Filthy Love

by V. Theia

  He needed home and he needed away from Gia Marinos.

  “Nah. Got shit to do, man.”

  He showered. He dressed. And he let Krusher chew the fat with him for an hour.

  While his mind was with Gia.

  He was itchy under his skin. In that place his heart should be. The fucking thing continued to beat, refused to give up and just let him die already. It thumped harder when she was near and mourned when she was away from him. It ruled him and forced him to do and say things he wouldn’t say and do as a normal man.

  Tainted, wasn’t he?

  And drawn inexplicably to a woman who meant more to him than even his own life.

  In comparison, Gia was his life, because love was a mental illness. He was sure of it now. It corroded his brain, ruled his gut, made him dream and wish and hope.

  And one smile from Gia was the balm to all his demonic noises. The voices of old whispering how evil he was all dissipated when she was close.

  And for that he was truly an addict.

  A dirty, filthy fucking addict.

  For all his agonies of life, he could truly say he loved.

  He loved wrong. But he loved. There was beauty in that tragedy. Like he was Christ on his fucking Gia cross. Bleeding out one drop at a time in hopes she was happy in the end.

  Beside which, he was a complete dumb-fuck and acknowledged it. Because he wanted every scrap of Gia’s attention. He wanted to soak it in until it ran dry and she had no more left.

  No good.

  Not worth anything.

  His disturbed choir that lived in the back of his brain were always there to remind him why he needed to stay the hell away from her.

  No one punished Hawk like Hawk punished Hawk, so his stubborn jaw tightened, determined he’d have no part in whatever friendship she was offering to him.

  The hunger could starve.

  He’d live and continue to be a miserable motherfucker. So, the regular scheduling. He almost laughed.

  Casting his eyes across the table, he monitored the old guy shrewdly before selecting one of his dominos and laid it on the table.

  “Shit. you’re getting good at this,” remarked Krusher, studying the tiles, looking for a way to beat Hawk.

  “Your eyesight isn’t what it used to be, old man,” smirked Hawk, his mouth twitching. “You watched too much porn.”

  Krusher guffawed. “I like my women on my lap, son. Not on no TV screen.”

  Was this Hawk’s life, he wondered while he waited for Krusher to take his turn. Would he reach the same age and still be hanging around the club because he had nothing better going on in his life? No kids, or in Krusher’s case, kids that were too damn busy to bother with him.

  A heavy weight filled Hawk’s belly. Not a lot to look forward to.

  His cell vibrated against his leg. About to ignore it, he fished it out and saw Gia’s name. Automatically his entire body to hear her voice.

  “Gia?”

  “Hey. Hi.” She sounded funny. Her voice higher than normal. He caught Krusher watching with a grin on his worn face. Hawk turned away, got out of his chair and paced over to the bar. “I’m here at Delancey’s restaurant for lunch and three Russian gentlemen sat down at my table.”

  All Hawk heard was Russian and he was grabbing for his jacket over the chair he’d vacated, the chair upturned, and crashed to the floor.

  “What is it, boy?” He heard from Krusher.

  Only his head was fucking buzzing.

  Russian.

  Russian.

  “Gia, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Can you speak? Are they there with you now?”

  “Mmhm, oh yeah. This gentleman, by the name of Grigori Kuznetsov wanted me to let Rider know he was here.”

  “Fuck. Fuck.” Hawk’s blood ran cold. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he sprinted out the door, nor was he calm when he roared his bike to life. The phone attached to his ear. “I’m on my way, little bit. Stay calm, okay? I’m ten minutes out.” It was a twenty-minute ride minimum, but if he had to run fuckers over he would to get to her. “It’s okay. They won’t harm you.”

  “Okay. You’ll come now?” Her voice shook just for a second and he wanted to vomit. Goddamn them. Grigori had no fucking idea what he’d just done. If one hair on her head was harmed Hawk would break necks.

  “Yeah, little bit. I’m going now. Make sure you stay right there for me, you got it? Are there other people around?”

  She sounded relieved when she told him yes.

  That was good. It meant Grigori was making a point and didn’t have intentions to grab Gia or he already would have. The fucker was big on making his points.

  How the fuck did he know who she was?

  But Hawk knew the answer.

  Rex.

  Rider’s fucking shithead uncle who was working with the Russians to try and get the Colorado chapter back for himself.

  That motherfucker was going to get real dead for giving over Gia’s name, for putting her in the middle of this.

  “Gia, I have to hang up now, so I can ride. I’m coming, okay? Don’t worry. Don’t talk to them and whatever you do, don’t go anywhere. Stay right there. Make a noise if you have to.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He heard her inhale, like she wanted to say so much but knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Good girl. She was thinking smart.

  Swinging his leg over his bike, he spotted one of the chapter members and yelled him over. “Need you to follow me.” Lucky for Hawk, the guy didn’t ask too many questions and ran to his own bike.

  Hawk on the other hand was a beast in traffic.

  All he could hear was his own heartbeat rushing blood through his ears.

  The atmosphere dropped ten degrees when Hawk stepped into the well-lit restaurant on Main street just under ten minutes later. With a reputation most people feared it wasn't any wonder everybody in the place, though it was packed like sardines in a shitty can, all got out of his way. His gait was long, purposely mean, his face didn't radiate much different, only he looked stoic with a vibration of murderous intent that went from eyebrows down to his well-worn boots, his eyes shifting left and right, making sure to look at no one and everyone at the same time.

  He knew where he was going, what table to head for, the one in the very back that faced the entire bar. It would have been the table he'd chose.

  Smart. Stupid Grigori. As if a table setting was going to help that Russian now. He would have been wiser selecting his own pine box. Motherfucker should opt for the silk lining, he’d be dead a long time, always go for comfort, Hawk reckoned.

  Through the crowd, he ignored the stares of people eating their pastrami on rye toast and sipping espressos, his gaze tracking until he could see her, first he caught a glimpse of her dark wavy hair, and then it was the white hoodie, and after three more steps he saw all of Gia.

  Squashed between the two large men on one side of the booth, Hawk had to swallow his rage.

  Fucking touching her.

  One had his meaty hand laid over her arm to keep her in place. She gasped seeing him, otherwise saying nothing. The relief was there in her gaze. He felt her relief in his belly. I’m here, little bit.

  The hand resting on her forearm didn’t move. Hawk resisted the urge to whip out a knife and make sushi out of the Russian.

  Fucking touching her!

  With ease, he stepped up to the table, a dark looming shadow, his temper barely contained, but for now he had to keep it in check, though the ticks in his fucking brain were all in agreement he should make turkey meat of those fuckwits, three sets of eyes all came at him at once when he slid effortlessly down into the opposite booth, grabbing his long coat at both sides he folded his huge frame and linked his long tapered fingers on the table.

  “What the hell is this? Who invited this bastard?”

  Oh, he was going to kill that one very hard, he thought to himself. He compiled everything in a malevolent sweep of his gaz
e.

  “I see Rider cannot follow the orders, boss. This is most unfortunate our harmony is being dismissed so easily.” The other weightier guy said. His bald head sweating liberally under the restaurant lights.

  Hawk didn't bother giving either Russian his attention, he could give a fuck what they were saying, it held no meaning, not while his heart was drilling in his chest. Not while his anger was singing for him to paint the restaurant blood red until he was blinded in crimson.

  Tick

  Tick.

  Stalking eyes over Gia, he asked her silently if she was okay, checking for himself she was in one piece.

  No bruises that he could see and no tears in her eyes.

  If anything, his little bit of a thing looked pissed the fuck off. She was strong with the Greek Marinos blood in her veins.

  Good. I got this. I can deal and not bring death today.

  “Did these shit-for-brains touch you?” Voice raw and contained, he wanted to reach across and drag her to him, to tuck her into his shirt where she was safe and never let her see the light of day again.

  “Are you deaf, comrade? We asked for Rider, not his VP.”

  Bald Russian wasn't getting the message when Hawk had eyes only for Gia.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  His gaze said tell me the fucking truth and watch me slaughter these bastards with a salt shaker. He leaned forward, her scent always sweet, it didn't bring comfort here.

  He wanted to kill and protect. He wanted to eviscerate and blanket her in his skin and bone.

  “I'm fine, Hawk.” She smiled reassuring, he saw the strain around her eyes, this had scared her. Gia wasn’t in the MC world, she’d steered her life away even though her family was very much about the MC way of life, she was a fucking head doctor for fucks sake, miles away from his shit and death.

  The Russians didn’t know when to leave best alone. And they were singing from the same hymn sheet with this shit since they’d fucked with Grinder’s old lady to try to bring the club to heel not so long ago.

  He reached into his inner pocket, both men protested like they expected he was about to bring out a machete, one of them grabbed Gia roughly in warning.

  Bad mistake.

  Drawing out his hand, he waved a set of keys in the air, passing them to her, she clutched them quickly.

  “Go outside by my bike. Juicy is waiting for you.”

  Only then did his malevolent eyes shift to the right. His expression never changing, it was a nonverbal threat. “If you value that hand at all I would take it off her right now.”

  “Oh, now he fucking speaks!” Accent thick, he insulted Hawk in Russian, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth.

  Hawk was unfazed.

  “Do I have to tell you again to get your fucking hand off her and allow her to get out of here?”

  The shorter of the two Russians laughed, patted his pocket, Hawk saw the bulge of a weapon. So, fucking what, he was strapped with three hunting knives and a steel pipe wrench tucked into the waistband of his pants, as pissing contests go he was winning.

  “We are not conducting business with you, the last time you killed five of my men.”

  Gia visibly blanched but otherwise his little bit didn't utter a word. Hawk arched a bored brow at Grigori.

  “Shouldn't that tell you something. You’re fucking with the wrong headcase right now and you don’t even know it. Now shift your fat fucking asses and let her leave before you really piss me off. This is Renegade Souls business. The only representative that will talk to you. Here I am. We'll talk.”

  They wouldn't talk. He had no intention of negotiating. The moment they’d detained Gia they'd all stamped their own death warrant. Rider might handle things differently, what with having a deal going with the Russians now, maybe not. But Hawk could give a fuck, it was he who Gia called for this shitstorm.

  “Nyet.” No. “I like her company.” Grigori’s pet smirked serpent-like and made the monumental mistake of running a hand down her sleeve as if petting her skin. Trying to show Hawk who was in charge.

  Hawk saw Red. He saw every fucking color in the spectrum of his anger.

  Gia pulled back her arm tucking it into her chest. “Stop fucking pawing me, asshole, I won't tell you again.”

  Grigori’s man made an oomph sound, she'd obviously kicked him under the table.

  Hawk loved her courage, but not while she was around dangerous men who didn't think twice about using women as sport and leverage. He growled his own warning, glaring.

  “So obstinate, malyshka. I like it. hands off her, Borya.” Grigori smirked. “Why did the president himself not come, VP? He must not care very much for someone we hear is important. How soon he forgets we made deals and he tries to back out.” Eyes turned to Hawk.

  “Firstly, you moron, this is Texas. Rider is in Colorado. Second. Any deals that were struck are now null and fucking void.”

  “Why?”

  One finger pointed at Gia. His killer gaze trained on the man boxing her in, even as he was aware of every breath she took, each twitch of her perfect fingers and the way she was doing her own looking in his direction. Hawk clocked it all, his blood pounding, his heart hammering. Nothing much scared him. She was his weakness is a world of shit. Forget the cancerous nightmares clawing inside his brain, the voices that told him he was nothing, and never would be anything. With every changing fleck of color in her irises he became more unstable.

  They didn't know what Pandora's horror story they'd just opened.

  He'd kill them for fun. Now they'd made it personal.

  “What, her? Pah. Since when do the Renegade Souls give a fuck about disposable bitches, she is not even marked.” Both Russians chuckled. It only infused the gas to Hawk's fire. He waited until their noise simmered before announcing in his dark voice.

  “Since you're stalling my old lady from leaving, dipshit.”

  “Your——your... she is yours?” All color drained from Grigori's already white face. Fucking Russians needed some sun in their life. He looked at his buddy who was also in the blanched phase of realization of what they'd done and to who.

  He loved his reputation.

  Rider was the calm man. Hawk the maniac.

  Bad mistakes came in threes.

  “She is mine.”

  To be fair he gave credit to Gia who didn't question his statement. What with him avoiding her at every turn, he could understand her asking what the fuck, Hawk with her eyes.

  It was said for their benefit not hers. His gaze pinned Grigori who was now shuffling out, ushering Gia from the booth. Almost fucking bowing with his nose to the floor, he re-buttoned his long wool overcoat and slid back into his seat. “I—Hawk, listen, we did not know she was yours.”

  “This is all just big mistake, we fix it, da? We were not told this, who she belong to.” The other stupid Russian imparted in broken English, eyes wild and afraid. Hawk could have licked the air. “You laugh and share vodka with boss like friends.”

  “To my bike, Gia.” He nodded his head, watched her closely, counting her every inhale.

  There was time for her to have a freak out, to scream in his face if need be, once he had her somewhere safe, so his chest could stop feeling like he’d drank concrete.

  She could protest and argue as much as she wanted but he swore if she opened her sweet, little mouth right now he'd fling her over his shoulder.

  He had no calm in him, not where Gia was concerned.

  His eyes warned and with a little nod of her own she merged into the crowd, he watched her until she was outside, his phone vibrated. Juicy letting him know he had her.

  “Hawk we did not know she belongs to you. You see funny side, nyet? We are businessmen, we did not hurt the girl, you see she is unharmed, we just wanted Rider's attention. We thought she was one of the bitches...”

  Wrong damn thing to say to Hawk. He bared his teeth.

  “You got something better
than Rider; my attention. Do you see me laughing, asshole? Does she look like a tramp to you? You invaded my old lady’s space with your Russian stink, you detained her when she wanted to leave, you made her call with your cryptic message. Do you think I'm going to laugh? I will when I kill you.”

  Both men began to sweat. Grigori kept a neutral face. Hawk loved when they panicked it made the kill all the nicer. His veins hummed.

  “Please. We are all gentlemen here.” Hawk was an animal, not even close to a gentleman. Grigori laughed darkly, the sweat beading his upper lip gave away his nervous disposition. “We have no grudge with you, this was mistake, had we been made aware she was yours.”

  “Ask the bitch, we didn't touch her.” The other snarled, a little braver than his underboss. And a lot more death-wishy, obviously.

  Without pause, Hawk threw out a hand, grabbed the bald bastard around the back of his neck and forcibly slammed his face into the table, a few people milling around looked but otherwise carried on with what they were doing.

  Blood poured out of the Russian's nose “You fucking cunt!” He spat red onto the floor.

  “Call her that again. I beg you, I'm just dying to rip you up.” He smiled. A lethal twitch of beard and snarling lips.

  “Shut the fuck up, Borya.”

  “He broke my nose!”

  “I shall break your goddamn legs if I hear one more sound coming from you. Go wait in the car for me. Teper!”

  “But…”

  “NOW.” Hissed Grigori.

  From the looks of Borya, with his scarred face and crooked nose, he was gonna get a spanking from his boss.

  That is if Hawk didn’t kill him first.

  When it was only Hawk and the underboss left sitting at the table he let silence filter between them. He could do this all day, play who had the bigger dick, if not for Gia outside. He needed to get out there and double check she was fine.

  “You see this was mistake, Da?”

  “Do I really?” He asked quietly. “Far as I can tell you’re trying to intimidate us yet again by taking one of ours. You think we forgot what you did to Grinder? His woman?”

  “I did not touch that woman.”