Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2)

I can’t breathe. I’m gripping my hands together so hard I can’t feel my fingers anymore.

Take the phone, Hawk. Take the frigging phone, and do what they want you to do.

I can’t chase away this gut feeling that the Boss wouldn’t mind killing Hawk. It’s crazy. I mean, Hawk is a strong asset, right? Why kill him? Why wound him?

It makes me fear he’s bitten more than he can chew with this one. Only a very powerful—or insane—opponent wouldn’t give a damn.

Or perhaps a very angry one? A friend of Hawk’s parents? Someone with losses because of it? Someone with a personal vendetta.

Hawk takes the phone—thank God and Mary and baby Jesus—and dials a number, then puts it to his ear. “Fine.”

I’m shaking. I can’t seem to stop as I slump sideways against the crates, my hand still pressed to my mouth.

“When they pick up, tell them you want to transfer a small sum, say… five million dollars to this account number.” He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Hawk.

Holy shit.

“Not gonna listen in, hear what they say?” Hawk mutters, bloodied lips twisted in a sneer.

“I don’t fucking care what they say, boy. What I’m interested in is what you say to them, and what happens afterward.”

Oh crap. Can’t believe I am listening in to this. Not sure what they’ll do to me if they discover me now. Something really painful, I bet—or maybe a quick death?

I work hard on not hyperventilating as Hawk talks on the phone, relaying in his raspy voice what the Boss told him, plus the number from the piece of paper. He thanks his lawyer and hangs up.

He hands back the phone and puts a hand on the metal box, struggling to get up. “Whose account was that? Yours?”

The Boss laughs. “That was Boris Abramov’s bank account.”

Hawk groans, and his face goes gray. “Russian mafia. You’re setting me up.”

“A guarantee, like I said. Nobody needs to know. If someone investigates, just by chance, you will have our protection.” The Boss winks. “You depend on us now, Hawk.”

God. Tears are tracking down my cheeks, hot like fire. I swallow a sob. It’s the fear, I guess. The terror.

I remember my dad’s warning, that Hawk is dangerous. Am I imagining things—imagining he’s innocent? If he’s paying for past wrongdoings, how can I save him?

Does he deserve to be saved?

The Boss and his goons depart, leaving Hawk slumped on the metal box, and suddenly I can’t take it anymore. Can’t take the fear, the sadness, the doubt. I need…

Need to talk to Dorothy.

***

Skulking away, up the stairs and to the bathroom, wiping my cheeks with both hands, I fumble for my phone in my purse. I lock myself up in a stall, put the lid down on a toilet and sit on it.

I take a deep breath, but more tears flow.

What’s wrong with me?

Stop it, I tell myself as I power up my cell phone. It’s normal, isn’t it? Normal to break down after watching the man you’ve been sort of dating and having hot sex with for the past year have the shit beaten out of him regularly, after seeing him come so close to breaking down himself.

After realizing you don’t really know the first thing about him. That you have feelings for him, feelings you shouldn’t be having. Feelings you swore you didn’t have for him.

What a mess.

Dorothy answers on the second ring, breathless. “Laylay, at last! You got me worried. Is everything okay? Are you done spying on your dad, Layla Bond?”