Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

But I never make it out of my hiding place, because the door behind Hawk opens and in walks the gangster team from yesterday. My stomach is in knots, and I curse myself inside for not coming in half an hour earlier.

The two thugs walk over to Hawk and grab him by the armpits. He recoils and lashes out at them, but he seems groggy, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, and damn if that doesn’t make me queasy with concern.

It’s because he was just woken up so roughly, not because he was beaten too badly yesterday, I tell myself and struggle to believe it.

The Boss walks in front of Hawk and nods at his guys who drag Hawk over to a box and plant him down on it. He doesn’t resist. The big one shoves him, and he lists on the box.

My stomach twists even worse until I think I might be sick. That’s really not like him. He looks pale as a ghost in the fluorescent lights of the ceiling and has a jerkiness to his movements I don’t remember from before.

“Ready to prove your loyalty to us?” The Boss asks

, strolling over, hands in his pant pockets, seeming way too pleased with himself.

Bastard.

Hawk pushes his shoulder-length hair out of his face with one shaky hand and glares at the thugs, his broad chest rising and falling unevenly under his stained shirt.

The glare, at least, looks more like him, and I suck in a deep breath to calm myself. They’re just going to talk. It’ll be okay.

“Did you bring me breakfast?” Hawk croaks, and I wince at the rusty sound. “Did you remember how I want my fucking eggs this time?”

I wince again, and not because of his voice this time.

The big thug grabs him by the arm, preparing to punch the living daylights out of him, and I muffle a whimper behind my hand.

Jesus, this guy. I know for a fact he doesn’t like pain—he likes being on the giving end—so what is he doing?

“Don’t. Johnny, I said don’t.” The Boss shoves the big guy aside, and I close my eyes briefly. “Disobey me one more time, and you won’t know what hit you.”

Thank God.

The Boss thrusts a cell phone at Hawk. “Now, to business.”

Hawk turns his glare on the Boss. “Yeah?”

“Call your lawyers. And I’ll tell you what to say.”

Uh oh. This can’t be good. The tension in Hawk’s shoulders tells me the same.

“Let me tell you something my grandpa taught me,” Hawk drawls, not making a move to take the phone. “Before coffee I don’t do business. Bad luck, ya know?”

This time it’s the Boss who hits him, a sudden, heavy punch to the jaw that snaps Hawk’s head around and throws him off the box to the floor.

Oh God, I can’t look.

Can’t stop looking.

It’s like a train wreck, only worse. It’s like ten train wrecks wrapped into one. I don’t want to see him get any more hurt, but he keeps bringing it on himself.

Maybe he has a death wish? Maybe he decided he’ll die here?

No. Just no. Not Hawk.

Stop with the guesswork. You’ll ask him about this when these assholes leave. Don’t move. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

Wait it out.

“Call,” the Boss says, squatting down and hitting Hawk’s face with the phone. He pushes it into Hawk’s hand. “Call right the fuck now.”