HAWK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  “Okay,” I say softly. Part of me is relieved that this disaster of a conversation is over. But a bigger part of me is battling a wave of disappointment that this is apparently how it ends.

  “Okay then,” he nods, his expression still tense and preoccupied. He turns to go, but after a beat, he looks back at me. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he mutters.

  I don’t know what to say to that. Or how to ignore the little thrill of excitement that goes up my spine at his words.

  “Okay,” I say in a small voice, but he’s already swiveled back around and started walking back toward the grill.

  I shiver, and close my eyes for a long second. Being around Hawk is like being pulled in by a tractor beam. He’s all the way across the street and swallowed up in the crowd of other club members before my head starts to clear.

  “Sam!” a familiar voice cries off to my right. I turn to see Jenna waving at me from about twenty feet away. She’s pushing a stroller, with Mariana sitting in it and Noah skipping along next to her.

  “Hey!” I smile and wave back. When she gets close, I squat down to the stroller. “Hi, Mariana!” The little sweetheart gives me a tiny wave and a wide, goofy grin. “Hi, Noah,” I say to her older brother.

  “Hi,” he says back. “You’re the photographer lady, right?”

  “That’s right,” I nod. “Good memory. Are you enjoying the festival?”

  “Yeah.” Noah looks up at his mom. “We’re going to do face painting next!”

  “That sounds awesome,” I enthuse. I put my hands on my knees and push myself back up to standing. “It’s good to see you,” I say to Jenna. “How’ve you been?”

  “Great, thanks!” she says, and then glances toward where the club has set up shop. “Were you just talking to Hawk?” she asks me curiously.

  “Um, yeah,” I admit. I feel sheepish that she saw us together. But Jenna knows he came to fix Gram’s sink, so maybe she’ll just chalk it up to politeness. “He seems a little… off,” I say. “I mean, kind of different than normal. Not that I know him well enough to know what’s normal for him,” I continue hastily. “Just… I don’t know. Tense.”

  Jenna nods. “Cas is acting strange, too. I don’t know what it is.” She casts a worried look toward the group of men. “Funny how they’re doing the festival like there’s nothing wrong. But I get the feeling something is definitely wrong.”

  “You mean with the MC?”

  “Yeah.” Jenna reaches down absently and draws Noah to her.

  I have no idea what kind of stuff the MC does, but suddenly the thought jumps into my head that Hawk could be in some kind of danger. I feel a little sick at the thought.

  “How much does Cas tell you? About the MC?” I find myself asking.

  Jenna blows out a breath. “He tells me what he thinks I need to know. Most of the time, the guys try to keep the MC’s business away from the women.” She frowns. “Cas rarely brings that stuff home with him, but this time he has. I just hope everything’s okay. But of course, if I ask him, he’ll just tell me everything’s fine.”

  Now I’m starting to worry. Hawk would never tell me anything about what was happening with the club, though, so it’s stupid for me to even let myself think about it. Whatever is going on, it’s not something I’m likely to ever know anything about.

  “Hey,” Jenna says then. “Why don’t I introduce you to some of the women? You’ll recognize some of them from the wedding, I’m sure.”

  Before I can say anything, Jenna’s turned the stroller in the direction of the MC, where for the first time I notice a group of women gathered off to the side of where the men are setting up the grill. They’ve commandeered some picnic tables and are setting up blankets, playpens, and lawn chairs, clearly in anticipation of a long afternoon. Jenna introduces me to a bunch of women I definitely recognize from the farm. There’s Rock’s wife Trudy, a forty-something woman with pale blond hair and lots of eye makeup. There’s Rena, who is trying to corral two rowdy boys and says she’s with a man named Skid. There’s a raven-haired beauty named Carmen who says she’s the wife of Geno, whose farm was where Cas and Jenna got married. Then there’s the bartender I remember from the wedding, whose name is Jewel, and a few other women who are hanging around and helping with set-up.

  As I’m chatting with the women, I happen to glance over and see that Hawk’s eyes are on me, his expression impossible to read. I draw in a quick breath and quickly glance away.

  “Mom,” little Noah pipes up eventually. “You said we were going to do face painting!”

  “You’re right, bug,” Jenna says. “Let’s go over and get in line. It looks like there are a few people waiting already.” She looks at me. “You up for waiting with me for a few minutes? Or do you want to be on your way?”

  “No, I can come with you.” I follow her as she maneuvers the stroller over to the face painting booth. As we go, Noah spontaneously take my hand and starts telling me about how he wants to get a tiger on his face. I tell him this is an excellent choice. When we get to the booth, it looks like we’re fifth in line, so we settle in and start chatting as Noah immediately sees a school friend and runs over to say hello.

  “Stay where I can see you, Noah,” Jenna calls, and turns to me. “So, can I ask you a rude personal question?”

  I snort. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “Sorry,” she grins. “I just meant, I know this is personal, so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Jenna peers at me, cocking her head. “Is there something going on between you and Hawk?”

  I’m totally taken off guard by the blunt question. My mind is racing as I try to think of something to reply, when the sound of loud laugher behind us makes me turn my head.

  “Oh, great,” mutters Jenna. “Of course, he would have to bring his kids to get their faces painted at the exact same time.”

  Two groups behind us is a tall, dark-haired man with brilliantly white teeth, wearing perfectly-pressed khakis and a starched blue shirt rolled carefully up to the elbows. Beside him is a flawlessly made-up blond who looks like she spends most of her time with a personal trainer or at a spa. Two little girls with wispy white-blond hair stand beside them in matching floral dresses.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s the mayor. Jarred Holloway.” Her lip curls. “And his gross, snooty wife, Annelise. Their younger daughter is in Noah’s class at school.” The shadow of something more than disgust — almost like sadness — crosses her face, but then in an instant it’s gone.

  Mayor Holloway is chatting and glad-handing everyone in arm’s reach. It’s clear he’s in full campaign mode. When he gets down the line to us, he holds out his hand to me, but then freezes a little bit when he sees who I’m standing next to.

  “Jenna,” he nods politely, and then moves on to the next people.

  “He’s a snake,” Jenna whispers to me. At that moment, I remember again that Jenna’s dad used to be the mayor. Out of loyalty — but also because Holloway and his wife look about as fake as can be — I decide I don’t like him at all.

  We stand in line and continue to whisper as Holloway leaves his wife and kids to stand in line and walks off to greet other people. Jenna tells me that he has been eager to establish himself during his first year in office, and to make sure he’s not a one-term mayor. “Part of his plan has been to tell the people how badly things in Tanner Springs were going downhill before he took over,” she says in disgust. “Unfortunately, he seems to have the MC in his sights as a way to prove to folks that he can get things done.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “He’s been putting pressure on the club,” she says with a worried look. “Cas tells me he doesn’t think Holloway will be satisfied until he’s run the Lords out of town completely.”

  “Can he do that?” I ask, looking over at the cluster of men standing around the grill. I remember what Hawk said to me about the festival being good PR for them.

>   “I don’t know,” she answers. “In the short term, no. But he’s starting to mount a propaganda campaign against the Lords, and in the longer term, it might work.” She sighs. “Some of the women have said they’re starting to get hostile looks around town from some of the residents.”

  As we watch, something surprising happens: Mayor Holloway makes a detour through the crowd and crosses the street, stopping just in front of Rock Anthony. “Uh-oh,” Jenna murmurs.

  “What do you think he’s doing?” I ask. Holloway holds out his hand with a jovial smile. Rock frowns and slowly extends his to shake it.

  “Like I said, he’s a snake,” Jenna sneers. “Whatever his plan is, he knows everyone here is watching him. He’s playing the nice guy. Here, where it’s all public.”

  I see Jenna glance back toward Holloway’s wife, and my gaze follows hers. Annelise Holloway is chatting with a cluster of women behind us, and laughing at something one of them has said like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard in her life. She flips her hair back artfully, and her eyes dart away from the women as though to quickly take stock of who’s watching. Jenna doesn’t look away, and when Annelise notices us, she gives Jenna a tiny smirk and a finger wave.

  “Looks like he’s not the only one who knows how to work a crowd,” I say.

  “Nauseating, isn’t it?” Jenna agrees.

  “What’s nauseating?” a low voice rumbles.

  17

  Hawk

  Samantha starts a little at my voice. Next to her, Jenna doesn’t seem to notice her jumpiness and gives me a smile.

  “Hey, Hawk,” she says easily, and then leans in, lowering her voice. “We’re just talking about our esteemed mayor and his wife.”

  I nod. “Nauseating’s a good start.”

  “Are you getting in line to get your face painted?” Samantha says saucily. For the first time all day, I’m tempted to smile.

  “Not really my style,” I tell her. “You?”

  Just then, the little kid standing in line behind us points at me. “I want arm tattoos,” he announces to his mom. “Like him.”

  The mother glances up at me, and for just a second, I see a look of fear. Then she replaces it with a mask of politeness. “We don’t point, Micah. But maybe we can ask if you can get them to paint some tattoos on your arm as well.” She turns around to talk to the woman behind her, pulling the kid just a little closer to her.

  “We’re up!” Jenna says then, nodding toward the face-painting station. “Come on, Noah, let’s go.”

  As Jenna herds her kids forward, I take Samantha by the arm and pull her aside. “Hey,” I say. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

  “We’re talking right now,” she says. Her cheeks flush slightly.

  “Away from here.” I nod over to where the club’s bikes are parked. “I thought maybe I could take you out on the bike.”

  Samantha’s look of surprise is unmistakable. I don’t blame her. I’m pretty fucking surprised myself.

  But I need to see her. I need to talk to her.

  “I’m wearing a dress,” she points out a little unsteadily.

  I look down at her skirt, and at the way that it skims her hips and flows out just a little around the curve of her thighs. My dick jumps.

  “I think you’d be able to ride a short distance.” My voice is thick. “I could drive you back to your place so you can change.”

  She’s silent for so long I’m sure she’s trying to figure out whether to just say no or to tear me a new asshole.

  But then, her lips part, and a breathy “okay” comes out.

  And even though my mind is preoccupied with the looming war with the Spiders, at that moment I’m goddamn ecstatic.

  “But I’m going to walk back to my place,” she continues. “It’s just a few blocks. I don’t want to ride in this dress.”

  “Okay,” I agree. I’ll take whatever I can get. “I’ll swing by in about thirty. Sound good?”

  Wordlessly, she nods, and then turns to go tell Jenna she’s leaving. I head back to the men and let them know I’m gonna take off for a couple hours. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jenna and Samantha as they talk. Jenna shoots me a look and raises her eyebrows. I don’t react. Then Samantha turns and heads down the street toward her house. I watch her go and stare at her ass.

  I have at least twenty-five minutes before I need to get on my bike, so I spend it hanging out with Brick and Gunner by the grill. They have a huge pile of hamburgers, brats, and hot dogs cooking by now, and people are starting to line up for plates. Brick is concentrating on flipping meat, and not talking much. Gunner, always comfortable in a crowd, chats with the housewives and the blue-hairs, disarming them with his ladykiller grin and making them forget the wall of tattoos that covers his skin from the neck down.

  All around us, brothers and their families are talking, laughing, and eating. Today’s a welcome distraction from what we know what’s coming. The calm before the storm.

  I guess that’s why I want to see Samantha so bad today. Why it’s been almost impossible to get her out of my mind. I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I just want to think about today. Because tomorrow, we’re walking into a war. A potential bloodbath, and none of us knows if we’ll make it out safely.

  And if something does happen to me, I want the memory of Samantha Jennings crying out my name in pleasure to flash through my brain at the end.

  Wanting is dangerous.

  I’ve been telling myself that — chanting it in my head like a fucking mantra — ever since the day I fixed Samantha’s grandmother’s sink for her. I’ve jacked off in the dark to thoughts of her more times than I can count. I know better than to do this. But when I saw her today, in that flowered sundress that manages to make her look innocent and sexy as fuck at the same time, any resolve I had to leave her alone flew out the goddamn window. I’ve never wanted anything as bad in my fucking life. It might be a mistake, but I don’t give a fuck anymore.

  Samantha Jennings is going to be mine. Just for a little while.

  It’s a testament to how full of Samantha my head is that I ignore maybe the biggest fucking warning the universe could have given me that this is bad idea.

  As I’m leaving the fundraiser to go meet her at the carriage house, a familiar voice stops me on the way over to my bike.

  “What’s up, Hawk?” she drawls. I turn to see a petite blonde, her compact figure squeezed into a faded Harley Davidson tank top and a pair of worn, dirty-looking jean shorts that hug her scrawny ass. If anything, she looks even thinner than last time I saw her outside of the Lion’s Tap. She’s smoking a cigarette, her arms crossed in front of her.

  “What do you want, Anita?” I growl. Of all the shit I am not in the mood for right now, this is at the top of my list.

  She takes a couple of steps toward me. Up close, I can see that she’s looking haggard, and her eyes are sleepy. I glance at the track marks on her arms, and my irritation mixes with frustration and a little bit of pity. She’s using again. A lot, from the looks of it.

  “Where’s Connor?” I ask in spite of myself, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Anita doesn’t like to be seen in public with a child. It makes her look less up to fuck.

  She waves her cigarette dismissively. “He’s with my brother,” she says. “As if you care.”

  Shit. My hands clench into fists. If anything, Anita’s brother is even more worthless than she is.

  “I do care,” I retort, but it’s the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, something changes in her eyes. I recognize the expression. It’s hope.

  “That’s not what I meant, Anita,” I mutter.

  Anita’s face turns ugly then. She snorts in disgust. “Of course you don’t give a shit. Typical. You want to look like a goddamn hero, but at the end of the day you’re just like all the others.”

  “What do you want, Anita?” I repeat, biting out the words. There’s no point in trying to have a conversati
on with her. I know that from bitter experience.

  “You care so much about Connor, why don’t you help me out?” she says defiantly. “He’s not getting any younger. Growing all the time. Seems like he needs new shoes every week.”

  “Fine,” I bark. She’s probably just gonna spend the money on drugs or booze, but right now I’ll do anything to shut her up and get her off my case. I reach into my pocket and peel off a few bills. She takes them from me with a snap of her wrist, not bothering to say a word of thanks.

  “You’re welcome,” I say drily.

  “Fuck you, Hawk,” she spits out. “You think you’re so superior.” She turns to go, flipping me the bird and sauntering away like she thinks I’m looking at her ass.

  I shake my head and lift a leg over my bike. Sitting down on the seat, I take a moment to massage some of the tension out of my neck. For probably the millionth time in my life, I wish I’d never laid eyes on Anita Reynolds.

  18

  Samantha

  Hawk shows up at the carriage house about ten minutes later than he said he would be. I’m actually starting to wonder whether he just asked me to go on a ride with him as some sort of weird joke. I don’t have his cell number, though, so I just have to sit and wait, and try not to feel like more of a fool with each passing minute.

  When I do finally hear the sound of his bike outside, I’m relieved, but then I’m hit with a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Should I just go out and meet him? Should I wait for him to come to my door? I decide on the latter, because I’m hoping it will look like I haven’t been staring out the window waiting for him. Which is exactly what I have been doing.

  I race back into my bedroom and wait for his knock, just so I can nonchalantly stroll out to answer the door instead of immediately flinging it open. When I do open it, Hawk is looming in the doorway, his face a dark mask. He looks even more tense than he did when I left him at the festival. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but before I can say a word, I’m slammed against him, his mouth crushing mine.