Hawke

by Larissa Ladd

  Hawke

  The Miles Brothers Series 1

  Larissa Ladd

  Copyright © 2018 by Larissa Ladd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Larissa Ladd

  1

  Hawke

  “One more color,” I mumbled as I stepped back to look at the art I’d created. A quick glance around to make sure the cops weren’t standing in the shadows to bust my ass, and I grabbed a can of blue spray paint. I shook the can and tilted my head to the side, studying my work.

  A smirk lifted my lips. My father would have disapproved not only of me vandalizing public property at my age but for being late to his funeral. He was a good man, a distant rich man, but good nevertheless.

  “Hey, you! What are you doing over there?” A loud voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Fuck.” I sprayed a bit of blue, leaned down and signed the graffiti art, and grabbed my shit. The voice got louder, and the sound of several feet hitting the pavement filled my ears. I couldn’t get arrested.

  Not again. Not on the day of my father’s funeral. I would never hear the end of it from my brothers.

  I got in the car, slung my bag of spray paint over to the passenger’s seat, and prayed the baby would crank up. It started immediately.

  “There you go, Kitten.” I reached up and patted the dashboard, and movement caught my attention. Security guards. Two of them. Running right the fuck toward me. “Let’s go.”

  The sound of my tires burning up the road gave me a sweet sense of satisfaction. At twenty-eight, I wasn’t exactly a rebel anymore, but I could pretend in my dreams that I still had it in me.

  I let out a laugh and turned onto a busy street, losing the guards in five o’clock Friday afternoon traffic.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do it.”

  * * *

  “You fucking rebel.” My older brother, Kade, shook his head as he stood just outside the open door to the funeral home. The smile on his face let me know that he respected my bravery to see my art through, no matter what.

  “Nah, man. I’m all grown up now.” I brushed my hands down the front of my black buttoned-up shirt and peered over his shoulder. People filled the room behind him, most of them faces I’d never seen before in my life.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that then.” My brother patted me on the chest and turned a little to face the open door. “I’m not sure how to feel about today. About all of this.”

  “I agree.” I moved past him and scanned the crowd, looking for the sanctuary. Several older people smiled kindly and nodded my way. I brought the average age in the room down to sixty at least.

  “It’s to the left. Where all of the flowers are.” Kade moved up beside me and rested his hand on my upper back. “He looks good. Even with the cancer eating away at him, they did a great job of making him look like he did ten years back.”

  “Dad always looked good. It was his job to fool the world, to make them believe he was unstoppable.”

  Kade chuckled. “And he did.” He dropped his hand from me and walked toward the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave me a small smile. “You’re most like him in that way.”

  “How’s that?” I lowered my voice a little and walked through the crowd toward the sanctuary door.

  “He was good at hiding how he felt.” Kade shrugged and walked down the long aisle between rows and rows of church pews. “You do the same.”

  “Nothing to hide.” I shrugged and focused my attention on the open casket at the front of the room. “I’m good.”

  “You’re the one that stayed behind when we all left.” He pressed his shoulder to mine as we stopped in front of Dad.

  I glanced down and took a sharp breath. “And I’m glad I did. We didn’t get along when I was a kid, but there was a part of me that wanted to give back to him and Mom, to thank them in some special way for adopting all of us fuckers, you know?”

  Kade snorted. “Not sure you’re allowed to say fuckers in here.”

  “Fuckers.” I winked before reaching out and fixing the bright blue handkerchief they had tucked into my father’s breast pocket. “Dad didn’t understand my need to express myself through art.”

  “Which is funny, seeing that he loved art himself.”

  “Right?” I smiled and clasped my hands in front of me, taking in the moment. A million memories raced past the back of my eyelids as I closed them and took it in.

  All four of my brothers and I had been adopted by Geoffrey and Linda Miles. They were beyond wealthy, and Linda wasn’t able to have kids. A part of my heart ached for her when we were growing up, but she loved each of us rowdy bastards as if we were her own. Geoffrey? Not so much.

  “You all right?” Kade touched my back again.

  I glanced over to his kind blue eyes, filled with that intellectual look he got from time to time. “Yeah. Glad you’re here. Where the hell is everyone else?”

  He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Asher and Lars are back at Mom and Dad’s house. They don’t do funerals. You know that. They didn’t even come to Mom’s.”

  “And Jagger?” My youngest brother had been off the grid for a few years. None of us had been able to keep up with him, which was just the way he liked it.

  “No clue.” He moved back and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go shake some hands. The service should start soon.”

  “Cool.” I turned back to the casket.

  “Remember, we’re meeting with Dad’s lawyer on Monday. We have to go over the will.”

  “And then you guys are all heading back out, or are you staying in Seattle for a few days?”

  “I’m staying, but I’m not sure of anyone else’s plans.” He turned and walked off, leaving me to my thoughts.

  I was the only one that stayed behind, but it wasn’t for Mom and Dad. It was for me. I loved the northwest. Seattle was a part of my soul, the art community and creative freedom movements a huge part of my identity.

  A tall older man moved up beside me. “You must be Hawke.”

  “Yes, sir. And you?” I turned and offered my hand to the guy.

  “I’m Raymond Kant, your father’s best friend.”

  “Oh, yeah. Mister Ray. Good to see you.” I offered him a tight smile. The only thing I hated worse than mingling with people I didn’t know was getting thrown in jail for the night. Or maybe it was the other way around.

  “You too.” He smiled down at my father. “I know Geo wasn’t your real father, but you look like him.”

  “This is true.” I reached up and ran my fingers through my dark hair. “He was a good-looking bastard, right?”

  The old man laughed heartily. “He was, and
he was quite the talent with the ladies.”

  “Oh yeah?” I rolled my shoulders. “I’m thinking that’s where me and Dad are different. I can’t seem to snag the right one no matter what.”

  “Love waits on the right one for the right moment.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m getting a little impatient.” I smirked and reached back down to touch Dad’s shoulder. “He didn’t talk much about his love life before Mom.”

  “Most fathers don’t.” The old guy shifted a little to face me. “If you need anything, just call. Any of you boys. You were your father’s pride and joy. I know he had his fingers in a lot of pies around the world, and I would imagine he’s divided all of those responsibilities up for each of you. Just let me know if there is ever anything I can do.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” I took the card he offered and tucked it into my pocket.

  Funny how love got brought up at a funeral. People didn’t really show up to pay their respects because they were good business partners or excellent poker pals. They showed up because they had some semblance of love for the deceased.

  I found my way to the front row and sat down, assuming Kade would join me shortly.

  A cold chill ran up my spine as my thoughts danced around at a million miles a minute.

  How many people would show up at my funeral if I died young?

  Right. Three. Kade, Zak, and Lars. Hell, maybe Jagger would bring his rebellious ass out of the woods to say a final goodbye. Maybe not. None of us shared blood, only history, struggle—life.

  “You look awfully contemplative over here.” Kade dropped down next to me. “You thinking about your next painting?”

  I snorted. “No. I was thinking about my own funeral.”

  “And?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “And don’t play this sappy-ass music. Bring in Imagine Dragons or someone to bust loose the celebration.”

  “Why am I not surprised to hear that is one of your requests?”

  “Too much flare for you?” I crossed my arms over my chest and watched my brother, enjoying his company. It had been too long.

  “No... it’s fucking expensive and damn near impossible.”

  I chuckled. “That does sound like me.”

  “Rebel.”

  2

  Jenna

  “To the left a little.” Dallen moved up beside me as I stood in the long hallway of the Art Gallery I managed. The painting on the wall in front of us was new, a classical Rembrandt-style piece that just didn’t fit well on the wall.

  “I don’t know.” I backed up a little more and reached up to throw my long brown hair over my shoulder. “Something about it feels…”

  “Off. I get it.” He crossed his arms over his thin chest and shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. “It’s the style of the painting.”

  “Right? How the heck does a square painting not fit on a long wall of square paintings?” I smiled tightly. “I don’t have time for this. Everything has to be perfect for this weekend.”

  “Then do this, Missy.” He turned and put a hand on his hip. The other pressed to his pointy chin. “Leave this one up to me. I have some ideas.”

  “All right.” The tightness in my chest had nothing to do with my faith in my young apprentice. It was more about the desire for the world to see our gallery as something new, different—spectacular.

  Every showing we held gave us another opportunity to try, but I’d been trying for three years to no avail. Being an art major meant I knew what I was looking at and the history of it, but I still yearned to break out and find my own true talent—my own gift in the world of paint, clay, or glass.

  “I know that look.” He giggled softly. “You’re thinking about learning to paint again.”

  “Me?” I mumbled in a low voice. “No, I’ve given up on myself. I tried to do a paint by numbers this last week in my spare time, and it looked like my cat painted it. With his toes.”

  Dallen let out a loud laugh. “Well, if you don’t figure out painting, you could always have a place in stand-up comedy. You’re hilarious, but you already know that.” He flipped his hand and turned back to the painting. “Stop staring at me, and get busy on something else. You make me nervous when you eyeball me.”

  “Whatever.” I shook my head and walked back toward my office. Surprisingly enough, a tall gentleman in a dark blue suit stood waiting for me.

  “Miss Camden?” He reached up and brushed the tuft of grey hair away from his forehead.

  Was he the owner of the gallery? The unseen, barely known, brilliantly rich Geoffrey Miles himself?

  “Jenna. Please.” I offered my hand and shook his as he accepted mine. “Can I do something for you?”

  “I need a moment of your time, if you please?” He released my hand and reached down to grip his briefcase in front of him. “I’m from the office of Collinger and Barker. I’m Nathan Barker.”

  “Oh. An accounting firm or law firm?” I moved past him and unlocked the door to my office. Why the hell was a “firm” of any sort standing at my door? Never in the three years I’d been running the gallery had anyone business oriented shown up. The owner was hands-off completely. My excitement that the gentleman behind me might actually be Mister Miles faded.

  “I’m a lawyer.” He moved into my office and sat down across me as I gracefully lowered myself to my chair. “I’m here to discuss a few changes that are coming your way.”

  “Such as?” I moved to the edge of my seat and brushed my hands down my black pencil skirt. The air in the room suddenly seemed so damn hard to access. Was the gallery closing? God, I hope not.

  “Firstly, Mister Miles left a note in his file to give to you upon his death. He has unfortunately lost his battle with cancer recently, and with the numerous affairs we had to manage, this was a little bit lower on our list but nonetheless important.”

  “Oh.” I reached up and put my hand over my mouth as surprise raced through me. “I didn’t realize he had cancer.”

  “Yes. He’s been battling it for the last few years.” He cleared his throat and lifted his briefcase, nodding toward my desk. “Might I lay my stuff out here?”

  “Of course.” I reached up and pulled back my nameplate. The desk was otherwise impeccable. After being raised in a strict household with a mother that enjoyed punishing me if anything was out of place, I was rather neat. Almost to a fault.

  “He was quite impressed with your ability to not only run the gallery the way you have, but to grow the contributor list both from our donors and from the artist side.” He sniffled and pulled out a large white envelope.

  I couldn’t tell if he was sick or emotional. I reached across the desk and took it from him. “Well, thank you for the kind words. I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by beauty.”

  He offered a smile. “I’m thinking you would only need a mirror in each room then.”

  Heat raced up my chest and coated my cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He reached over and pointed to the top line of the letter after I opened it. “I know this is poor timing with the showing you have coming up this weekend, but Mister Miles left the gallery to his second youngest son, Hawke Miles.”

  I stiffened but worked hard not to let disdain seep into my voice. I didn’t know Hawke, but the idea of anyone coming into my gallery and telling me what to do was enough to bring out my mother in me.

  “Does Hawke have any experience with art galleries?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  The older man smiled. “To be honest, I know nothing of Geoffrey’s boys. He thought highly enough of them to leave them various assets in the will. This business will become Hawke’s.”

  “So he’s already accepted the responsibility of taking over for his father?” I moved back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. The need to defend myself as more than capable enough swam to the surface. I’d spent most of my life defending myself.

  “He has.” The man nodded.

  “And do yo
u know if he plans to work like his father did?”

  “How is that?” The lawyer closed his briefcase and moved it back to his lap. “From a distance?”

  “Well, yes.” I reached up and ran my fingers through my hair, accidentally loosening the ponytail I’d worked on for ten minutes earlier that morning. I wanted to look the part as much as play it.

  “I’m not sure.” He stood. “I’ll leave you my card. If you or Hawke need anything at all, please, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Will do.” I stood and offered my hand. “And thank you again. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “We appreciate that. I know Hawke and the Miles Contemporary Art Gallery are in good hands. We believe in you, Miss Camden, as did Mister Miles himself. I’d assume if you gained Hawke’s trust the same as you did Geoffrey’s that you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  “Awesome.” I released his hand and walked him out. Just before he left the building, I called out. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Miss Camden?” He turned back and brushed his hand down his tie.

  “How old is Mister Miles? Hawke.”

  “He’s in his mid-twenties.” He offered a smirk that had me feeling ill.

  “Excellent. Thank you.” I closed the door and growled. “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

  “Who’s in their mid-twenties and are you fucking him?” Dallen walked up and leaned against the door, his eyes filled with question.

  “The owner of the gallery died this last week, and he’s given his son the business.” I let out a short sigh and walked back toward the hallway where Dallen and I had started our morning. “I hate the idea of having to impress someone.”