The others nod, as if that’s a signal. Half the food is left uneaten. The big man watches me the whole time he slips into his coat and adjusts it to hide the bulge from his gun. They all walk out together, back into the restaurant. I slip my chair a few inches further from Tom now that I have more room.
He grabs my arm. His fingers press into my flesh.
“Don’t be alarmed, sweetie. They’re suspicious by nature.”
“Tom,” I say softly.”They were talking about-”
His voice is cold. “We both know what they were talking about.”
He lets go of my arm, leaving soft marks in my skin that fade out slowly. I gulp down the rest of my Shirley Temple. Tom snaps his fingers and the waitress brings me another one.
“Bring her some ginger ice cream.”
The waitress nods.
“It’s a specialty here,” Tom says. He’s quiet until she’s out of earshot and then says, “Do I take it you don’t approve of this?”
“I…. I don’t… I…”
“I didn’t think you’d understand, sweetie. It’s difficult to get your head around. I came to an understanding, though, when Katzenberg came to me about doing some work for him, and made it clear that I had a choice between accepting his offer and finding many vital avenues of business closed to me.”
“What understanding?”
“The world is full of good men and bad men. Good men think they can stop the bad men, but they can’t. There are always more. One bad man goes away and another steps up to take his spot in the whole thing, and it just goes on and on and on, round and round and round. So good men can fight a pointless fight, or give the bad men what they want.”
“Are you a good man?”
“What do you think, honey?”
I shiver. “Of course you are.”
“I am. When I work with the bad men, I keep them under control. That’s why the baldheaded man was looking at you, dear. He’s a procurer, in addition to moving narcotics. A fleshmonger. Do you know what that means?”
The question must be rhetorical. He answers before I even open my mouth.
“He sells girls. Girls younger than you. Runaways, mostly. Sometimes they abduct girls who won’t be missed. They take them places, and train them. Virgins sell for the most money, they get moved overseas. Less valuable ones end up in places like the one out in Port Carol, fucking truckers for twenty bucks a pop all night until they overdose on heroin.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like he’s discussing the logistics of concrete deliveries for his construction business. I shudder.
“They bring them in from foreign countries, too. Mostly Eastern Europe, sometimes poorer girls from Germany or France. They promise them good high paying jobs in the States, and when they get here the good high paying job is in a brothel and they don’t get to keep any of the money they make. Deplorable, really.”
He adds his moral judgement with all the conviction of a man condemning a baseball coach he doesn’t like. After another bite of meatloaf, he goes on.
“I’m not going to have that in my, ah, territory. Once I work my way up the ladder, I’ll be able to tone things down. Not put a stop to it. I can’t, you see. I can make sure it’s clean, the girls are treated well, they have a chance to get out. If I stamp it out completely, someone else will take over, someone who doesn’t care if they die in a cargo box on their way to wherever or get fucked to death in some shitty honk-tonky trucker dive. The world isn’t going to run out of girls any time soon, sweetheart. Our bald friend, see, he isn’t like you and me.”
Hearing Tom lump me in with himself sickens me. I feel like I’m going to puke turkey club all over my lap.
How can this creature be Hawk’s father?
The waitress carries out a plate with two scoops of ice cream sitting in in the middle and sets it in front of me. I take a long spoon and slowly begin choking down bites. It’s rich and creamy and very good, and I want to spit it in his face.
“How is that?”
“Good.”
“Good. As I was saying, our friend isn’t like me, hon. He needs someone like me to regulate him, moderate him. Now, I know what you’re thinking, what about the drugs? Drugs hurt people, yes?”
I keep still, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“People hurt themselves. The thing is, I can keep people safe if I have my hand on the tiller. There won’t be shootouts and robberies. People will get the drugs one way or another, even if they have to make them on their own. My way, people get their fix and they don’t get robbed or shot or blow themselves up with a meth lab in the basement. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I agree. “I suppose.”
“I understand you’re reluctant. It’ll fade in time once you understand how important this work is. You see, sweetheart, the truth is, these are the men who really run the world. We can’t stop them, only… guide them. Work with them. It’s better to be part of the system than fight against it.”
I nod, and take another gulping swallow of ice cream. I finally manage to eat it all, scooping some of the melt up from the plate with my spoon. Tom takes an intense interest in watching me eat, especially when I draw the ice cream off the spoon with my lips. He finally finishes his meal.
“Ginger settled your stomach, no?”
I nod.
He leaves a stack of cash. It must be a tip, since no one brought us a bill. I rise and take the attaché, then follow him back through the restaurant and out to the car. My body rebels at the idea of getting inside with him, sitting so close. It made me shiver before, but now it’s a discomfort. I’m sweaty all over, my clothes clinging to my skin.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse. As Tom drives, he keeps one eye on my neck, and shifts in his seat to sit a little higher, as if he might catch a glimpse of cleavage from just the right angle. I look out the window and stare at my own reflection sliding over the world, and think.
Tonight. He said something about a meeting tonight.
I have to find out what that means, who he’s meeting with and where. He made it sound like the Amish guy is involved in drugs or something, but that’s nuts. Amish drug runners? Or Mennonites. That guy might have been a Mennonite, since they wear the same clothes. I don’t know.
When we pull around behind the house, I’m ready to leap out of the car, but I wait for Tom to walk around and open it for me.
He takes the attaché.
“That’s enough for today. I’ll need you tomorrow.”
He leans towards me a little, and pulls back, as though he was about to kiss my cheek and stopped at the last second, caught himself. Instead he looks me up and down, very clearly and openly, and heads towards the house.
I follow, slowing when an old red pickup rumbles up into the yard. The thing must be raised up half a foot higher than it should be, on big silly looking monster truck tires. Tom starts over only to stop when the door swings open and Hawk steps out, slams the door, and pats the hood.
“Hey. I bought a truck. Like it?”
The question doesn’t seem directed at Tom, but he sneers. “Wonderful. Pull that thing behind the carriage house.”
Hawk shrugs, climbs back inside and drives it around.
I can’t show too much interest in him. I head back inside, upstairs, and lock myself in my room. Once I’m finally alone, the armor cracks and I stifle a sob into my hands, pull my hair free and quickly yank my way out of my clothes. I’m standing in my bedroom in nothing but my blouse and underwear when I hear a rhythmic tap on the window glass.
I spin around and there’s Hawk, hanging from the side of the damn house.
Quickly I scramble over the bed and open the window, only to realize that in the process, my blouse has fallen away from my body and given him quite a show. I dart back and do up the buttons as he slides over the bed and turns to pull the window shut.
My voice is a low, hoarse whisper.
“Som
eone’s going to see you if you keep doing this.”
“Nah, trust me. Nobody looks up.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re upset. What’s wrong?”
I swallow. “I can’t talk about this.”
“Alex, it’s me. Come on.”
I chew my lip, grab a Coke from the fridge and offer one to Hawk. He takes his and touches my hand, then takes my wrist and tugs me lightly to the bed to sit next to him. He’s not a robot; he looks at my legs, but then focuses on my face.
“You look like you’ve been crying,” he says, very softly, then takes a sip.
I drink half of mine before I can talk. “Just a little. I can’t take this much longer.”
“What happened?”
“He keeps looking at me and calling me sweetheart and he dresses me up in these clothes. You should see the shoes he wants me to wear for him. He wants me to look like a secretary by way of a stripper.”
“Let’s go. Tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Alex, listen to me. Do you think it matters how old May is? That he’s just going to say ‘welp, they’re both adults, nothing I can do’?”
I snap back and look at him. “You make it sound like we can never escape.”
“No, I mean it doesn’t matter whether we go now or after she turns eighteen. The result will be the same. We’re going to be on the run.”
“It’s we now, is it?”
He touches my arm. His hand is slick from holding the sweaty soda can, but warm.
“Alex, if you don’t… if we don’t… I’m never going to leave you again no matter what happens. I’ll keep you safe. I swear on my life.”
The conviction in his voice stirs me. I sit for a while and think about it.
“There’s more than that.”
He looks at me and sets his soda aside.
“I have to stop him, Hawk.”
He takes my hands in his. His are so much bigger than mine, rougher, but the way he cups my palms in his fingers is so gentle.
“While you were away fighting wars, I was fighting one of my own. I’ve been looking for a way to stop him for years even as I play dress up for him and be his good girl,” I spit the words, “Jacob and Jennifer are helping me.”
His hands tighten around mine. “I want to help, too. Tell me what’s going on.”
I sigh, and in a breathy whisper, I tell him everything that happened to me today, everything I heard and saw, everything Tom said.
He listens in silence until I finish and slip my hands from his to hug myself.
Hawk rests his big arms around me, and even if it’s an illusion, I feel so safe with him. My heart tells me this is right, so why can’t I make myself believe it?
Gingerly, hesitantly, I turn my face up to look at him, and wriggle in his arms enough to close the gap and press my lips to his.
“I hate myself,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
“For leaving. For not seeing. For not fighting. I didn’t know what I had until I was gone. I had no soul until I saw you again, Alex.”
Then he kisses me back, harder at first, then more gently, pulling away as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt me, but I follow him, kiss him back even more fiercely. It becomes a slow dance in tiny, gentle motions, our bodies intertwining until I’m in his arms, leaning into his grasp as he lowers me to the bed and hitches my blouse up around my hips, and pulls my panties down.
My hands tremble and I can barely work the buttons, one at a time, until Hawk does the bottom three and slides the blouse down my arms and pulls it out from under me. I twist to try to take my bra off. He pops the clasp for me, draws the straps down and my heart hammers in my chest as I bite my lip and watch his face as he drinks in the curves of my body and cool air touches my sweaty chest as the bra comes away and drops to the floor.
He just looks at me, grazing his thumb along the line of my jaw. I look over at the door; the knob lock is turned, the door locked, but it feels like no protection at all.
I pull at Hawk’s t-shirt, tug it loose of his jeans and he slips it over his head. A flush of excitement runs through me at the sight of his body and I touch him slowly, running my fingers over hard muscles, tracing the lines of his tattoos and the ridges of his scars.
He dips down and kisses me again, drinking deep.
“You taste like ginger ale,” he murmurs.
A foolish grin spreads on my face and I gasp softly as his lips find my throat, hot and soft on my skin.
“We have to be quiet,” I say.
“I know.”
“Are we going to?”
“Do you want to?”
I bite my lip and nod. Hawk lays beside me and I lift my legs. He slides my panties all the way down my legs and lifts them from my feet, then drops them to the floor. Then he unbuckles his belt and I sit up to unlace his boots.
It feels weird, sitting here naked, undoing his shoes. His eyes roam the curves of my body, but it only makes me feel heat, arousal spreading from my center through all of my body. He caresses my back, tracing his finger down my spine as I tug his boots off and set them one at a time on the floor.
As I lean back, he shoves out of his pants and they fall to the floor, and we both freeze as his belt buckle makes a soft metal clink. Then I laugh a little, so softly. As if someone would have heard that. Taking me by the hips, he pulls me to him and I feel his lips on my shoulder from behind, then working down my arm as he rolls me onto my back.
Hawk lightly takes my nipple in his mouth, and I shudder as I feel his tongue moving wet around it. Warmth spreads through my body as he looks up at me and our eyes meet. His hand rests on my stomach as he sucks my breast, gliding down and over my mound, his fingertip sliding against my entrance, up and down.
“Do you like that?”
I nod vigorously.
“What about this?”
He kisses his way up to my armpit, and then down the outer curve of my breast, opening his mouth wide. The feeling of his teeth on my skin makes me shudder. His tongue is hot and slides over my flesh, as his finger presses just a little more, not ready to enter me, but sending shocks down my legs as I feel it press at my entrance and draw back, stroking my lips, then almost enter me again.
I roll my hips and his finger slips inside me. He looks up as he flicks his tongue against the skin under my breast, watching me as his finger enters me deeper. Shifting on the bed, he kisses his way down my stomach and I stare at his body, my stomach fluttering at the sight. He’s solid muscle, and I feel almost embarrassed when I realize it.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen him completely naked. Or him me, for that matter. I have to almost force myself to look at his cock, and when I do I gasp. I didn’t think it would be that, uh, big. He must be excited. He lays on his side and licks me as his finger starts to pump inside me and I stretch a little to reach him.
His whole body jerks when his cock slides through my palm. It’s hard as steel, but it feels soft too, almost velvety. He pants a little when I do it again, and shifts so I can reach better. I cup my hand around his balls and he looks at me and sucks my clit, and my whole body arches.
My legs start to shake. It feels too good. He moves and I can’t reach him anymore, but he doesn’t seem to care. He takes long strokes, licking me, and each time heat surges through my body. I groan softly.
“Hawk?”
He looks up, but doesn’t stop.
“Lay on your back.”
Hesitantly, he rolls over. His cock rests against his stomach. As he lays with his head at the foot of the bed, I rise and move over him on all fours, trying not to let my legs shake too much. I rest on his legs, and take his cock in my hand.
He watches me in silence, his breath quickening. I feel him tense when he feels my breath on his shaft, and I drink in his reaction as I press it against his stomach and flick my tongue against his balls. His whole body jerks as I put my lips on the underside of his shaft and kiss lightly, working m
y way up the length, without quite touching the tip.
His hips roll involuntarily, and I dart back, holding his shaft in my hand. I touch my lips to the head and Hawk makes a silent sound of pleasure, once, twice, and then I spread my lips around it and take him in my mouth. A low, soft groan escapes his lips as his taste fills my mouth, warmer than I expected, his shaft burning hot in my lips. When I swirl my tongue around the head, he grips the sheets and I feel him stiffen even more, if that’s possible.
Hawk’s eyes lock on mine as I take him deeper in my mouth, savoring the taste. I didn’t expect it to be good, exactly. I just wanted him to feel good the way he was making me feel good.
He’s so hard I can’t believe it. I draw him out of my mouth slowly and rise up on my knees, sit down and roll back to rest my head on my pillows, and slide my legs apart. Hawk sits up and looks at me.
“Do you have a…”
“I can’t. I’d have to explain it if someone found it.”
“Oh. Why don’t we-”
“Fuck me,” I blurt out in a short, harsh whisper. “Do it. Please.”
He falls forward, his hands pressing the bed down around me, jostling me as he lowers himself on top of me. The muscles are hard but his skin is soft, and I slip my legs around him. His eyes lock on mine, silently asking for permission, and with a bite of my lip I give it. The look on his face as his cock presses inside me is almost as satisfying as the feeling of my body opening around him, as the sensation of him filling me.
He goes slow, almost so slow I can’t stand it, as he takes me slowly, sinking into me to the root, and lays there, our breath mingling. I feel so connected. It’s more than fullness, I feel so close to him, like I’m sliding into him as he slides into me.
It feels fucking good, too.
Then he starts to move. I press my lips shut and stroke his hair as he thrusts, faster and faster, my hips moving on their own, falling into a steady rhythm with him It’s like a game, where he watches me and changes it the way I like. I like slow and deep, feeling him grind against me, feeling his stomach against mine, his balls pressed into me.
As I grip him with my legs, he grips me with his arms and my body grips him, the heat building and building as he moves inside me. I can feel his own arousal building. He’s so hard. His mouth on my throat, his hands on my body, the shudder as my nails rake his back.
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