Hawk

by Tiya Rayne

  “Why is she not talking?” he asks with the nasal voice and then answers in the British accent. “I do not know.”

  “It’s because you haven’t addressed her in the proper way,” he replies in a deep voice to the other two. Honestly, I don’t know who the fuck he’s talking to. He starts to smack at his head with the open palm of his hands. “We’re so stupid.”

  I take that as my chance to escape. I was all about fighting those other two, but there is no way I’m going toe to toe with crazy. I spin on my heels and bolt for the front of this godforsaken alley.

  The sound of his heavy panting follows me. I catch him out of the corner of my eye running up the side of the wall beside me like he did with the trashcan. Only to backflip off and land in front of me. A fucking psychotic smile spreads over his face, making me take a step back.

  “You’re pleased with us. You ran and you only run when you know I will chase.” He uses that nasal voice again. That crazy look in his eyes is only slightly dimmed by what looks like adoration.

  Oh hell no.

  “Dude, I don’t know who you are.”

  “You know us,” he states in the deep guttural voice.

  Why does he keep speaking about himself as more than one person?

  “I don’t.”

  I continue to back up until I stumble over my own feet and almost lose my footing.

  “Careful, Mistress Porsha. We don’t want you to fall,” the nasal voice speaks again.

  “My name isn’t Porsha,” I shout.

  Psycho’s eyes narrow and a line indents his brow. “We do not like to be yelled at,” he says with the British accent and an attitude.

  “I don’t give a fuck what you like. Get the hell away from me.”

  “We do not like the new Porsha.” He reaches for me and I jump back falling to my ass on the filthy pavement. When he goes to grab for me again, a tall figure steps in between us.

  “How’s it going, Many?”

  Psychopath steps back, giving Walker his space. Thank you, Jesus. I don’t even care that he’s late, I’m just glad he’s here now.

  “Hello, brother. How are you?” he speaks cheerfully in the deep voice.

  Walker shrugs, placing his arms over his chest. “Can’t complain. How about you guys?”

  “Good. Priest told us that we should be on the lookout for you. He said you may need our help. Then we spotted the new Porsha. We want the new Porsha.”

  “I am not fucking Porsha,” I growl out as I stand to my feet behind Walker.

  Psycho narrows his eyes. “We do not like—”

  “Fuck all of y’all,” I say, raising my voice.

  Walker wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me to his side as Psycho continues to stare at me with narrowed eyes.

  “I need you to be quiet,” Walker mumbles into the top of my head.

  He didn’t just tell me to be quiet. “No, you be quiet. I was handling this perfectly fine before you showed up.” That’s a lie, but I was doing okay.

  Walker gives me a look as if he’s challenging my statement. “We will talk about that later,” he mumbles then turns back to Psycho. “Thanks for the help again, fellas.”

  Psycho finally draws his freaky eyes away from me and turns to Walker. “They said that Porsha was dead. We didn’t believe them. Then we found her with our brother, Hawk.” He nods to me. “We’ve been waiting for her to summon us. We were here to save her when the men tried to take her. Now she’ll reward us.” Those demonic eyes turn back to me and he looks at me with anticipation like he’s expecting me to do something.

  “Why is she not running so that we may find her and get the belly rubs?” Again, he’s asking himself.

  “Maybe she is still not pleased,” the voice with the British accents replies to the question nasal voice asked.

  “Let us kill again,” the deep voice suggests to the others.

  “Okay, now hold on, no need to kill anyone else,” Walker says, holding out a hand.

  Are you fucking serious, Albany? Is this the type of shit you had to put up with? I mean, on the outside psycho is cute.

  He has that shaggy hair and a puppy dog face with the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. And if you can look past the psychotic glaze in them, they are pretty nice. However, his elevator is definitely not servicing all floors.

  “Then Porsha will reward us with belly rubs?” He lifts his shirt and grins expectantly at me.

  I look over to Walker. If he thinks I’m about to rub this grown man’s stomach, he is as insane as this lunatic.

  “We have a problem,” Walker says, moving a bit closer to me, drawing psycho’s attention. Psycho drops the front of his shirt. “This isn’t Porsha. This is her twin sister.”

  Psycho moves that deranged gaze to me and rakes over my body from head to toe.

  “Do we like the twin?” he asks whoever the hell else he has inside his head with the British voice.

  “She’s fatter than Porsha.” This comes from the nasal sounding voice. I go to step past Walker to put my foot in this looney tune’s ass, but Walker tightens his hold on me.

  “I like her red hair,” he says in the deep voice.

  “Me too,” he replies in the British voice. “She looks like Porsha.”

  “I think we should take the twin,” he says with a new hollow voice that has my pulse jumping. Psycho steps forward, but is cut off when Walker steps in front of me, blocking my body from him.

  “I’ve already claimed the twin,” Walker says and it’s news to me. I’m not going to argue with him though.

  “He’s lying.” Psycho is back to having that group chat with himself.

  “I don’t think he is, look how the twin clings onto him. She likes him,” Nasal points out.

  I look down at my hands clamped around Walker’s arm as if I’m afraid he will disappear again. I let his arm go and place my hands down at my side.

  “Don’t let them fool you. He left her alone. He does not care about her,” British adds.

  “Damn,” I whisper to Walker. “Even the psychopath knows you left me.”

  “I’m so tempted to let them take you,” he replies back over his shoulder.

  My eyes widen and I gasp. He smiles at his joke, but I don’t see a damn thing funny.

  “We do not believe you, Hawk eyes.” Psycho and his team seem to finally come to a conclusion.

  “I don’t care what you—”

  Walker cuts off my words when he spins around on the balls of his feet, places one hand at my mid-back and draws me to him. My chest is pressed to his. His long fingers sink into my curly ponytail as he pulls my head back so that my lips are so close to his, I can taste his breath on my tongue.

  He then places his mouth to mine and with a swipe of his tongue over my bottom lip, I gasp and open my mouth. He plunges in. Walker kisses me with the same beauty and finesse that he does everything else. He takes over my senses, drawing small moans from the back of my throat.

  I’ve been kissed before. I’m not some inexperienced teenager, but the way his tongue dances with mine, along with the possessiveness of him taking my mouth—claiming it as his—makes me believe this is my first kiss.

  At some point, my fingers find themselves at the soft hairs at the back of his head. I don’t know how long the kiss lasts. I’m almost sure it’s nearly seconds, but it feels like a lifetime before he removes his lips from mine.

  I’m so caught up in the kiss it takes me a second to realize that we’re no longer kissing. I blink a few times to make my brain cells snap back and start firing off functions again. When I open my eyes, Walker’s fiery amber ones are looking back at me.

  They’re so intense that the feeling of him seeing into my soul comes back to me. For the first time, my blinders are fully off when I look at Walker. I’ve always had this girl code with my sister. The moment she liked a boy or mentioned finding someone attractive, those blinders go up on my eyes.

  I can no longer see that guy as a candidate. F
rom the moment I figured out who Walker was, I’ve been trying to place him in that category in my head. I’ve been reminding myself that he’s completely off limits.

  However, after that kiss, he’s so far out of that box it’s not even funny. I close my eyes trying to catch my breath.

  “Well then,” the nutcase says, claiming my attention. “I guess she is yours, but, brother, they will not like it,” he says solemnly and it’s the most lucid thing I’ve heard him say since I met him. “They let you leave, but they won’t let you keep her.”

  Walker’s body tenses. I can tell this is something that bothers him. Obviously not in reference to me, but maybe for that woman he’s in love with.

  “Thanks for saving her, Many.” He nods at the psycho and threads his fingers in mine as he tugs me to the entrance of the alley.

  “Don’t worry, brother,” Psycho calls from behind. “I’ll make the reservations for these two.”

  Walker keeps walking, dragging me further and further away. We cross the street at the crosswalk. When we finally get a good distance from the alley, he stops and spins on the balls of his feet to glare down at me.

  “Why didn’t you follow my directions?” It takes a minute to realize who the fuck he’s talking to. I don’t care how fine he is, no one talks to me that way.

  “Maybe because you suck ass at giving directions.” I yank my hand from his.

  “I told you to go to the alley behind the donut shop.”

  “Excuse me for not taking the time to read store signs, I was being chased by two gunmen.”

  He sighs, running his hands through his long soft hair. Jealousy fills me at the action. I’ve been dying to do that since I first saw him. I chastise myself for that thought.

  We’re not going there, Brooklyn.

  “You can’t not be where I tell you to. If we get lost in this city, I might not be able to find you.”

  Since I’ve met this man, I’ve never seen him this frazzled. Not being able to find me seems like a real fear for him. Albany did say that he’s protective.

  “If you had a problem with me getting lost, you shouldn’t have left me in the first place.” Though my words are harsh, I do soften my tone. It’s obvious his irritation comes from his concern for me.

  “You’re right,” he agrees. “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.” He takes a step forward and reaches for my hand. I allow him to take it, a smile lift his lips. “Do you forgive me?”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I reply teasingly. “So why did you run off?”

  “I didn’t know there were guys out front, and I was counting on the cops to follow me instead of you.”

  “Did they?”

  He smiles. “Yep.”

  “Well, what did they say? Did they tell you anything?”

  “Dead men can’t talk.”

  I slump my shoulders. “You have got to stop killing everyone. Not to mention, killing cops will bring a lot of heat to us. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life—no matter how short it may end up being—in jail.”

  “Relax, they were crooked cops, and the clean-up crew has already been notified.” How far from grace have I fallen when knowing well trained assassins have already cleaned up a crime scene for him makes me feel better?

  “You still should’ve told me your plan.”

  He places one hand at my waist and tugs me to him.

  “How did you fare with those two?” He nods his head in the direction of the alley we left.

  “I had it under control. I was kicking their asses.”

  He tosses his head back and laughs. “That’s what you were doing? You sure you weren’t just waiting for me?”

  “Hell no. I had already formed a plan in my head. I was going to take the crooked nose guy’s gun and kill them both.”

  He looks down at me, a smirk plastered on his face. “I thought you’ve never shot a gun before?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t, but how hard could it be?”

  He gives me another one of his deep laughs. Pulling me into his chest, he wraps his arms around me for a hug. I don’t return the hug. Not because I’m mad, but because those little flutters are starting to make themselves known again.

  He doesn’t take offense to my lack of affection. He pulls away from me to ask. “Did you notice anything strange about what happened back there?”

  I stare at him incredulously. Is he shitting me? “You’re going to have to be a little more specific. Honestly, since the day I got the visit about my sister, things have been strange. Even meeting that psychopath in the alley wasn’t the weirdest thing I’ve witnessed.”

  He laughs. “Many isn’t a psychopath. Their clinical records prove that.”

  “The fact that you’re still referring to him as more than one person makes me question your clinical records.”

  He shakes his head before tugging my hand and heading back in the direction we were going. He stops at a store and grabs his black duffle bag from under a folding sign before continuing on. I forgot about the bag of weapons.

  “Remember I told you the Church takes unique kids.”

  “Wait, he’s part of the Church?”

  He gives a brief look over his shoulder, followed by a nod. “Many was recruited by Priest and brought in with me. He’s one of my brothers.”

  Was it incredible how Many killed those two gunmen? Yes. And did he climb the walls and that trashcan like he was bitten by a radioactive spider? Hell yeah.

  However, the whole group conversation thing doesn’t strike me as qualifications to be a badass assassin. In fact, it would seem to do the opposite. Now I’m really starting to wonder what Walker’s superpower is.

  “Did you notice something weird about the two men that followed you?” His question brings us back on track.

  “They weren’t cops.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the guys in the library were.”

  “Yes,” he replies, continuing to weave us through the streets.

  He seems to already know everything I do so why is he asking me all this?

  “Keep going, Brooklyn. Tell me every detail you remember. Paint the picture for me,” he says the last part with a smile over his shoulder as we stop at a crosswalk.

  I go to that place inside my head. The canvas pops up instantly. The brush makes fat lazy blobs as I paint the picture in my head.

  “The men were hired on. Not military, but still professional. Definitely not Church material. They stood out way too much. One was even reaching for his gun on a crowded street.

  “They were also not in great shape because when I started running it took them longer than necessary to find me.” My brush strokes quicken as I continue to paint the picture of my attackers. “They’re used to using their hands. Not so much their brains.

  “Both had cracked and busted knuckles as if they’d been fighting all their lives. One even had a crooked nose. They were rule followers, which means they weren’t acting on their own. They work with someone. Most likely someone that does all the thinking.

  “And they didn’t want me. They were after you. These guys aren’t part of the group that came into your house. This is someone different.”

  I open my eyes. We are still waiting at the crosswalk while Walker stares back at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted wings.

  He’s focused on me so long and hard I get uncomfortable. “It makes sense now,” he finally whispers before turning back around and dragging me across the street toward our destination at a quick pace. We cross the street at another crosswalk. I’ve yet to get my bearings.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The flash drive is coded. We will never be able to see what’s on it.”

  “That’s why it shut down every computer in the library?”

  He chuckles. “I guarantee we fed that virus to the entire block.”

  I gasp. “Who could do something like that with a simple little flash drive?”

  He turns to me and looks strai
ght in my eyes. “There’s only one person in the world that can do that, my brother Lucien. I’m going to make a call and maybe I can get in contact with him or his brother.”

  Once the crossing signal changes, he turns back to the street and drags me across. “Hold on, before we go meeting anyone else I need to get out of these filthy clothes.”

  He turns to glance at me briefly, confusion pinching his brow. “What’s wrong with your clothes?”

  “I’m pretty sure I have blood splatter on my T-shirt and I have a hole in my leggings. There’s a Walgreens up at the corner just let me run in there and get a change of clothes.”

  He doesn’t reply at first and continues his rushed pace through the street. “Walker?” I huff getting his attention.

  He shoots me a smile over his shoulder. “Fine, but make it quick we have to find a phone.”

  “If you need a phone, we can use my cell phone. Oh, wait, you smashed that into tiny pieces remember?”

  At the time my phone was the only thing I remembered to grab. Thankfully I’m always sticking cash in my bra. I had left my phone charger, my purse, and my keys in my apartment. Eventually, the battery was going to run out on the phone, but it would have helped in a time like this.

  “Pro-tip,” he says, not slowing down his strides. “We don’t use cell phones. All cellphones can be tracked. Unless your phone has gone through Lucien it isn’t safe. We’ll use a landline.”

  “How are we going to find a landline in this day and age?”

  Chapter 10

  Mrs. Walker

  Brooklyn

  Turns out, if you go into a bakery and ask very nicely, they have no problem letting you use their phone for an emergency phone call. While Walker makes the phone call at the register, I once again open the little black notebook and read over the addresses.

  There has to be something more to these random numbers and letters on these pages. There are probably a hundred pages in this book and only seven are occupied. And why would she write the addresses on separate pages? She could’ve put them all on the same page.

  A canvas pops up in my mind. The paintbrush smears bright colors across the white background. I’m creating a painting of my sister.