Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

“Right. Your friend Mr. Jordan has a car waiting for you outside. We’ll escort you there.”

A shake of hands that I avoid by pressing my face into Hawk’s chest—God he feels so good, like he’s the only thing keeping me up and going—and he steers me out of the tiny room. We walk down a dark hall, and I hate how I press myself to his side, but I can’t help it.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to relax again. Not tonight, that’s for sure. I keep expecting Sandivar and his thugs to appear around the corner, looking for us, ready to drag us away.

But we reach the end and step out the side of the building. A black limo is idling by the curb, and Storm waves us in from the back, just like the detective said. There’s a driver seated behind the wheel, in a suit with brass buttons and a cap.

This is like going to the movies, like Layla Bond and her bodyguard or something, and I can’t help gaping while Hawk tugs me toward the open door.

Look I’ve never been poor. I was quite pampered all my life, in fact. Good upper-middle class family. Both Mom and Dad made good money from their jobs and could cater to most of my whims.

But this… this is something else. Having a limo and a chauffeur. Sitting down on the plush leather seat and have a small fridge slide open with refreshment drinks.

Hawk did take me in his limo once, but it was just a quick ride to the restaurant. And maybe after this trip to hell and back it all seems so much more luxurious and soft.

Or maybe Storm’s limo is better than Hawk’s? I run my hand over the seat and reach for a drink that Storm plucks out of the mini fridge for me. It’s fizzy strawberry-flavored water, I think, and I guzzle it down, barely tasting it. Hawk does the same, splashing half of it on his beard and shirt, and I want to laugh.

But I can’t. Because his hands are shaking, because he went through some awful things. Storm doesn’t even know it as he chuckles and elbows Hawk, who chokes on the flavored water and coughs.

“Hey.” I lean over Hawk’s legs and push at this Storm guy’s arm. It’s like trying to shove off a titanium beam. “Watch it.”

He blinks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Watch what?”

“He’s hurt. They beat him up and kicked him and took away his hearing aid and you have no idea…” I swallow past a knot in my throat, the images replaying in my mind in a never-ending loop. “Just… stop.”

Storm’s eyes are round as saucers. They are an electric blue, I realize, and shock shines through them loud and clear.

Then Hawk puts a hand on my shoulder and gently pulls me back until I’m pressed to his side. His arm encircles me.

“Is it true?” Storm demands, turning to Hawk, those electric blue eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you say something? Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Hawk grinds out, then he presses his mouth to my forehead, such a sweet gesture. Why is he doing this?

“They kept punching his face and kicking him in the ribs,” I whisper, and Hawk says nothing. I wonder if he heard.

Storm seems to catch on this, too, and he eyes Hawk speculatively.

“And what was that about a hearing aid?” he whispers back.

Wait, he didn’t tell them about this? Just how much has he held back from people who act like they are his family?

Hawk doesn’t lift his head, the long strands of his hair tickling my face. Because of course he hasn’t heard the question.

“Fuck,” Storm mutters fiercely and punches the partition between us and the chauf

feur. “Fuck, man. Why didn’t you tell us? How did this happen?”

Hawk lifts his head, gives a slow blink. “What?”

“Nothing. We have a lot to talk about,” Storm says through gritted teeth. “As soon as we’re in a safe place.”

Part II

SEX

Layla

It was four months ago.