Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

“How so?” She cocks her hand to the side and selects another lock to chew on. “What aren’t you telling me, Lay? I know you. I know you’re holding back something important.”

Shit. “We need to find a way to let Hawk know where we are. Do you know where we are?” I start to get up. “We could look around in case there’s a phone they forgot about—”

“Lay.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down, staring into my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me? What has you so freaked out and… and so happy at the same time?”

Holy crap, I should’ve known Dorothy can read me like an open book. And to be honest, I didn’t know my happiness shows even when I’m not consciously thinking about it all.

I put my arms around her waist, hugging her, and putting my mouth close to her ear, tell her everything.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hawk

“What do you mean they can’t find her?” My fists clench, and black trembles at the edge of my vision. I’ve forgotten how to fucking breathe. “What did they say?”

Storm’s call to the chopper pilots has gone down as badly as expected. They have no clue where she went, and obviously she didn’t turn up after two hours, like she promised she would.

“Maybe she will still show up,” Rook says. “She was pissed at you, bro, but I don’t think she’ll run away and change her name or something.”

I shake my head. This is Layla we’re talking about. You never know. “She didn’t even let me say I was sorry when I called. Her phone is off. Goddammit.”

“She should be fine,” Storm says. “She probably just wants some time alone to think and rest, do her hair… Ow.” He glares at Raylin who has just elbowed him. “What?”

“Don’t be a jerk. She was devastated that Hawk was mean to her. I doubt the first thing on her mind is her hair.”

He puts a finger under her chin and steals a kiss. “I know that. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

She huffs but smiles at him and mock-punches him in the arm. “So what now?”

A man enters the room, dressed in a dark, pressed uniform, and offers a folded note on a silver tray.

I kid you not. I used to see that at my parents’ place growing up, but this is Storm we’re talking about.

“The note is for Mr. Fleming,” the man says, and I sit up from my slouch.

“From whom?”

“The chopper pilot has just returned and said it’s for you.”

My hand is shaking as I unfold it. “Silver trays, Storm?” I snark to cover up my nerves.

“Caleb likes that. He’s a trained butler.”

“Do you import them from England or something?” But my snark dies as I read the note. In a flowing script, I read Layla’s words and they stab me like knives.

I love you, she writes. I’d never lie to you about anything, least about this baby. But if you don’t want to be with me, that’s okay. I’m keeping it, in case you’re wondering. And I don’t want you to marry me. I don’t want your money, or your name. I don’t want anything from you.

Fuck me…

“Hawk?”

“Shut up.” I hold my hand up while I read the rest.

What you’re doing, trying to set the world to rights… that’s a beautiful thing, she writes. I admire you for it. Don’t stop. I really want you to catch the bad guys and fix this. I only wish…

But she never writes what she wishes, and I don’t know if it was because she ran out of time or changed her mind. She has signed her name with a flourish.

Layla.