The Hawks_A Novel

by SD Hendrickson

  “It’s handprint recognition,” Mrs. Hawthorn said. “He doesn’t have access. I’ll need to be the one to open it.”

  “Of course it would come back to you trying to be in control of this shit.” Van rolled his eyes. “What’s inside of it? Specifics. Spell out the fucking words if you have to. I want to know if it’s worth my time to haul your ass upstairs.”

  Mrs. Hawthorn held her stance despite her ashy complexion in her fancy cocktail dress. A lady to the end. Haggard yet poised. Her nose tilted up. Maybe as a reminder of who she was on the inside despite the plastic cutting into her wrists.

  “The safe contains nineteen thousand dollars in cash. All in one-hundred-dollar bills. It’s old.” She paused for a moment, her blue eyes turning glassy. “My late husband received it from my father as a gift when we married. He saved it. There’s also a book of rare coins that belonged to my grandfather. I’m sure they are worth something at a pawn shop. I have three necklaces and two rings that stay locked here and not in the bank vault. One is my engagement ring. You could remove the diamonds and sell them individually. Less conspicuous. You can also take the necklace I’m wearing.”

  This time, I knew she told the truth. Nineteen thousand dollars. I’d read about that somewhere—a grand for each year of her age when she married TW Hawthorn.

  A warm flush of sadness hit somewhere in my chest. I wanted to hate that woman. I wanted to hate her pompous arrogance, her defiance, and her lack of tolerance. Yet it broke my heart, just a little bit, as she named items unimportant to a room full of terrorists. But they were important to her.

  I just hoped it sparked their interest.

  Van pressed his lips together. Not exactly pissed, but not exactly thrilled by her offer. “Well, I doubt you’d make that measly shit up. But, lady, that’s not very much cash. We’re gonna need more than a few grand and some old coins.”

  Her gaze remained steady despite the backhanded insult. “I know it’s not what you anticipated when you arrived here tonight. But I can only give you what does exist. Take the cash. And the jewelry is rather expensive. I’m sure you could do well with it.”

  “Right.” A snide laugh left his mouth. “Like you ain’t going to tip off the police and they’ll just monitor the pawn shops for all that shit. Lock my ass up with the first diamond.”

  “No. You have my word.”

  “Your word,” he scoffed.

  “Si,” Javier said. “She’s my grandmother. This is my home too. And I give you my word. Anything you take from the house tonight is yours. Jewelry. Silver. Electronics. Whatever you want. Pawn it. Sell it. We’ll not tell the police. But only if you let us all go. Unharmed.”

  “Or we could just take the shit and kill them all. Burn the house down. Ain’t nobody talking to the cops then.” Deuce laughed.

  “I’ll burn you alive,” Ty growled.

  “I’d like to see you try, little man.”

  I winced, seeing the darkness growing in Tyson’s eyes. The anger. The fury. The violence. The hole getting deeper as a killer emerged with each encounter.

  Yet he still was my little brother. That sweet boy still existed somewhere inside of that man. I had to believe it was true. The darkness hadn’t consumed his soul. Not yet.

  Van let out an annoyed breath and motioned toward Deuce. “Okay, fine. Take her to the safe and bring back whatever shit you find inside.”

  “And if she’s lyin’ again?”

  “Well . . .” His lips pursed. “If you come back empty-handed, I don’t want to see that bitch’s face again. Do whatever is necessary.”

  “Got it.” He gave an arrogant smile toward Ty like he’d won this round.

  The darkness flashed again. My brother seemed conflicted on how to handle the way things were progressing. None of us trusted Deuce inside or outside this room. But staying with his sister and best friend must’ve won the battle of his conscience.

  Tyson remained silent as Deuce grabbed Delsey Hawthorn under the armpit, hoisting her up from the floor.

  I knew how this would end. I think we all did. The man had an itchy trigger finger. He wanted to see someone burn tonight. I think the man came here with the intention of doing more than just robbing this place.

  As Deuce held her captive, Mrs. Hawthorn looked at each of us. A silent goodbye. To her employees. To the only flesh and blood who still bothered to be in her presence.

  Mrs. Hawthorn had always walked with such authority, wielding the confidence and physique of a woman capable of tossing a table aside because it dared to stand in her path. But the truth. The reality of it all. She was nothing but a frail old woman with a stubborn wicked tongue.

  Delsey gave one last look to Javier. No words. Just the gaze of a grandmother to her grandson. Maybe she was sorry. Maybe she wasn’t. Regardless, her actions spoke to him at the moment.

  In the end.

  The emotions flickered in Javier’s chocolate eyes. He hated her, I think. For himself. For his father. For his uncle too.

  But hate lived on a fine line that blurred into love, creating a passionate feeling, hovering just on both sides of the equation. Javier loved his grandmother just as much as he hated her.

  Maybe we all did.

  My throat tightened as my lungs constricted. I couldn’t breathe. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t want her to die. Despite her eccentrics and harsh words, Delsey Hawthorn was just a flawed human being. She didn’t deserve to be murdered in her home.

  My shoulders shook as panic grabbed my whole body. We needed to stop this. We couldn’t stand by and let this happen. I looked around frantically, trying to figure out a way to save her. Elmore stared with that bluish tint in his eyes and jaw slighlty open. Virginia remained propped up against his shoulder. They huddled together as their boss, their friend, disappeared quietly to her death. Right in front of us. We had to stop it.

  Please! Do something, I pleaded in my head. And then it hit me. She’d set this in motion and there was no turning back now. We had to let her go.

  With Deuce’s hand clasped around her arm, they walked toward the ballroom doors. Mrs. Hawthorn tilted her chin up. The heels of her dress shoes clicked vibrantly on her precious wood floor. Ty followed behind. He pushed the blackjack table to the side, allowing them access to the hallway.

  And just like that, Delsey Hawthorn was gone.

  Present Day

  TY BLOCKED THE DOOR AGAIN with the poker table. We were trapped inside. Deuce and Mrs. Hawthorn were trapped outside.

  “She’ll be okay,” Cole whispered.

  I shook my head, unable to speak as I cried quietly. She wouldn’t be okay. We all knew that.

  Brenda’s voice drifted up out of the silence. The calm sound of her hymn made the sadness unbearable. This just didn’t seem possible. I glanced back at my brother, and his lips morphed into a frown as he approached the group again. His eyes dark and troubled. Dangerous.

  More tears fell down my cheeks. I needed to stop the waterworks. They clogged up my swollen nose and they showed my weakness. I willed them to stop. Pinching my thigh, I applied another level of pain to distract from the fist squeezing my heart.

  Tyson was a gentle soul on the inside. When he used to wake me up crying from his night terrors, I would talk to him about frogs. He loved the stupid things and knew all sorts of facts about them. Sometimes my brother would capture one. Keep it in a little box with a bowl of water, trying to feed it crickets. After a few days, if it wasn’t eating, Ty always let it go. He didn’t want the frog to die. Because he was kind. Loving. He wasn’t a loser. He wasn’t dumb.

  He wasn’t a monster.

  Something hit my leg. I stared at where my bare feet rested out in front of me next to Cole’s legs. His knee hit me again, snapping my attention back to the present.

  “Pull yourself together, Sarina,” he hissed.

  My eyes shifted to where Van stood by the dessert table. He popped another pastry between his pink lips, chewing as he scanned the pledge she
et again. A terrible thought flashed through my mind. Please don’t let him take that as some hit list. More people to rob. More people to hurt.

  Brenda switched hymns. This time humming the soft notes of I Shall Not Be Moved. I focused on her voice and found myself saying the words in my head. I needed something to distract myself from my own thoughts. Something to hang on to. Something to keep my sanity.

  “Aren’t you the bartender?” Tyson muttered, kicking Cole’s foot.

  His jaw gritted as he looked up at the man who was now a stranger in the gray mask. They had yet to speak to each other until now. “Yeah, I’m the bartender.”

  The sarcastic tone didn’t go unnoticed by Tyson. He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the person who was his brother in every way but blood. The two men stared at each other. Sorrow rested deep in my brother’s eyes. So dark and lost. The guy was hanging on by a thread.

  “I could use a drink,” he finally said to Cole. “Go pour us something good.”

  The anticipation weighed heavy, and I grew antsy. He was trying to set Cole free. And my wrists were no longer bound. We might have a chance. We might just—

  “Pour your own damn drink,” Van yelled before eating another petit four.

  Tyson let out a low grumble I couldn’t understand as his teeth clenched. “I figured he knows the best shit on the shelf.”

  “Then just ask him. They ain’t leavin’ that wall.”

  “Glen McKenna,” Javier interjected. His voice rolled slowly over the name. “I do believe that is the best whiskey behind the bar.”

  “The best shit?” Ty asked again.

  “The best. My father used to steal that bottle as a kid until my grandmother punished him. But Glen McKenna is still his favorite to this day.”

  His words hit with a sudden punch in the gut. That was it. The other way out of this room. He said it loud enough for all to hear. But only a few of us would know the meaning.

  Unfortunately, Tyson wasn’t one of them.

  “All right then.” My brother left his post and went toward the bar. His fingers drifted over the bottles lining the back wall until he found the square bottle with the embossed logo. I couldn’t see anything from my place on the floor. But something must rest beneath that bottle on the second shelf. A handle or a lever or a button. Something that opened the door.

  I turned my chin just enough to see Javier, making sure I understood his words. His brown eyes met mine. So full of sadness and fear. So full of something deeper between us. I saw it all in his gaze. And the guilt hit me hard.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling my throat tighten. He needed to hear my words. I didn’t know if I would get another chance.

  “No, Sarina.”

  “I’m . . .” I choked a little. “I’m sorry this happened.”

  “Shh, hermosa. It’s okay.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Van barked.

  I jumped at the sound of his voice and I faced forward again. But Javier’s words rested heavy in my heart, making it ache for him. Brenda continued to sing, her voice drifting out louder in the ballroom as she switched from the low hum to actual words. I didn’t know her game this time.

  “You want some?” Tyson yelled over to Bo.

  “Nah.” He spit tobacco on the floor again. “I got a chew in.”

  Van came back over to us, stopping a few feet from my toes. “What other shit’s in this house?”

  “I-I . . .” I struggled to think. “The paintings and the cars. The whole garage is full of cars. You could take them.”

  My brother tucked his gun into the waist of his pants before carrying two highball glasses of whiskey. Van took one from him and threw it back with a gulp. “Cars hmm?”

  “Couple of Mercedes. An Audi. Range—”

  A gunshot echoed from somewhere in the house. Followed by a second.

  “No!” I couldn’t catch my breath. I choked on a sob.

  Deuce killed her. He killed Delsey Hawthorn. She was dead. Bile rose up in my throat, and I dry heaved. Scarlett screamed. Hysteria kicking into overdrive.

  We needed to move.

  The notes of the hymn continued. The sounds. The screams.

  “Stop that screachin’ girl,” Van yelled.

  And then an explosion. The highball glass left his hand, shattering on the wall above the waitress’s head. I ducked my face against Cole’s shoulder out of instinct as sharp pieces went in every direction.

  “Now!” he hissed.

  Cole kicked Van in the legs, causing him to lose his balance. In the distraction, Tyson lunged at Bo. I didn’t wait to see what happened next.

  I moved.

  My feet pounded against the floor as I made a beeline for the bar. The commotion rang loud behind me. I didn’t look back. My fingers moved in jerky motions. I needed to find it. Come on. Come on. I felt around the shelf for something. Anything that might be some latch.

  And then I touched a notch in the wood. A panel lifted up, revealing a handle. I pulled it back. The whole bar shook as it released from the wall. Pushing with all my weight, I moved the door open. The chandeliers cast a glow into the musty darkness, revealing a small set of stairs, leading to what I assumed to be the wine cellar and the tunnel.

  An excited panic filled my senses with adrenaline. We needed to get everyone behind that wall before Deuce came back into the ballroom.

  Turning around, I saw Cole struggling with Van over his knife. But his hands were still held together with the plastic zip ties. Javier wasn’t against the wall. He was going for the gun that had slid across the floor to the middle of the ballroom.

  Tyson and Bo were fighting, rolling around, fists flying as my brother struggled to pin him to the ground. And then his bulky arm went around the smaller guy’s throat, holding him in a headlock. Bo’s lips quickly turned blue, and I wondered if my brother was going to break the man’s neck.

  I wished Tyson had just shot Bo. But he didn’t. Because at the end of the day, my brother wasn’t a killer.

  I quickly tried to locate Ty’s gun. The semiautomatic rested on the floor next to the fighting men. I knew what I had to do. He might not be able to shoot Bo.

  But I could.

  My feet moved. I was running. I could do this. I could kill him. My heart pounded in my chest as I pushed down the fear. We had them. We had this. We were getting out of here.

  But everything changed in a flash. The tides shifted without warning, right in front of me—so close that blood peppered my dress.

  Bo reached for the gun. He put the tip against the head of the man who held him in a bone-crushing headlock. And pulled the trigger.

  The trigger.

  The trigger.

  The sound of the shot echoed in my head.

  He shot Tyson.

  And then another gun fired from somewhere else in the ballroom. Bo slumped over as dark red spread across the forehead of his camo mask. Javier appeared beside me with Van’s gun still in his fist.

  “Sarina, are you okay?”

  My mouth opened. My knees buckled beneath me. Javier grabbed my arm as I fell at his feet. No sound came from my lips.

  This wasn’t happening.

  We won. We had them.

  This wasn’t happening.

  No. Ty can’t be dead.

  “Sarina, I’m sorry, but I have to help them.” Javier’s voice found a path through the noise. He stepped forward and lifted the knife from the holder on Tyson’s belt.

  And then he was gone.

  And I was left to stare at my brother.

  In the distance, I heard everyone speaking as Javier cut the zip ties binding the hostages.

  “We could take him!” Cole yelled.

  Javier replied. “No. If we fail, we kill everyone in here. We have to leave.”

  The words continued around me. But I could only focus on the vision in front of me. The gray mask soaked up the blood coming from the gunshot wound to his temple. I crawled to Tyson. The two men were almost on top of
each other, arms and legs intertwined.

  Both dead. Both bleeding.

  I pulled the gray mask from my brother’s face. And I saw him. I saw Ty. His eyes were closed. His lips slightly open.

  “No,” I groaned.

  The pain in my chest hurt beyond understanding. I lost all sense of being. My thoughts muddled together. The people were moving around me. But not Tyson. He wasn’t moving.

  It hurt. Everything hurt.

  This was my fault. I’d failed him. And I couldn’t live with myself. My eyes closed. Maybe I would let the darkness take me. It would be best for everyone. I would let it take me to a place where it didn’t hurt.

  To the place my mama lived.

  “I’ll get her.” A voice came from somewhere. A familiar voice. “You get everyone through that door to the cellar.”

  Arms went around me. Cole slung my body over his shoulder. He lifted the gun from Bo’s hand. We moved around again. My chin bobbed against his back. His boots tracked blood across the floor.

  Ty’s blood.

  I tried to speak. My throat remained stuck somewhere between sobbing and a scream as I uttered the words, “We . . . we . . . can’t . . . we can’t leave . . . him.”

  “Baby, we have to,” he muttered. “I don’t want to either. But we need to go.”

  The double doors of the ballroom rattled. They banged against the casino table as Deuce pushed hard. “What the fuck is going on?”

  It wouldn’t take long. He was big enough to shove the table out of the way or just break through the wood. And then he would open fire. My broken heart beat fast and jagged as I envisioned the dangerous rage coming from that man if he saw us.

  “What’s goin’ on in there? You hear me? Open the damn door.”

  We needed to hurry. We needed to move faster.

  “I need to . . . where’s the other gun?” Cole searched with no luck. It wasn’t anywhere on the floor. Bo had used Ty’s gun. Not his own. “Shit. It must be underneath them. I can’t move him.”

  The sound of wood splintering echoed behind us as Deuce threw himself against the door. The man would be in the room in a matter of seconds.