Hawk's Revenge

by N. M. Catalano

  Her words rip through me like a knife. Which is exactly why she’s got my mind and body in the palm of her hand.

  Damn, this woman and her attitude does all kinds of crazy to me. “You got what I left with you last night?”

  Her eyes narrow suspiciously at me. “Yeahhh.”

  “Good, lock up the place and let’s go. I’ll help you finish this when we get back,” I turn on my heel and move back toward the door.

  “Whoaw, slow down cowboy, not so fast. What are you talking about?”

  I turn to face her. “We don’t have a lot of time, Jo. Don’t fight me about this. We’re going to practice.”

  She tilts her head to the side as she drags the corner of her lip between her teeth, thinking, regarding me, fighting the fact she wants to run out the door and blast that gun, so she can feel the power it will give her. The thought of her with the gun in her hand taking out her enemies makes me want to spread her wide.

  The moment she agrees glows like a ray of sunshine from inside her. THAT wrenches my heart. “Okay,” she bends and grabs something. Her satchel, purse, backpack, whatever the fuck that thing is. “But I’m taking my car.” She stands and follows me to the door.

  A woman shouldn’t look that good in a wife beater t-shirt and skinny jeans. She shouldn’t be allowed to walk on the streets, traffic jams and five car pile-ups would be left trailing behind her like Godzilla’s footprint.

  I hold the door for her. “Fine. You know the woods past the docks about five miles?” I ask.

  “Honey, I know every hiding place in this town, you forget who you’re talking to,” she replies playfully. And for just a moment, that’s the Jo before all this shit happened to her. The mischievous girl who’ll keep you guessing, and begging for more. “I’ll take you to a better place. It’s behind the RV campground, no one goes there anymore.”

  I stiffen. “Yeah, they do. That’s where I’m staying.”

  She turns to face me, surprise etched on her beautiful face. I want to kiss her right here in front of God and everyone. “You’ve got a camper?”

  I lead her to her car, fighting every single urge to both walk away, and kidnap her. “I travel a lot.” I turn my face to hers. “For work.”

  She snorts, and it’s cute as hell. “I bet you do.”

  I let out a laugh. This between us right now is no pretense, no facades, no bad guys or good guys. It’s just her and me walking side by side with nowhere to be except right here. She’s real. After everything, she’s still real. If I’m not careful, she could destroy me. The problem is, I don’t want to be careful. Not anymore.

  She unlocks her car door. “If you follow the dirt road through the campground, it’ll lead you to a lake. Go around the left, that’s the best place.” From inside her car, she looks up at me with those captivating eyes of hers. “I’ll meet you there.” Then she smiles, and fuck me, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.

  She looks happy, really happy, and unguarded. She trusts me, and, Jesus Christ, it wrecks me.

  With a hand at the top of her door, I tell her, memorizing that look. “Yes, ma’am. See you there. And Jo,” I lower my face so it’s near hers. “Don’t stop for anyone.”

  A shadow falls over her features, slapping her in the face with reality. “I know.” She pulls on the door, forcing me out of the way.

  That one glimpse of her, who she really is, will forever be burned in mind, kept locked away from all the filth in my life. But this is how I need her right now, this, alert, wary, trustful of no one is who she needs to be in order to survive.

  I’m going to help her.

  I step back and she slams the door shut. When she revs the engine, I slap the top of her car, and watch her drive away.

  “Keep going, baby, don’t come back. Don’t ever come back,” I say the words quietly into the wind as I watch her and my heart hurts.

  A half hour later, I’m pulling up beside her car in the middle of nowhere. A part of me is relieved she’s here, the other part wished she’d have kept on going. Cutting the engine, I look around. She was right, the place is perfect, isolated and just far enough away that the gunshots won’t be heard by unwanted ears. Stepping out of my truck, I push the door shut, and just listen. Too often we miss life, the small moments, the simple things, the things that will never happen again. I want to remember this, all of this, the way the sun shines through the pine trees, the sound of the water lapping against the edge, the sound of the birds flying overhead.

  Just flying.

  And I remember that day as it comes crashing down on me as vividly as if I were standing over Cesar’s body now.

  Are you going to fly away?

  The beast inside me claws into me, ripping gashes into my flesh, reminding me why I’m here. This is not a date, I’m not here to woo her.

  It’s time to teach Jo how to kill.

  A flash of guilt hits me in the middle of the chest.

  Do it, Hawk.

  Fuck.

  The last thing I want is to bring Jo anymore pain. Taking another human life rips away a part of your soul, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s horrendous, gory, and is a nightmare that haunts you for the rest of your life. But the reality is she needs to defend herself. Monsters don’t fight fair; she’s got the scars to prove it. I’m looking forward to leaving Castillo nothing but a carved up massacre. Because of what he did to her.

  I walk toward the tree line where I spy an overgrown path where fresh footprints have pushed down the foliage. About a hundred feet in, Jo’s leaning against a tree where there’s a clearing just ahead of her.

  “You did good, baby doll,” I grin at her, but it’s not sweet.

  That’s not what we’re here for.

  She pushes away from the tree. “I’m happy it meets with your approval, kind sir,” she feigns southern sweetness. “Now show me how to shoot this thing,” she holds up the gun. I know it’s heavy, I can see the strain of muscles in her slender arm, but she’s fierce, and I know she feels strong holding it. Powerful.

  This fucking woman is dangerous.

  And, fuck me, it looks real good on her.

  Standing in front of her, close enough her scent mingles with the smells of the earth, I glide a hand up her forearm. I close my palm over her small hand and the gun, and the sick bastard I am loves how it feels; the cool metal clasped possessively in her warm flesh.

  Lowering my mouth to her ear, I whisper “First rule, baby, is always respect your weapon.”

  My body is grazing hers, just enough I can feel a slight tremble ripple through her.

  “Got it,” her voice is breathy. “Don’t fuck around with the gun.”

  A grin explodes across my face. “That’s right. Second rule is, remain focused at all times.” I slide the tip of my nose along the shell of her ear. Even through her bra, I can feel the pebbled points of her nipples.

  My dick swells. Hell, I’ve had a hard-on since I saw her standing against the tree.

  “Okay, the gun is a cock block.”

  I throw my head back and roar with laughter. The sound of her joy filling the air, the lyrical sound of her chuckles, is the sweetest sound out here.

  “That’s right. Just don’t shoot my dick off,” I grin.

  There’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as she peers up at me. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I hate to admit it, but it’d be a waste.”

  The big fella in my pants want to take a bow.

  I want to kiss her.

  I wink at her. “Appreciate that.”

  No more fucking around, time to get busy.

  Still holding her hand that’s clutching the gun, I slide behind her and turn her palm over. “Show me how you work the safety.” I’m not taking anything for granted.

  With the gun held securely, she reaches for the lever with her free hand.

  Watching what she’s doing over her shoulder, I state abruptly. “Stop.” She freezes and turns to face me, eyes wide. “Get your finger off the trig
ger. And ALWAYS make sure it’s facing away from you, and anything you don’t want to shoot.”

  A rush of crimson explodes across her face, and down her neck. “Oh, right.”

  “I tested you today, and you did great,” her eyes flick to mine, annoyance and pride swirling in their depths. I could drown in those eyes. “I left the gun with you so you could get used to its presence. This, baby doll,” I angle her arms out in front of her, aiming at nothing. I continue, “This is the Pitbull of weapons, you had a fucking gerbil.” I can see the smirk curving her lips. It makes me feel good that I put it there. “This is a Glock, and you need to revere it. It’ll will serve you well. If you give it the respect it deserves.”

  “Yes, sir,” she wiggles her hips as she gets into a comfortable stance. It makes my cock harder.

  “It’s heavy.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s powerful.”

  “Good,” her tone drops to the bad ass broad that’s got me by the balls.

  “Let me introduce you to your new best friend, Jo.”

  I do. I teach her everything about the weapon, it’s intricacies, the trigger safety, how the weight has to be evenly distributed in order to fire it, the slide, how it won’t fire a second shot if not done properly. She listens, completely enraptured with every single word that leaves my mouth. I teach her how to keep her knees bent, where to place her elbows, how to lean into the shot. Then I let her shoot. When I step back and watch, just watch her, it’s me who’s enraptured, I’m completely captivated by the warrior this woman is.

  “Make sure you aim for a large body part, the torso,” I instruct her.

  “Don’t worry, if I get the chance, I’m going to keep shooting until there’s nothing left.”

  I lean into her and place my lips against her ear, and whisper softly, “One or two well aimed shots is all you need, baby. Make them count.”

  She turns her face to mine, and our eyes lock. We stare at each other as so many things are said silently between us.

  “Thank you,” she says quietly, the echoes of the shots ringing in our ears. But those two words, heartfelt and sincere, ring louder than anything else she’s ever said to me.

  She’s not thanking me for teaching her how to shoot. She’s thanking me for giving her back her power and her sense of freedom. Her sense of self.

  With my eyes still locked with hers, I take the Glock from her hand and slip the safety in place. “You’re welcome.” Because if this is the only thing I can give her, the only thing she needs, the only thing I can do for her, then I’m one lucky son of a bitch.

  She turns her body into mine, and presses the length of it against me. I let the gun drop to the ground with a soft thud. My eyes flick back and forth on hers, searching for something. Forgiveness? Redemption? A life with more than death and destruction? Fucking hope?

  “Hawk,” my name sounds like all of that and more as it escapes her lips.

  It’s my undoing, the hammer that smashes the cold veneer that has kept me entombed in my anger and hate all these years. She is everything I have denied for so long. She is the epitome of salvation. My salvation.

  I wrap myself around her, folding her into my arms, holding her close, needing to feel her, to crawl inside her, to fill myself up with her goodness and hope.

  I need her.

  Because I love her.

  The realization slams into me with a force, and an enlightenment, I’ve never experienced before. It’s freeing and frightening. Freeing because I’ve been a prisoner my entire life, existing in a constant search of revenge. That was all life was to me, and endless rampage in search of destruction, fury my only emotion. Frightening because, now that I realize I am capable of more, of this, I know there’s so much more destruction to come.

  This is different. This time it’s not to avenge a death, but to save a life. To save her. And maybe, just maybe, I can save myself.

  She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me with desperation, one that matches my own. It’s like she’s breathing new life into me, like I’ve been drowning, and I can finally breathe. Our hands move hungrily over our bodies, touching each other everywhere. I cup her jaw with my fingers at each side of our open mouths, our tongues stroking them as they intertwine. My palm skates along her flesh beneath her shirt, feeling her skin as if it were the first time. I’ll never forget it. I strip her as I kiss her, not able to let her go, I constantly need to feel her and taste her. Her hands pull on my shirt and fumble with my pants, needing to feel my skin against hers. When we’re naked, we lower to the ground, our bodies pushing into each other, trying to get closer.

  But I want to worship her.

  She’s a goddess who should be put on a pedestal, revered for all that she is.

  I cover every inch of her flesh with my mouth and lips, licking and tasting her. I cup her foot in my hand and kiss along the arch of her foot, up the curve of her calf, at the crease behind her knee, and up the inside of her thigh. I pay homage to her breasts, her face, arms, and hands. But between her thighs, in her sacred place that she’s given to me, I am mindless with the need to consume her. I feast on her, licking the folds of her lips, plunging my tongue into her depths, wanting to drown myself in her. And her clit, that’s where I own her. That’s where I make her mine, showing her no mercy.

  I worship her before God and everyone. Because right now, she is mine. My shrine, my church, my salvation.

  When she comes apart and comes on my face, I take her. Covering her body with mine, I slip inside her and become a part of her, really becoming one with her. I make love to her slowly, relishing each slide of my length inside of her, and each time, I own her again and again. I make love to her.

  Because this may be the last time. I don’t want to forget a single thing.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jo

  “We have to go.” The words resounded through the air louder than the gunshots.

  The sun was dropping over the horizon, and it promised to drown everything that had happened in the field. I didn’t want to watch it suffocate the small moment of goodness Hawk and I had shared, even if it wasn’t real. Because this is not my life. The weapon laying on the ground was a reminder of that. We’d dressed in silence, and walked back to the cars without saying a word. I’d wondered the whole ride back to my hell if Hawk had felt the same.

  My mood had grown more somber with every stretch of mile that I left behind, as if any good feeling I’d had was merely a figment of my imagination. It didn’t happen, it didn’t exist, that was a dream, and I was heading back to my nightmare. Reaching over, I laid a hand over my purse and felt the outline of the Glock inside.

  It was real.

  A surge of elation rose up within me, and a laugh erupted from deep inside me, riding the feeling like a wave.

  I felt good, really, really good, and it was all because of Hawk. He did that for me, he gave me back a sense of power, strength, and control. A feeling of freedom. I never imagined I could feel like this, I never thought it could be possible. But he did it. He dragged me out of the darkness and isolation, he shoved me into the light of courage and independence. He infused me with strength. Things that had seemed lost, things that I thought could never be mine I held in my hand. He gave me that. No one else could have done it. No one, absolutely no one else would have been able to. Only him.

  But more than that, he made me feel adored. He made me feel needed.

  He made me feel loved.

  And, God help me, I knew I loved him too.

  That’s when I started to cry, I sobbed the rest of the way back, my tears blocked my vision, but I didn’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered, I couldn’t stop.

  I sped through town and fought to get the door unlocked so I would be nowhere around when Hawk met me at the bar. After I got myself presentable and came downstairs, he was there and already had two trash bags emptied, sorted, and counted.

  “I don’t know how you do this shit,” he’d grumbled, but h
e wouldn’t stop until every single bottle was accounted for and logged in my ledger.

  He’d made good on his promise.

  He’s not supposed to be this good. He’s not supposed to have a kind bone in his body. He’s a killer.

  But he’s my killer. He’s mine.

  He makes my heart swell, and he makes me happy to be alive.

  He’s done bad things, unspeakable things, I’m sure things too horrendous to be spoken of in polite society.

  We don’t live in polite society. We live in Frank Castillo’s world, we live in a world where monsters destroy innocence, where hope is food for the devil, where goodness is nonexistent and evil reigns supreme.

  Hawk might be dark, but he is my dark angel, with blood on his hands and demons in his soul. His heart is good. I can feel it. He thinks he’s bad, but he’s not. He’s perfect.

  He’s had me feeling high since he told me we were going to practice, and I haven’t come down since.

  The crowd started to stumble in about an hour ago. The usual groups take their places, the bikers and the truckers converging in some kind of powwow, the guards shifting from group to group talking about the nights runs. I’m not stupid. I figured out a while ago they use my bar as a meet-up point to ship merchandise, Castillo’s illegal merchandise. Every single one of them are dealers, even the cops. The worst one after Frank is Chief Taylor.

  After Frank had raped me, I went to the police to report him, almost grateful that I could have him locked up and thrown in prison. Chief Taylor brought me into his office and made me feel like I was the criminal, he threatened me with possible charges if I said anything about this to anyone else, defamation of character, false accusations, perjury. I didn’t think it was possible, but I left there feeling worse than when I’d gone in. I didn’t even go to the hospital, although I knew I needed antibiotics and maybe some stitches. I called my friend Amy instead, a childhood friend, one of the three us – me, Niles, and Amy. She’d gone on to college when Niles and I went out to conquer the world.

  What a joke.