Craving Hawk (The Aces' Sons 3)

I hopped off my bed when there was a knock on my door, but I paused before swinging it open like I normally would. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My shithole apartment didn’t have a peephole, and the chain lock was so flimsy it was a joke.

Staying at the Aces’ compound for so long had made me paranoid.

But maybe a little paranoia was a good thing?

I wasn’t sure.

“Heather, open up!” a familiar voice called through the door. “I can pick the lock in about two seconds if you don’t… or climb in that open slider on your back deck. Your choice.”

I stomped my foot and it felt fantastic, so I stomped it again. Sometimes it was nice to throw a fit when no one was watching.

Then I opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in exasperation. I’d just taken off my pants and I sure as hell wasn’t putting them back on just because Tommy had decided to visit my apartment for the first time ever. I was finally in my own space, dammit. He was harshing my mellow.

“Told you to wait for me and I’d take ya home,” he replied, pushing past me.

I slammed the door closed and sighed dramatically.

“I didn’t need a ride. My sister and Rocky dropped me off,” I explained as I dropped back down on my bed. “How did you even know where I live?”

My apartment was tiny, but it worked for me. It had a galley kitchen, the smallest bathroom on the planet, and enough space for my king-sized bed, my dresser and some bookshelves. I didn’t really need any more space than that. When I’d lived at my parents’ house I’d spent most of my time in my room anyway. At least this place had a kitchen.

“Jesus, it’s small,” Tommy mumbled looking around the room.

“That’s what she said,” I said under my breath.

“Not to me,” he replied with a wide smile.

I snorted.

Then we were both laughing.

“Seriously,” I said as our chuckles died down. “What are you doing here?”

“You were pretty worked up earlier,” he replied with a shrug. “Wanted to make sure you were good.”

“I’m fine.” I rolled my eyes. “Just a temporary case of insanity.”

“It have anythin’ to do with that kid me and Mick beat the shit out of back in the day?” he asked, stepping toward me.

“What?”

“You know—that kid that was messin’ with you. It have somethin’ to do with him?”

“Wait,” I muttered. “You were there, too?”

“ ’Course I was,” he scoffed. “Someone had to drive.”

“Oh,” I said faintly, watching as he came even closer.

“Mick said he used to beat on you?”

“That was private,” I replied, getting to my feet.

“Had to tell me somethin’ when he asked me to help him.”

“He should have lied.”

“Nah, baby brother couldn’t lie for shit,” he said with a small smile.

Then his face fell as we both realized the lie for what it was. Mick had been very good at keeping secrets. One secret in particular.

“Well, thank you, I guess. I never knew Mick had help.”

“Didn’t want you to know,” he said quietly, reaching out to pull on the hair lying against my cheekbone. Then his entire demeanor changed. “You got any food in here? I’m starvin’.”

“No, I don’t have any food,” I groaned, dropping back down to the bed. “Everything was rotten. My house smelled like your tent when I got home.”

“Ha. Very funny. Let’s go get some groceries then.”

“What?” I asked in confusion. Jesus, I couldn’t keep up with him.

“Groceries. Food.”

“But then I’d have to put on pants,” I whined.

“God forbid,” he said, grinning as his eyes slid down my body.

“Eyes up here, turbo.” I gestured at my face.

“Come on,” he said, walking toward the door. “Throw some pants on so we can go get some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” I argued.

“I am.”

“So?”

“Feed me.”

“Not my problem,” I sang.

“Fine.” He strode back to the bed. “We’ll work up an appetite, then we’ll go get food.”

“I’m up!” I yelped, hopping to my feet. I rounded the bed and threw on a pair of jeans while he chuckled his way back to the front door.

“Shut that slider, too,” he ordered. “You got a piece a’wood to put in the track?”

“A what?” I asked as I slid the door closed and locked it.

“A piece a’wood or something to brace the door.”

“No,” I said, drawing the word out. “I just use this nifty little locking mechanism right here.”

“Swear to God, you’ve got a death wish. Come on, let’s go.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I huffed as I grabbed my purse on the counter and stomped toward the door. “And how the hell are we going to bring back groceries on your bike?”

“Takin’ your car,” he replied as we walked out onto the landing. “I’m driving.”

“Of course you are,” I mumbled as I locked the door behind us.

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