst and so should I.

  “What exactly are you wanted for?” I asked meekly, dreading the answer.

  He didn’t want to tell me, that much I could discern from the deep frown that formed on his usually unmovable features.

  “Weapons, drugs, human trafficking.” He sighed. “You name it, my father had his hand in it.”

  Then I’d yelled while I’d cried, I’d beat my fists against the bedding and pillows instead of the man. Because even though I wanted to blame him, I couldn’t. I couldn’t blame him for the sins of his father, or that his father had been careless enough to let his teenage son be a part of such a dangerous game.

  Then I’d cried again. I’d cried because I could have spent the past eight years in his arms. I could have looked past my pain and allowed him in, opened that door he’d been waiting outside the entire time and just fucking let him in.

  But I hadn’t, because even though I’d thought myself stronger, I hadn’t been. I’d still been hiding, still scared of myself and my feelings, of what my future held.

  And now it was too late.

  Then I’d kissed him. Cupped the sides of his face, dug my fingers through his scruffy beard and into his skin, then up into his hair and while raking my nails across his scalp, I kissed him hard. A ferocious, tear-drenched kiss, full of my anger and pain, pouring it all into his mouth, into him. Because I had to do something or I would scream and scream, and I’d feared that if I started screaming, I’d never stop.

  We made love again, this time without my insecurities and without Hawk’s restraint. Despite his limited range of movement, he was aggressive, demanding, and equally as passionate as I was needful. I wasn’t gentle; I couldn’t be. I didn’t have time for gentleness, didn’t have time to take things slow, to get to know each other all over again, discovering what he loved best and I what I enjoyed most.

  All I had was right now and I didn’t want to waste it. Him. Us. Our moments.

  These moments that I would remember for the rest of my life.

  Him, so deep inside me that I could feel him, large and heavy with need, the blood pumping through his body, beating in time with my own heart.

  And me, so full, so utterly satiated, surrounded and infused by him, both too much and not enough, and ultimately heartbreakingly satisfying to levels of gratification only known by a woman who has experienced what true love is.

  Moments.

  I cried again when I came. Breathless and still quivering from my release, with Hawk still inside me, I collapsed onto his chest. His arms wound around me, squeezing me tightly, his face buried into my hair while my eyes overflowed, wetting both of us, and neither of us spoke.

  When my tears had run dry, when I was finally able to release him, he refused to let me go.

  “You’re my woman, Dorothy Kelley,” he said, his deep voice soft. “Always have been, always will be. I’ve waited a long-ass time for this, for you, so havin’ to wait a little longer ain’t gonna kill me.”

  I raised my head to meet his eyes. Eyes that were surprisingly moist. Hawk really had changed. Finally being free of his past, his secrets, no longer in hiding, had brought out the man he always should have been, a man I loved even more because of it.

  “I’ll wait forever.” I whispered the words, willing myself to stay strong, at least for this moment. “I will wait for fucking ever,” I repeated, this time with more force, every fiber of my being afire with the truth of those words. I could feel it, breathe it, that I would undoubtedly wait forever for this man to come back to me.

  Hawk’s lips split into a smile so big, so bright, that even his beard couldn’t hide the intensity of it.

  I couldn’t help but grin in return.

  Hawk didn’t grin. There were those rare occasions that one of the boys at the club would say something juvenile, causing him to laugh, but a grin, a cat-that-ate-the-canary sort of grin? Never.

  A hand came down hard on my backside, a sharp slap that echoed throughout the room, making me jump.

  “Woman,” he said, barking out a laugh. “I fuckin’ love it when you curse.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Meredith Jamison was a powerhouse in heels if Hawk had ever seen one.

  In her white button-down shirt hidden behind a silky-looking black pants suit that hugged her barely there curves, her shiny black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her hard and all-knowing brown eyes, and an expression as unyielding as her tone, she was a woman who gave the impression that she could take on the world, bring it to its knees, and make it her bitch.

  Which was great.

  Fucking perfect.

  She was the kind of lawyer Hawk needed if he wanted to avoid spending his golden years behind bars.

  Out of all the club’s affiliations with lawyers over the years, she was by far the best. She worked as hard as she looked and had gone to bat for them many times before, getting a couple of the boys’ sentences drastically reduced, as well as seeing that a few of them served no jail time at all.

  That wouldn’t be the case here. Hawk knew he’d be serving jail time, but how long remained to be seen.

  “Mr. Polachev,” she said, moving away from the wall to lean against the edge of Deuce’s desk. “You may only be wanted in connection to your father’s crimes, but as you know, most of the members of the Polachev cartel are wanted internationally for quite an extensive list of illegal activity, the least of which was drug running or weapons smuggling. The FBI has tracked them as the suppliers of several explosives used in bombing incidents across the country. Let’s not forget human trafficking. If we walk into FBI headquarters announcing that you’re the long-lost son of Avgust Polachev, and your only knowl
edge of the cartel is nearly twenty years old, they’re not going to be offering you any deals. You’re going to be locked up in a maximum security prison and left to rot.”

  Hawk already knew that, and if the plan Deuce and Preacher had concocted fell through, that was exactly what he would end up doing. Rotting.

  “What if I can give them Yevgeniy Polachev?” he asked quietly.

  Meredith’s gaze flickered from him to Deuce, who gave her a single nod in response.

  “Just like that?” she asked, surprised. “You’d become a rat?”

  Deuce shrugged. “He started it,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ Russian motherfucker blackmailin’ me with one of my own boys.”

  “How very mature of you all,” Meredith responded, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Mature or not,” Hawk said, “it could work. We can fill in the FBI on the details of the Horsemen’s next pickup, and the Feds can storm the place, taking everyone down. Horsemen too.”

  “Yeah,” Deuce interjected. “But let’s not forget I want it in writing that this is all for fuckin’ show, and ain’t none of my boys are actually gonna get charged with anything. The Feds get Yenny and his men, the cartel can keep its business with the clubs I got lined up for them, and everyone lives happily ever fuckin’ after. You feel me?”

  Meredith smirked, her first semblance of a smile since she’d arrived at the club. “I do indeed feel you, Mr. West. If you’re handing Yevgeniy Polachev over on a silver platter, I’m sure I can work out a deal where none of your boys will be actually charged . . . except Mr. Polachev, of course.” She looked to Hawk.

  “Of course,” Hawk muttered, annoyed by her continued use of a last name he no longer cared to remember.

  “As for sentencing,” she continued, “with your help in your uncle’s arrest, I’m 85% sure I could plead your charges down to aiding and abetting, resulting in a reduced sentence of five to ten years behind bars. But that’s only if the federal attorney agrees, and from what I’ve heard, he’s the least agreeable man on the planet.”

  It was Hawk’s turn to smirk. “Really?” he asked. “Have you met my prez?”