Hawk (Sex and Bullets 2) - Page 52
The trip to the police station doesn’t seem any more real than escaping the warehouse. Th
e memories from our time there are both frighteningly vivid and vaguely surreal, like frames from a nightmarish reel.
When we stop at the station, I have to force myself to move. It’s warm in the cab, comfortable. Safe.
Not sure I’m ready to face any more adventures. I mean, give me a break. After everything that happened, the last thing I want is to walk into the police station and give a statement.
I want a shower, clean clothes, my bed. My friends. Guess I’m not ready to face the real world so soon, not yet.
But Hawk comes around to open the door for me and pulls me out, leaving me no option.
He hauls me out and into his arms, and okay, that feels good. Keeps the world at bay for a moment longer as he turns me around and walks us toward the station.
Toward someone who’s heading in our direction, a guy almost as tall as Hawk, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, in a gray suit. He’s flanked by two bodyguards in black suits, the handles of their guns jutting out of their back holsters.
He comes straight to us and grabs Hawk in a sideways man-hug, clapping his back before drawing back.
“Motherfucker. You look like shit.”
Hawk looks pleased at the description. “Feel like shit, too. Let me introduce to you my savior. Layla, this is Storm, my friend who vanished for two years and resurfaced recently. Storm, this is Layla.”
Storm’s eyes widen. “This is Hot Body?” he asks, and it’s like a cold shower.
He calls me that to his friends? Jeez.
Hawk seems to sense my shock because he hugs me to him more tightly. “Her name’s Layla. And without her I’d be in really deep fucking shit, Storm, so be nice to her.”
So I’m the hot body he liked to fuck, and now I’m his savior.
Good to know that’s all I am. Yeah, good to clear the cobwebs and see the picture as it is. Though, like I said, I’m not ready for reality yet, and my eyes burn like fire.
“Let’s get inside. I informed the team in charge of the investigation. You give your statement, and we get the hell out of here.”
“Where’s Raylin?” Hawk asks as we enter the building. “She okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine.” There’s a twinkle in Storm’s gaze. “You’ll see her later.”
We’re immediately whisked to a tiny, windowless room, and I feel Hawk tense against me. Heck, I’m tense myself. The confined space reminds me too much of the basement of the warehouse and all that happened down there.
Thankfully a detective arrives ten minutes later and sits down with us, bringing surprisingly good coffee in paper cups and placing a recorder on the table.
Then Hawk starts talking, and I just listen as he recounts how he planned to be kidnapped by the Organization in order to gather information about its council and the companies it controls. Apparently Hawk’s parents have refused to disclose any details about the Organization, and Hawk thought this a good way to get some info, fast.
The look the detective gives him clearly says what he thinks of this crazy plan. “I see,” he says and motions for Hawk to go on.
He tells him how I appeared out of nowhere and helped him. He seeks my hand under the table and wraps his long fingers around mine, making me forget for a while that he’s just grateful I helped him get out.
That I’m just a hot body to him, after all, and that stupidly I went and fell for him. Hey, dangerous conditions can cause feelings to form, right? Braving the odds together, life-or-death situations. That’s all. I’ll get over it.
I have to.
The detective asks me a few questions on how I entered the warehouse and about my dad. I tell him all I know, which isn’t helpful since I had no clue my dad was involved in this business before I entered the warehouse and found Hawk.
A heaviness settles on my chest. I’d managed to forget for a moment there my dad’s involvement. God, I need to talk to my mom. Not that I think she knows anything about this, but I need to hear her voice. I’m so off-balance right now it’s not even funny.
“Look, we’re really fucking exhausted,” Hawk finally says, leaning forward, his face tight. “I think we told you what really matters. We’ll be at your disposal later, but, man, we’ve been through a couple of hellish days. We need a shower. We need food and sleep. How about we call it a day?”
I’m pretty sure nobody tells detectives what to do and when to wrap up an interrogation, if this is what this is, but it seems Jamie Fleming can, because the detective just nods and gets up.
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