Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

It was my own private theatre. A kind of child’s circus, full of strange hairy men and mysterious boxes. A weird world apart from mine.

Now I make my stealthy way past a row of small, empty offices and toilets. It’s quiet in here, without the howling of the wind, and I don’t see anyone.

Doesn’t mean anything, of course. The tall stacks of metal containers could hide a dozen workers going about their job, but there’s a stillness about the place.

Frowning, I push the door to the stairwell open, and voices filter up from the basement. I hesitate, glance back over my shoulder at the empty warehouse.

What am I doing? Pretending to be a spy, Layla? Is your life that boring?

But unless I know who’s down there and if anything fishy is going on, I won’t sleep tonight, so… Down the stairs it is.

***

The voices grow louder as I descend the dark staircase, running my hand down the ice-cold, metal banister. I’ve played in this stairwell so many times, I don’t need to look to know there is a door opening on the left to a small storage space and a fire extinguisher case on the wall.

The door at the bottom of the stairs whines as it opens with a breeze, letting yellow light and more voices into the stairwell, then closes again, drowning me in dark and silence.

Another wave of hesitation hits me full in the gut.

I could still go back. I probably should. This isn’t a movie, and it isn’t funny. Or intelligent. I’ll just embarrass myself in front of workers doing their job, who will crack jokes about me, tell my dad, and generally make me look like an idiot.

Shit.

I turn around to climb back up, when the door slams open and a guy stands there, turned away, talking to someone I can’t see. I barely have time to step back down and wedge myself behind the door when he steps into the stairwell, followed by two others, and they start climbing up.

I watch them, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Come on. This is getting ridiculous. So what if they saw me?

I could just step out and say something. Hi, I’m Steven Green’s daughter. Sorry, I got lost looking for the bathroom. Maybe we could you point me to the exit?

But they don’t notice me. They turn on the landing and take the second flight up, not once looking my way.

I slump back against the wall.

Then I turn and push the door of the basement open. Stepping inside, I let

the door close quietly behind me, turn around…

And stop dead in my tracks.

There’s a guy, his hands tied above his head and fastened to a hoop on the concrete pillar he’s leaning against, his ankles bound together in front of him. Powerful muscles bulge in his arms and chest, straining against the pale blue shirt he’s wearing. His long blond hair is hanging in his face, stained with rust.

Stained with blood, and although I’m not squeamish, my stomach turns. I’ve been under the weather for the past couple of weeks, and every smell turns my stomach, but the blood isn’t what’s bothering me the most.

No, it’s that, even bound like that, with his face hidden, I know who this man is, and the world tilts.

Hawk. This is Hawk. What the hell?

What are the odds?

Everything the men said outside falls into place. A rich man, a man who owns this city. My dad’s warnings to stay away from Hawk, his cold command to get out and not come back.

My dad. My dad knows about this? My dad, who’s always told me to be careful, and be kind, and follow the rules, and listen to my mom?

Oh God.

And why the hell is Hawk tied up in the basement, beaten and bloody?