Craving Hawk (The Aces' Sons 3)

I laid back down in my sleeping bag and stared up at the little mesh opening at the top of my tent, listening to people walk around outside. There was a baby crying somewhere, and I could hear my Aunt Farrah talking to someone about a vintage clothes shop she’d found when she and Casper were on the road.

The sounds didn’t bother me. If anything, they were almost comforting. They were noises I recognized. Home.

I closed my eyes, and like every other night, I saw my little brother’s face smirking at me. Like he’d just done something that would piss me off, but he knew I didn’t know about it yet. I’d seen that look a million times when he was alive, and almost every night since he’d died.

“You should ask her out.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” I asked, rolling a tire toward our Nova. Some asshole had slashed all her tires in the school parking lot, and it had taken three days to find replacement tires. Such bullshit.

“Heather,” Mick said, picking up a tire and carrying it over. “The girls you hang out with are nasty as fuck.”

I scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I want your sloppy seconds, fuckwad.”

“It’s not like that,” he argued, throwing a greasy rag at my head as I bent down to fit the tire on. “We’re just friends.”

“Stupid,” I called back over my shoulder. “That chick would ride ya like she stole ya.”

“Not happenin’,” he argued, shaking his head.

“Why not?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “She’s hot as hell.”

“See? Exactly why you should ask her out.”

“I’m not asking her out.”

“You should.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why?”

I stood up straight and turned to my little brother who really wasn’t all that little. He’d been towering over me for the past two years, and before that we’d been the same size for most of our childhood even though he was almost three years younger than me. “She wants you, man,” I said in exasperation. “She digs you. Follows your ass around, always touchin’ you and findin’ reasons for you guys to hang out.”

“How many times do I gotta say that we’re friends?”

“You can say it all you want, Micky boy,” I muttered, dropping back down to finish the tire. “But that doesn’t make it the truth. Least not on her end.”

“Tom!” my brother yelled.

Then I was being tackled to the side as the Nova fell off the blocks. My back hit the concrete hard and the added weight of Mick knocked the breath right out of me. I tried to push him off as I struggled for air, but it only took a few moments for me to realize he wasn’t moving. Not at all.

I was gasping for air as I woke up, disoriented for a minute until I realized where I was. Christ. I ran a hand down my sweaty chest and threw the top of my sleeping bag off me. Everything was soaked. So soaked, I wondered if I’d just pissed myself. Reaching down, I let out a sigh when I encountered damp boxers, not soaking wet ones.

The conversation between Mick and I had happened exactly as I’d dreamed it. It hadn’t been the first time he’d brought it up, but it had been the last. The car hadn’t fallen, though. We’d put the tires on with no problem and I’d taken the Nova on a date, got my hands down Ashley McDonald’s pants and a stellar blowjob that night.

No, the feeling of Mick’s limp body pinning me to the ground was a familiar one, but it hadn’t happened that way.

I hopped up and shucked off my boxers, tossing them into the corner with the rest of my dirty laundry. Knowing there was no way I’d fall back asleep, I got dressed in some clean clothes and pushed myself out of the tent. The compound was quiet, and I could see the sun just barely rising behind the clubhouse as I stretched. Might as well get up and get some fucking coffee.

I stepped into my boots and grabbed my smokes, lighting one as I walked toward the front door. All the bays were closed up for the night, but I knew the door to the main room would be open. There was always someone awake inside, especially when we were on lockdown.

“Up early,” Poet greeted, lifting his mug in my direction as I stepped inside the clubhouse. His hair was all fucking over the place and his beard was massive, like he’d just woken up, but his eyes were clear and sharp.

“Yep,” I murmured, stopping next to him at the bar.

I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee as he watched me closely.

“Still havin’ bad dreams, are ya?” he asked quietly.

I barked out a short laugh at the way he’d phrased it. Bad dreams? More like night terrors.