Hawk

by Abigail Graham

  I dressed in a light blue sun dress for the… date? Meeting? Was I being presented? I wasn’t sure what to call it, or what it would be like. What if this woman disliked me? I’d be out of the house, soon.

  It was a long drive from the city to our destination. I was wide-eyed the whole way, my hands folded neatly in my lap. My heart was pounding when Father turned off the road and drove through a huge wrought iron gate, down a stone path towards the biggest house I had ever seen. It looked like a haunted mansion in a movie, not that I’d seen that many. Two wings curling in a huge U-shape, each two floors jutting out from the three story house. It was topped by a cupola and all brick, covered mostly in ivy. Father parked under a tall portico and handed off his keys to a valet, I suppose he was. After Father let me out, the man drove off in our car, to park it somewhere. He put on a smile and touched my shoulder and led me up a wide, tall set of marble stairs to the broad front door of the house. A serving man in white pulled it open from inside.

  Mrs. Amsel was younger than my father, short and plump and pretty, with a warm smile and riglets of thick brown hair that she’d tied back behind her neck. When he walked in she rushed over, touched his arms and kissed him. I looked away, feeling my cheeks burn. Father disliked public displays of affection, but I supposed this wasn’t really public, after all. She turned to me.

  “You must be Eve. Martin told me so much about you.”

  “Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

  “Karen,” she finished. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you,” I added quickly.

  “We’ll be eating out on the terrace.”

  “Where’s Victor?” said Father.

  Karen sucked in a breath. “He’s around. I told him when I expected you.”

  Father smiled at her, but his eyes were hard.

  Just then I heard the soft thud of bare feet on carpet and looked up.

  A sweeping grand staircase lofted to the second floor, and currently descending it was a young man a year older than I was, tall and lean, muscled like a swimmer or a champion weightlifter. He was shirtless and barefoot and I don’t think he had anything on under his jeans, either. They were very low on his waist. I stared at him. He looked like one of the models on the cover of the books my old tutor gave me. Except none of them had tattoos. He did. Feathers lined both of his arms, etched in black into his skin, sweeping over his shoulders to connect to a design on his back while an open mouthed, screaming raven spread across his chest. My eyes naturally followed the V-shape of his body, and I felt heat rising. He had veins bulging out even on his tightly muscled stomach, and v-channels of muscle along his sides that dove down into the waistband of his jeans. They looked like they’d slide down at any second.

  He stepped off the stairs with a spring in his step.

  “Victor,” Karen said, dryly. “Shirt.”

  He looked down. “What? It’s hot outside.”

  “I’m not amused,” My father said, in an acid tone.

  “It’s not your house.”

  “Victor,” Karen snapped. “Get dressed.”

  “Right, right. High tea with the Queen.” He shot a look at my father.

  Then he looked at me. It was like he’d only just noticed me. I expected him to look at me like some particularly curious and unwelcome species of insect, but he actually flinched when she set eyes on me.

  Then he walked over.

  “Well, hello,” he said, smoothing his hair back with one hand while holding out the other.

  “Victor!” his mother snapped.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Stop being such a barbarian.”

  He sighed.

  “I’m Eve,” I blurted out.

  He looked at me without missing a beat. “So where’s Adam?”

  I should have said something, but all of a sudden my throat turned to sand. Everyone was looking at me.

  Especially Victor. Especially.

  “Get dressed,” his mother growled.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He stopped halfway up the staircase, as Karen led us through the house.

  “Hey, Eve!” he called.

  “Yes?”

  Father eyed me, his eyes like chips of cold blue stone.

  “Want to go for a ride with me later?”

  “A ride in what-“

  “No,” Father said, sharply. “She does not.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “Victor,” his mother said, in a warning tone.

  I heard his feet ascend the staircase as Karen led us through the house, towards the rear grounds. The terrace was bigger than a tennis court, a broad expanse of stone covered by a roof held up by heavy columns. There were four places set at a table, and despite the May heat there was a nice breeze blowing under the shadowy roof. It made me shiver as it raked across my shoulders. Father pulled out my chair for me. Victor did not appear, even after a servant brought tea sandwiches. Father chatted with Karen. I answered questions here or there when she asked me, but didn’t dare interject. She kept eyeing me as I nibbled a very tasty tuna salad sandwich.

  “May I be excused for a moment? I need to freshen up.”

  Karen smiled at me. “You don’t need to be so formal, Eve. Sure, go ahead inside. If you see Victor tell him I said to get his butt out here.”

  Father shot me a look. I’m sure he appeared innocent enough to Karen but it made me flinch. In no terms was I to repeat what she said in those exact words.

  I quickly headed inside, slowing when I realized I had no idea where to find a powder room or guest bathroom or something like that. I thought I knew where the kitchen was. I could ask a member of the staff.

  I turned the corner and almost walked into Victor. I skidded to a stop and stumbled, and rough hands closed around my arms. He steadied me, and quickly drew his hands away. It felt like my skin was burning where he touched me, and I knew I was as red as a beet.

  “Oh. H-hello,” I chirped.

  “You okay?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “You look lost.”

  “I need to freshen up,” I said.

  He laughed. “You need to what? Seriously? You can drop that, there’s nobody here but us.”

  I blinked a few times and looked away from him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I felt odd when he looked at me. He leaned on the wall and his gaze flicked downwards. My sun dress was modest but it stopped just below my knees and I felt an itch on my legs. It was odd, though. I’d sensed men looking at me before, and been disgusted, but when he sized me up I almost felt flattered and, well, more. I had to look away as my cheeks and ears began burning.

  “Okay. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

  “Thank you.”

  “On one condition. You have to let me take you for a ride.”

  “On what?”

  He snorted. “In my car, Eve. Can I call you Eve?”

  “Yes-“

  “Good, come on.”

  I wasn’t sure what I just agreed to, but he turned on his heels and led me through the house to a door, and gestured grandly to it.

  “The Pisser. All yours.”

  “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “Why not?”

  Oh. I didn’t actually have a reason. It had just been drilled into me.

  Whipped into me.

  When I was done in the bathroom, he seized my wrist as I stepped out.

  “Come on. Time to meet Charlene.”

  Chapter Eight

  Evelyn

  “I have to get back to lunch,” I said, edging past him.

  His hand shot out and closed, gently, around my wrist.

  “Yeah, me too. Come on. We won’t be long.”

  He tugged my arm but I held my ground, for a moment. I chanced to look at his eyes. I’d avoided them before. They were a piercing slate gray, and smiled more than his mouth did. Something fluttered in my chest, like I’
d swallowed a moth, and I found my feet moving before I realized I was walking. His hand slipped from my wrist to cup around my fingers before letting go. The sun was warm outside. I saw the edge of the terrace, but we were out of sight from our parents as we emerged from a side door that opened onto a narrow path over to an old stables, converted into a garage with gleaming steel doors. Victor walked down the row and opened one of the bays with a flourish. He leaned on the door, arms over his head, and stretched. I licked my lips without knowing why as my eyes roamed down over his body. He was muscle all over, from head to toe, and his jeans and black t-shirt showed it magnificently.

  After a glance over at me, he nodded at the car.

  I didn’t know cars, so to me it was just old and garish, a pearly white color with a huge multicolored decal of a fire breathing bird plastered across the hood. Victor rushed over to swing open the long passenger’s door, and after a moment of lip chewing and look back at the house, I dropped inside. I shouldn’t have been doing this, and I didn’t know why I was. I glanced over and saw that Victor’s door was locked, leaned over his seat and popped the button. He slipped into the seat and looked over at me with a secret smile on his face, like I passed some kind of test. I pulled my seatbelt on and locked my door. Victor did the same, shifted in the seat and stabbed in the clutch with his foot. When he turned the key I yelped and covered my ears. It was loud, like an old turboprop airplane. He revved the engine a few times and the noise increased.

  I glanced over and saw Father and Mrs. Amsel running to the corner of the terrace. I couldn’t make out their faces, we were too far away.

  Victor laughed softly, put the car in gear and let out the clutch.

  The force of the acceleration threw me back in the seat, and I screamed. The back end of the car swung around behind us and he opened the throttle, pushing me back into the seat again as the car pitched around the curved, narrow driveway, towards the front gate.

  Victor slowed as the car rumbled out between the gates. As he did, he pulled something from his pocket. He slapped a one hundred dollar bill on the dashboard in front of me. A piece of tape held it in place.

  “Hey,” he said. “If you grab that, it’s yours.”

  I blinked a few times. What was this, some kind of game? It was right there.

  As I reached for it, he wheeled the car around and floored the accelerator. My fingers fell away from the dash as the acceleration crushed me into the seat. I screamed, out loud. If we went any faster I though the car would lift up into the air. I could actually see the front end rising. Victor laughed like a maniac, working through the gears with one hand, choking the wheel with the other, his hair blowing in the wind. The bill fluttered on the dashboard. I almost reached it when he shifted gears, but the sudden burst in speed sent me back into the seat. Then I found myself squeezing the bolsters at the sides as he took a curve in the road. He geared down and the car slowed, but I was too busy to grab for the bill. I thought for sure we would go flying off the road and slam into one of the trees that lined it. The tires screeched, and the car seemed to slide through the curve more than roll through it, until Victor turned the wheel sharply, cut through the oncoming lane and floored it, straightening out.

  My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse throbbed behind my eyeballs, and I squeezed my legs together.

  Every hill dropped the bottom out from under me, every curve sent a surge of naked fear through me, but Victor was in perfect control, his face a mask of concentration that only cracked with a smile in the straight stretches of road where he shot me a quick glance, studying me like I was some exotic creature.

  Finally he slowed down on the road, and I noticed the ivy-lined wall flying past us. A wide swing to the right and he turned left across the road through the gates.

  Our parents stood outside the stables. His mother had her arms crossed over her chest and a wry look on her face.

  My father was as still as a statue, but purple with rage.

  Victor pulled past the bay where he parked the car, swung around, and backed in. The sound of the motor grew to a teeth rattling rumble in the confined space before he shut it off.

  “Relax,” he said, “I’ll handle this. By the way, did you like it?”

  I looked over at him and my mouth worked, silently.

  Finally I squeaked out, “Yes,” in a small voice.

  “Come on. Let’s go get some lunch.”

  Victor stepped out first. He rushed around before I could get my door halfway open and swung it the rest of the way for me.

  He offered his hand. I almost glanced at Father but I didn’t dare, I could feel his eyes on me, burning my neck.

  Victor did not pull back the offered hand. I didn’t want to be rude.

  Yes, that was it. I didn’t want to be rude.

  I took his hand. He pulled me to my feet and I stumbled a little, shocked by his strength. My hand landed on his chest. His very muscular chest. He smiled at me.

  “Evelyn!” my father barked.

  My hands shot to my sides, my eyes to the floor. I walked over without looking up, but I could feel Victor behind me, feel the strut in his step.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to get a little air before I eat. Eve decided to tag along.”

  “Evelyn,” Father corrected. “She is not to tag along with you again.”

  “She’s a big girl. She can do what she likes.”

  Father took a warning step forward. I looked up, biting my lip. I wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

  Victor was smiling at him. Dismissing him. He waved his hand and turned to his mother.

  “Let’s go-“

  Father’s hands shot out and seized him buy the collar.

  “Listen here, you little-“

  I didn’t know a person could move so fast.

  Victor’s hands shot up, between Father’s arms, and he spread them wide, snapping my father’s grip, sending him stumbling back. Victor’s arms whirled, his feet spread, and he stood on bent, springy knees, his fists up.

  “Victor!” his mother shouted.

  He glanced at her, his expression wounded.

  Victor’s hands fell. For a moment. Then his right arm shot up and he jabbed his finger in my father’s chest, hard enough to make him flinch.

  “You want to play house with my mother, fine. You do not put your fucking hands on me in my house, am I clear? You wanna go, we’ll go. Otherwise, keep your hands to yourself.”

  He looked at his mother, then glanced at me.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, and brushed past my father to walk to the house.

  Mrs. Amsel let out a long breath.

  “He didn’t mean any harm. They should get along.”

  “That thing,” he looked at the car, “is dangerous. I won’t have your son putting my daughter in danger, Karen.”

  “I wanted to go,” I blurted out.

  His eyes widened when he looked at me.

  Mrs. Amsel sighed.

  “Victor went to a private driving school, Martin. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Yes,” Father said, his voice acid. “I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  “Martin,” Mrs. Amsel said, in a warning tone. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sure he just wanted to meet her. They’re going to be brother and sister, after all.”

  “What?”

  She looked at me, blinking. “Hasn’t your father told you, dear? We’re getting married.”

  I swayed on my feet. I thought I might pass out. It was like all the blood just drained out of my head, like someone pulled the plug from a bathtub. The fury slid out of his face and he smiled warmly at me. I looked at his wife-to-be and my head started pounding.

  “I’d like an aspirin, please,” I said.

  “Of course, sweetie. Come on, let’s head inside.”

  “I think we should be going,” Father said.

  Karen gave him a curious look. “I thought you had a clear schedule.”

  “I’d rather g
ive Victor some time to cool down. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Man to man.”

  She sighed. “Alright, if you insist. I’ll call you tonight.”

  The way she smiled at him made her look very young.

  For some reason, I felt a stab of fear for her.

  Father took my hand and walked me to our car. With every step his grip got tighter, until my hand began to throb. I tugged at his grip a little, and he squeezed harder. I choked down a cry, knowing it would be worse if I made a scene.

  “Get in the car, you little slut.”

  He let go. I rushed around and curled up in the front seat. He hadn’t used that tone with me in years. I was good. I was good.

  Father did not drive like Victor, at all. It was a long, slow drive back to the city, in total silence. Neither of us spoke until we arrived at home.

  The first thing Father said was to Imelda.

  “Get out,” he snapped.

  She gathered her things and was out of the house, dismissed for the day in five minutes.

  “Wait for me upstairs,” he said to me coldly, before walking into his office.

  Every step was slow, like I was wearing shoes made of lead and walking in water. I closed the door but did not dare lock it, and sat on my bed, hands folded on my lap. I waited.

  I waited.

  Waited more.

  Waited for an hour, without moving.

  Finally the door swung open.

  “You defied me,” he said.

  His words chilled me but it was the belt that caught my eyes. He had one in in his hands, in addition to the one looped through his trousers. I knew that belt. It was old and creaked when he folded it in half. A work belt, too wide for dress pant loops, made of old, careworn leather that was strange soft even if it was rigid and tough to bend.

  “Stand up.”

  I stood up.

  “Take off your dress.”

  It was like an icy fist punched me in the stomach, but I did it. I pulled it over my head, turned around and neatly folded it, laid the folded square of powder blue cloth at the foot of the bed and shivered, standing there in my underwear and bra.