Dream Maker (Dream Team 1)

“Are you conscious?” Hawk asked.

“Fuck you,” Snag spat, and I was pretty sure a tooth came out along with spittle and blood at his words.

Yuck.

I noted tears were also running out of Snag’s eyes from the smoke, but that was currently the least of his worries.

“I see your situation has not impressed itself on you,” Hawk remarked.

At that, Snag just spat, his head lolling to do so, his aim to the ground by Hawk’s feet.

It was then Boone let me go, so Hawk’s man, who went to retrieve the blanket, could give me said blanket.

Boone helped pull it around me and I held it close to my front.

Hawk watched this as if my comfort was the most important component of this wild scenario, and I decided I liked Mag’s boss.

He then turned back to Snag.

“There are few in your line of work who do not know who I am,” Hawk noted.

“Everyone knows who you are, motherfucker,” Snag replied.

“So, I take it, you put your hands on Evie not knowing she has my protection.”

Aw.

That was sweet.

And it meant something to Snag. Even in the bloodied mess Mag had made of his face, he looked freaked.

He struggled to hide it, failed, but still managed to accuse, “She took somethin’ of mine.”

“You gave it to her, dumbfuck,” Hawk returned.

“To look after,” Snag retorted.

“All right,” Hawk said, putting both hands on his hips, and I imagined the sky lifted several inches, “I’m done with this. Outside the narcotics, what was in that bag?”

Snag blinked. Then it appeared he was trying to think.

Finally, he said, “Nothin’.”

Hawk’s gaze slid to Mag and he nodded.

Once.

Mag pulled an arm back.

Not the arm attached to his injured shoulder.

That one he was using constantly to hold on to Snag, dammit.

“Okay! Okay! Call off your asshole!” Snag shouted. “I’ll tell you.”

Mag’s arm dropped but this gave me occasion to look at his face and I saw his mouth was pinched with pain and he’d gone slightly pale.

However, I felt, regrettably in this scenario, that I should not rush to coddling the man I was living with, albeit platonically (for now, and that happy change in circumstances was indefinitely delayed, stupid Snag!), and instead stayed still and kept my mouth shut.

When several seconds ticked by in silence, Hawk prompted, “I’m not hearing you tell me.”

“It’s a gun,” Snag said then hastily added, “Not my gun.”

“We know it’s not your gun. We know one of your girls took it off a john. We know that girl is now dead. What we wanna know is, whose is it and why is it so fuckin’ important?”

“I tell you, will you let me go?”

Hawk heaved a beleaguered sigh.

“I see you haven’t come to grips with your situation. This isn’t a negotiation. You’re gonna tell me, and your choice is whether you tell me easy, or you tell me hard. And how you choose decides how we disappear you after. If we do that nice, or if we do that nasty.”

Oh man.

I looked to Mag, who was focused on the man in his hold.

“Now,” Hawk carried on, “I work hard, my boys work hard, downtime is scarce, we were all enjoying our Saturdays, and we find ourselves here, dealing with you. And the longer you make us stay here, the more my mood deteriorates. So let’s cut the dicking around and tell me about that gun.”

“It was used in a murder,” Snag said.

Oh no.

“And the guy who was murdered was a cop.”

Oh no!

My gaze cut again to Mag, but he was now scowling over my head at Boone.

“Names,” Hawk barked.

“Man, you are signing my death sentence if you make me—”

“Names!” Hawk roared, I jumped, and Boone slid an arm around my belly and pulled me back into his body.

“Cop was Tony Crowley. Who done him was,” he seemed to be breathing funny before he pushed out, “Cisco.”

“Shit, fuck,” Auggie clipped.

I had a feeling Cisco was even worse than being a cop killer and that was pretty damned high up on the bad guy scale.

“Jorge, Axl, Aug, deal with this asshole,” Hawk ordered. “Boone, Mo, take care of Evie and Mag. Communicate. I want a huddle in the office as soon as this current shit is sorted.”

And with that, Hawk turned and strolled away.Chapter FourteenDo RightEvieI sat on Mag’s couch, staring at Mag’s view, thinking about Mag.

As well as Mag and me.

And what Mag meeting me meant to Mag.

My father was a drug dealer.

My brother was a drug dealer.

And Mick’s bullshit got Mag shot.

Shot!

Got him shot and his friends spending their Saturday afternoon throwing smoke grenades (or whatever those were) and tackling people.

Against my wishes not to be separated, but with Mag assuring me he’d be okay and sharing he wanted me at his place, where he knew I was safe, Boone had taken Mag to someone called Dr. Baldwin.