Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  I took that picture on one of my trips to Ecuador. The man had looked so… alone on the beach that day, beside his fishing boat.

  He’d looked bound by the rope, although he was the one holding it.

  This whole mess with the Organization has me bound just like that rope. My hands may not seem tied, but they are.

  Because what I told Layla is true, and I believe it: I am responsible. My parents were part of this, and even if they weren’t, I’m still responsible.

  Everyone who knows and does nothing is guilty. Everyone is responsible.

  “Don’t,” Storm says, standing beside me.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Don’t do it. Don’t put yourself in danger again.”

  “I said I won’t.”

  But now, speaking the words again, I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe that’s why my body’s reacting as if I’m back in the basement.

  Maybe my body knows what my mind is trying to wrap itself around.

  I’m going to do it. Because if I don’t, who will?

  “Seriously, man, no.” Storm grabs my arm and shakes me, coming face to face with me. “You’re not going back. You’re not putting yourself in that psycho’s arms again, you crazy son of a bitch.”

  “And who will do it? Rook? You? You think I’d let that happen?”

  Storm’s mouth flattens.

  Of course he’d do it. Talk about the pot calling the fucking kettle black. Storm is batshit. It’s why I love the guy, but he also drives me nuts sometimes.

  Okay, lots of times.

  “What makes you think you can put yourself in danger to do what you think is right but Rook and I can’t?” he asks.

  “I didn’t say I make sense.”

  “Dammit, Hawk.”

  “Can you see another way to get Sandivar?”

  “Let fucking Sandivar go. He’s not the big fish.”

  “He’s big enough, and if he’s not caught, then I’ll be looking over my shoulder all my life.”

  Until he finds the chance to kill me, that is.

  “You can’t,” Storm insists.

  “Wouldn’t you do it if it meant a safer world for Raylin? For the family you wanna build with her? For your friends?”

  “You’re my friend. You going back to Sandivar isn’t gonna make me any goddamn happier,” he growls. “Jesus Christ, you’re still fucking hurt, look at you. Your girl is sick with the stress of what you went through. No fucking way am I letting you go.”

  I sigh and close my eyes, well aware that this discussion isn’t over yet and that the detective is waiting for an answer.

  ***

  I pace the passage outside the bedroom. The detective is still talking with the others, and I bet they are trying to think of alternative plans.

  I’m all for alternative plans. It’s not like I like pain, like I said before. Not my thing.

  But what alternative is there? We still don’t have the name of the big boss, and judging from my parents’ stubborn silence, the smaller fish we’ve already caught won’t offer us much in way of information.

  Not enough to bring the fucking Organization down.

  Sandivar, though… he may not be at the top, but he’s obviously holding the strings of many projects. He was the one who went after me, after all. The one who felt confident to hold me and toy with me. If he’s the head of security of the Organization, well then…

  Then he’s important, and we should do all in our power to grab him. If that means dangling me again as bait in front of his beady eyes… So be it.

  Even if the thought makes me wanna puke.

  Fuck. Looks like I’ve made up my mind, doesn’t it?

  Scratching at my beard, I open the door and step into the bedroom, searching for the right words.

  Hey, Lay, remember Sandivar? Would you believe I missed his company?

  Fuck, no.

  Layla, I’m going on a business trip. Terribly urgent. No, you can’t come with. Don’t wait up for dinner.

  Hell.

  Look, babe, I didn’t wanna tell you, but my plan all along was to go back… Ah shit.

  I suck at lying, and she—

  The bed is empty.

  “Layla?” I push the bathroom room open and step inside. She’s sitting on the floor, arms looped around her knees. “Hey. Everything okay?”

  She shakes her head, and damn, she looks white as a sheet. “I had… a bad dream.” She’s trembling, even though she’s wrapped up in the bathrobe and it’s toasty warm in here. “God, it was so real!”

  Shit. I carefully lower myself to the floor, because my knee is bothering me even more today if that’s possible, and open my arms. She scoots closer, until she’s pressed to my chest and my arms are full of trembling, clammy-skinned girl.

  “Wanna tell me about it?” I breathe against her hair.

  She shakes her head again, but she draws a breath like a sob and starts talking. “You were tied in the basement, and I was there, but nobody could see me but you. And they were killing you. Slowly. Blow by blow. You were covered in blood, you were calling for me, and…” Another sob. “And I did nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, my chest tightening. “You did so much, Lay. You saved my life.”

  “In the dream, you said… You said, I can’t do this, Layla.”

  Shit. No way am I telling her what I decided, not now. And I can’t bear seeing her like this. It’s fucking breaking me apart.

  I hug her closer. “It’ll be okay, Lay. You’ll see.”

  ***

  She quiets as I rub circles over her back. She’s also half-naked, plastered over me, and her tits press into my chest. The robe has fallen over one pale shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her breast.

  My dick is swelling fast in my pants, and now is not the right time, dammit.

  “Did the pills the doctor give you help?” I ask quietly, stroking her hair. “With the nausea?”

  She nods. “I think so.”

  Good. How can I help her? I mean, if one of the guys was sick and in a funk, I’d put them a nice action movie on TV and endure their crappy mood throughout until they got better.

  But Layla is a girl. Unknown species.

  I’ve never had sisters to get to know how the female mind works. And since I grew up enough to know where to put my dick, I’ve focused on the female body. Studied it. Worshipped it.

  But that isn’t helping Layla. She’s so emotional right now I don’t know what the hell to do.

  I could ask Raylin. She’s a girl. She’s definitely a girl. She might have some fucking advice. What if I asked someone about this? It grates to admit it, but I’m lost at sea.

  “Just remember we have a date. An official date,” I remind her, “after all this is over.”

  “With candles?” she whispers.

  “Lots of candles. And music.”

  “What sort?” She sounds doubtful.

  “Whatever you like.”

  She’s silent for a long moment. Then her hand slips under my T-shirt, tickling my abs. “Hawk?”

  “Hm?”

  She swallows, moving her hand lower, and fuck, it lands on my dick.

  My very hard dick.

  And she moans.

  “Lay…”

  “Want you,” she whispers, and hell if my dick doesn’t twitch and throb in reply.

  God, what is she doing to me? Without another thought, I bend my head and crush my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue between her lips.

  Oh fuck, yes. Her hands are on my chest, at the waistband of my pants, and I push the robe off her. I helpfully tear my T-shirt off and push down my pants, and her hand is again on my dick, and hell, yeah.

  I grab her hair, tug her head back and use my other hand to press against her throat. She moans into the kiss, and her tits rub against my chest, her nipples so taut they score my skin. I slide my hand down, over one breast, then lower, down to her pussy. I rub her clit, slip two fingers inside h
er, and she’s so fucking wet and hot.

  Hell.

  She lifts up, still kissing me, and seeks my cock. I pull my fingers out, guide my dick into her and I push inside in one slow, smooth thrust that has me groaning in her mouth.

  Holy shit.

  She rocks on me, and I roll my hips up, and we find a rhythm, her hands in my hair, my hands on her ass. Fast. Faster. Harder. Oh God.

  It’s frantic. It’s near violent. It’s fucking perfect.

  Is this distraction sex? Escapism sex? Get-better sex? I have no fucking clue, and right now I don’t care.

  One moment I’m rocking her in my arms, the next she’s stroking my dick, and we’re tearing off each other’s clothes.

  See? I don’t have a clue how girls’ minds work.

  And then she digs her fingers into my scalp as she comes all over my cock, shaking and crying out my name.

  Which of course triggers my own orgasm, and I slam into her again and again as I spill my seed inside her.

  Fucking perfect.

  ***

  After a long shower, and another round of mind-blowing sex, I leave Layla getting dressed and go in search of food. And no, I still haven’t told her what the detective said and what I decided.

  I’m also looking for Raylin as I wander the house looking for the kitchen, but I don’t find neither her right away, nor the kitchen.

  First I find Rook.

  “Roderick,” I greet him because his given name annoys the hell out of him, and that amuses me. “What’s up?”

  I guess the fact he’s drinking scotch at eight o’clock in the fucking morning isn’t such a good sign, but I ignore that and grab the jug of orange juice sitting on the table. I pour myself a glass, down it, and pour another.

  Two rounds of sex and I feel drained. This week really took a lot out of me, though I bet the moment I see Layla I’ll be ready to go again.

  Damn, that girl.

  My girl.

  Grinning like the wolf that got Red Riding Hood, I sit next to Rook and elbow him in the ribs. “I said, what’s up? Bad scotch?”

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Rook rumbles and scratches at his budding beard. “You got some and turned up the obnoxious, huh?”

  “Hey.” I shrug one shoulder. “Can’t beat good sex in the morning for a pick-me-up. You should try it some time. Oh. Oh! I see why you’re so fucking grumpy. It’s because you haven’t gotten any in the past few years. Wanting a girl who doesn’t want you isn’t smart, man.”

  “Did I ask for your opinion, junior?” Rook sends me a death glare. “No, I didn’t. Yet there you are, giving it again. Save it, Hawk, and drink your fruit juice like a good boy.”

  Sighing, I put the glass down. “So what did you do with the detective? Lock him up in a closet somewhere until we have our own private talk?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Be sure to feed him.” And a shiver courses through me, because, fuck, bad joke. It brings back images from the basement, and my stomach twists around the sourness of the juice.

  “Don’t concern yourself with that.” Rook pours himself another scotch. “Don’t concern yourself with any of it. I’ve got this.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” This doesn’t sound good. “Rook. Don’t go doing anything reckless, hear me?”

  “Says the guy who let himself be abducted and tied up in a basement, beaten up and starved. Yeah, I hear you. Now, you listen to me.” Damn, his dark eyes are intense, sharp like laser beams as they cut into me. “You stay out of this from now on. Both you and Storm have done your part. Now let me do mine.”

  “And what exactly are you planning on doing?”

  “I know people. You have contacts in the Chinese mafia. I have contacts in other places.”

  “What sort of places are those, dude?”

  “Places you’d never set foot in. Places too corrupt for your young soul.”

  Jesus. He’s on a roll today. “And what will you offer in return? Your soul?”

  He grins then, at long last, although what he says sends a chill through me. “I don’t have a soul, bro. I gave it away long ago.”

  ***

  Gave his soul away to whom, I wonder as I walk through the house, checking the rooms I go past. For whom, or what?

  It makes me feel cold inside, but Rook didn’t give me a chance to ask more. He left, saying he had stuff to take care of.

  He also said Raylin might be out by the pool with her dog, so I’m trying to find the way out.

  I bet that’s a metaphor for lots of things in my life.

  It’s an overcast day, and when I finally find a door and step outside to the pool, cold wind whips at me, ripe with the scent of rain.

  Raylin is crouched on the lawn at the far side of the pool, playing with a tiny fluffy Pomeranian who’s yipping and dancing back and forth, trying to grab with its teeth something she’s holding.

  Then she throws it—a stick, presumably—and the ball of fur launches itself after it, barking furiously.

  It makes me smile. Makes me wonder if Layla would like a Pomeranian, or a bigger dog. A Husky, maybe?

  I amble around the pool, happy for the fresh air in my face.

  Can’t believe how deeply my experiences this week have marked me. How many things I took for granted suddenly seem fucking huge and how grateful I am for them.

  Oxygen. Water. Food. Mobility.

  Safety. Life. Pleasure.

  Layla.

  The Pomeranian comes bounding back with a ridiculously big stick between its teeth, depositing it triumphantly at Raylin’s feet.

  She laughs. Throws the stick again. The doggy gallops after it.

  I crouch down beside her and clear my throat.

  “Oh my God!” She falls back on her ass, and I chuckle. “Hawk. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “That was on my To Do list for this morning. Now I can finally tick it off.” I grin at her, and she smiles back, dark eyes twinkling.

  “Smartass.”

  “I try.”

  “So how are you? You’re looking much better. When they brought you in, jeez… that was scary.”

  I nod, not sure what to say. I must have looked like hell. “Yeah.”

  “And Layla? Storm told me he brought in a doctor to see her. Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, about that…” I plant my ass down as well and link my arms around my knees, watching as the Pomeranian comes bounding back and then starts sniffing my hands, trying to bite my fingers off. “I guess it’s stress, you know? Psychological shit. Psychosomatic, probably. But she’s still pretty bad, and I was wondering if it has to do with the time in the month or something.” I lick my lips, cock my head to the side. “Hit me if you want, but I never really looked into this shit. PMS? Premenstrual whatever. Combined with the stress we went through this week, could it be the reason she’s like that?”

  “Like what?” Raylin says, and doesn’t look like she’s about hit me—yet—so I relax a little. “Details.”

  Even chick punches hurt on top of bruises.

  “Okay, so, she’s been crying a lot. And she threw up a couple of times, but now she’s better. I think.”

  Raylin scratches her dog behind the ears. “Throwing up, huh? You sure she’s not pregnant?”

  I open my mouth, close it again. Can I tell Raylin what Layla told me? What if she doesn’t want others to know about it?

  “You’re hesitating, and you’re right, that can’t be it,” Raylin says and waves a dismissive hand. “My friend Megan got knocked up and told me all about it. Trust me, you’d have noticed. Wild mood swings. Vivid dreams. Lots of extremes, know what I mean? She’d either be furious, or depressed, crave sex or not be able to stand it… Oh and something you’d have noticed: bigger breasts, more sensitive, too, and bigger nipples.”

  She’s grinning at me, wagging her brows, and all I can think of is, oh fuck…

  “But that happens before the period, too, right?” I
scramble to scrounge up what little knowledge I have of women’s mysterious hormonal cycles. “All this.”

  “You tell me. You’ve been seeing Layla for months, haven’t you? Does she seem different to you this time?”

  Fuck yeah, she does. I remember when I first saw her tits in the basement of the warehouse, and I shift uncomfortably because my body doesn’t care about the discussion, and my dick gets excited at the memory of Layla’s tits every single time.

  Also, vivid dreams, check. Mood swings, check. The fact she wants me all the time—except when puking, that is—check.

  But she can’t be. She told me why. She acted like she believed it. I mean, holy shit, she cried over the thought of Raylin being knocked up, and now…

  What’s going on here?

  “Want me to talk to her?” Raylin asks. “Sometimes girls find it easier to talk about what’s wrong between themselves.”

  Makes sense. Though I thought Layla and I had no secrets. That she had no reason anymore to hide anything from me.

  “That would be awesome,” I say and decide it’s time I followed Rook’s fine example and located that bottle of scotch.

  Chapter Twenty

  Layla

  I’m sitting on the bed, running a brush through my hair, thinking about the things Hawk said—the official date we’re going to have, his wish for a family with me, his arms around me.

  His mouth on me.

  Heat spreads in my cheeks. Good Lord, I started it this time, touched him, told him I wanted him. I couldn’t help myself.

  Still want him. The throbbing between my legs is unbearable. Now I know. I’m coming down with the sex bug. I’m turning into an insatiable sex machine.

  I put the brush down and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Maybe it’s because I feel so trapped here. So out of place.

  I’m missing classes. I’ll never catch up. And my mom and Dorothy must be worried about me. I should talk to Rook again, and Hawk. There must a way to communicate with them without putting anyone at risk, right?

  There’s a knock on the door, and I lift my head just as a girl’s voice says, “Coming in!”

  Oops.

  I gather the covers around me. I was supposed to get dressed but got lost in thought. “Okay!”