Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

“Yeah... Seriously.”

God, that voice does things to me. Can’t help it with this man. My body responds to him without any input from my brain. Probably because it’s conditioned by now to react sexually to him. It’s not like we’ve done anything but have sex every time we met until now.

I mean, sure we talk sometimes. But since our first memorable meeting, when he witnessed my painful break-up with my boyfriend and invited me to his table, where he suggested an arrangement—only sex, no attachments, no feelings—we have only kept to small talk, skimming anything more personal.

After that horrible break up with my jerk ex-boyfriend, I wanted this handsome, rich, bad boy to take care of me like he promised. To fuck the ex out of my system, out of my memories. To remind me what it means to be a woman again.

He did and then put distance between us. No wonder he’s confused that I’m here now.

Just as confused as I am. “Hawk.” Is he falling asleep again? Or passing out? He looks too pale. “Hey.”

He blinks at me, those full lips turning up in a soft smile, and it twists something inside my chest. “Nice dream, though. You’re so damn pretty, girl.”

Um. Warmth suffuses my face. God, I like the fact he finds me pretty, and… focus, Layla.

“We are at my father’s company warehouse. I should get you out of here, before anyone returns.” I squint at the ropes they have him tied with. Damn, why didn’t I think of a knife? “I’ll untie you—”

“No.” That one word is sharp, and his eyes fix on me, colorless in the dim light, pale lashes sweeping low. “Put back the blindfold, and get out of here, Doll. Before they come back.”

“But that’s the whole point. We both get out before that happens. I’ll help you—”

“You don’t get it.” His gaze is steady, clear, and… pitying? “I’m not leaving.”

“What?” I shake my head, totally lost. “Why? What is this, some S&M dungeon? You get off on the pain? Explain this to me.”

“S&M dungeon?” He chuckles again, then stops, his breath catching on a grunt, his face going white. “Ow, fuck.”

Shit, he’s more injured than he looks.

“If not, then why would you want to stay, huh?” I’m scared, and confused, and working on pissed. “You got a death wish?”

“I’m staying. This is none of your business, Hot Bod. Leave before you get hurt.”

“Is it because you got mixed up in mafia business?”

“How do you know…? Ah fuck it, just get the hell out of here.”

I’m so pissed at him it’s all I can do not to slap his face, but I’m actually seeing red. Instead I put the blindfold back on and tie it behind his head. “Fuck you. I’m sorry I ever worried about you. You can get yourself out of your own frigging mess.”

And I’m even more pissed when he grins—but then there’s a noise from behind him. The door, I think, and his grin slips.

No time to think as I hurry away to hide behind a pile of boxes.

“Jamie Fleming,” a booming voice says. “Time’s up. What is your answer to my offer?”

***

The guy is tall and wide. With his perfect dark goatee and closely cropped hair, he looks too polished. Too careful. He looks dangerous.

What the hell did Hawk get himself into? I shrink back behind the stack of crates when someone hits the lights, blinding me for a moment.

More men have entered. When I twist and peek around the stack, I count three. Huge, hulking guys, faces set in dark scowls.

“All right, Boss?” one of them says.

I don’t know them. Never seen them around my dad’s office or the warehouse.

Chills race down my spine when, at the nod of the Boss, the guy who spoke leans over Hawk, grabs him by the hair and jerks his head back.