Hawk's Revenge

by N. M. Catalano

  The thing is, if your expendable, you have no worth. I need to make myself invaluable to Castillo, better than what he’s got.

  I am, but he doesn’t know that. The question is, do I want him to?

  “No,” I tell him, because I’m not. I’m a specially trained soldier. My expertise is gathering information in anyway necessary, mostly torture, to successfully complete the mission.”

  He tilts his head to look at me. “You told me you kill people. Care to elaborate?”

  “That is the end result of most of what I do. Which is interrogation, getting information, getting answers no one else can. Typically, that involves a lot of pain. In most situations, the informant usually dies after I get what I want.” I deliver the description as if I were giving him directions.

  At this, he situates himself propping an ankle over a knee, kicking back, his attention more fixed on me.

  It appears bossman likes this topic of conversation.

  “Interesting,” he nods. “Who did you work for before you arrived in our lovely city?” he arches a brow at me.

  I shake my head no. “What kind of a man would I be if I kiss and tell?”

  That gets me a laugh, a genuine one, from the ruthless man sitting beside me.

  “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Hawk.” His gaze turns lethal. “If you follow orders.”

  “Here’s the thing. I agreed to work for you. Your boys are a bunch of pampered pussies with over inflated egos.” I meet Bo’s eyes in the mirror, “No offense.”

  I can see his brows pull together in the reflection. He’s pissed.

  Tough shit.

  “None taken,” he states with false levity.

  “Besides, the biggest pussy is bleeding all over the ground out there,” I thumb toward the window. “Seems princess thinks mighty highly of himself the way he always wants to show his ass. If you want my opinion, that only means he feels threatened.”

  Castillo doesn’t reply, but I can see he’s thinking about what I’ve said. A man in his position with so much power and so much at risk, he can’t afford a weak link in his operations. I’ve just told him the one guy he keeps close by at all times could be the weakest link of all. I don’t take my eyes off Castillo’s face, but from my peripheral, I see both Bo and Dave glancing at Joe. They’re questioning their friend as well.

  Castillo remains expressionless, not showing any of what he’s thinking. “Your run with Bo went very well the other night. Recently, however, some of my shipments have gotten…lost.” He appears disinterested as he speaks, pulling on his cuffs beneath his jacket sleeves. “I believe there’s an informant in my operations who is leaking strategic information to my competitors. I want him found, and I want him questioned. Everything in his brain must be retrieved. Names, locations, how they communicate, and any accomplices. I want everything.” He laces his fingers together and rests his hands on his knee before turning his full attention back on me. “Can you do this for me, Hawk? Successfully?”

  And here, ladies and gentlemen, the cat is out of the bag.

  “Seems like I’m your little bitch now, Mr. Castillo.” The only thing he can see when he looks at me is the face of a killer. Because that’s what’s looking back at him.

  What he doesn’t know is the target the killer wants is him.

  “Good, Hawk, very good. That’s what I wanted to hear,” he nods.

  The small intricacies that show a man’s vulnerabilities are the subtle things. Castillo doesn’t realize that he’s doing just that when he glances at Joe outside the car. Joe’s sidekick is handing him something to wipe the blood off his face. Joe shoves him with one hand as he takes what he’s offering with the other.

  “Fucking disgusting,” Castillo spits out. “Drive,” he barks the command as he turns his face forward.

  Bo puts the car in gear and leaves the docks, and the two men standing there staring after us.

  I don’t relish the fact I might have just signed Joe’s death warrant, but that’s the thing about killers. We’re wired to not give a fuck. However, Joe has always struck a chord in me, a hunch that something’s off with the guy. Maybe he is just a little pussy and he’s been good at faking it all this time. In this line of work, it’s best to keep the attention from yourself. Joe’s always made it a point to be all here-I-am-a-big-and-bad-ass. The louder they are, the bigger the coward, making all that noise to keep you distracted. Joe did this to himself, I merely pointed it out.

  I’m wondering how much of what I’ve told Castillo is going to end up as common knowledge. If his boys are smart, which I doubt, they’ll keep it amongst themselves. If they have half a brain they’ll realize that Castillo already questions their motives and loyalties. I’m in this car because someone is on his hit list for betraying him. I’ve just officially been contracted to find out who it is and torture him to find out everything he knows.

  If they’re smart they’ll keep that shit to themselves.

  If not, I’ll have two more names on my elimination list.

  “Do you have any idea who it might be?” I ask casually.

  “I have my suspicions,” Castillo replies as he watches the small city pass by outside his window. His empire. “When I first arrived here, this place was dying. The people were fighting with the gangs and the criminals, and there were only two classes; the very rich and the very poor. They wanted to kill each other. I changed that,” he continues.

  Guess I’m his new best buddy, listening to his life’s stories.

  “After the hurricane, this place was wiped off the map. Families that’d lived here for generations were relocating, leaving the spoils to the scumbags. It’s because of me they were able to rebuild and become prosperous. What I brought in here made everyone equals. Everybody started making money and instantly all the crime disappeared.”

  Because you’re the king of the scumbags.

  “Impressive.” I tell him what he wants to hear.

  He turns to face me. “I know what you’re thinking,” the corner of his mouth kicks up in a cold smirk. “Yes, most of the revenue is from drugs. But that’s the key. If you control the problem, it’s no longer a problem. There will always be drugs on the streets, but not these streets. We get it, then sell it, and ship it somewhere else. Away from our home. I’ve created an enterprise where everyone wins.”

  The kick in the ass is he actually believes what he’s doing is a good thing.

  Tell that to the woman whose kid just got shot and killed in a drive-by running his drugs. Tell that to the father whose daughter sold her body and overdosed on his heroin to dull the pain. Tell that to Jo who’s been used so he could get richer.

  Anger boils inside me and seeps through my veins, my fists want to curl at my sides, but my expression remains impassive as this psychopath spits out his mission statement of how and why he took over this entire community for his own filthy purposes. And succeeded.

  “It certainly looks that way,” I continue the façade.

  He turns to look out the window again. “If you are what you say you are, Hawk, you and I are going to have a long relationship.”

  I am exactly what I say I am, which is precisely why this is going to end very quickly.

  “I look forward to it, Mr. Castillo.”

  You have no idea.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jo

  I almost don’t recognize the woman in the mirror, fogged from the steam of the hot shower I just had. She appears calmer and more rested, however, one decent night’s sleep can’t erase five years of sleeping with one eye open and a hand on my gun. I’ve grown accustomed to the dark circles and the shallow cheeks, the constant appearance of looking like a zombie just going through the motions, the shadows of the monsters peeking out I keep locked inside. Living in hell is my norm, and Satan is the landlord. Niles was right, I look like shit and I’ve been too busy watching over my shoulder for the devil at my heels to really see how bad I’ve gotten. I finally took a moment to just breathe
without the incessant warnings to watch my ass. And I don’t like what I see. When did survival become the only thing in my life? When did living become a minefield that could explode at any time without warning? Why the hell do I continue to live like this?

  I drop my arm, the brush still clutched in my grip, and let out a tired sigh. I know I stay for my dad, holding on to this place just as tightly as he did. Growing up, he held onto me with one hand, this bar with the other. It was always me and him in here, it’s home, the only one I’ve ever known, and whatever reason he had for signing that deal with Frank must have been a good one, or he wouldn’t have done it. I only wish he would have told me about it before he died. There are so many things I wish he would have told me, but we never got another day, there was never a warning that time was running out. He never had an opportunity to tell me that the price I’d have to pay was my body, life, and soul.

  The problem with being aware is that you feel. Emotions come storming through without the barrier of exhaustion to hold them at bay. There’s no distraction from fighting to stay alert when they hit in the middle of chest and knock you on your ass. You get blindsided and it’s too late to try and fight it.

  A lone tear slips down my cheek mingling with the water droplets from the shower. I shove it away and start raking the brush through my wet hair. “What is wrong with you?” I push out through clenched teeth. “Pull up those big girl panties and stop being an emotional female. Today is no different than any other shitty day.”

  But it is. For some reason, things look a little clearer, and nothing makes sense.

  I knew there was something different about Hawk, and the fact that he kills people doesn’t make him any different than Castillo, but somehow he is. I don’t know why he’s here, and I still don’t know if he knew my father. There’s absolutely no reason why I should trust him, but I do. I shouldn’t, he works for the man who beat and raped me, who turned this town into his own personal empire, controlling everyone and everything in it. Everything about him should scream for me to shove the barrel of my shotgun into his gut and tell him I’ll blow a hole in him a mile wide if he doesn’t leave me alone.

  But I don’t want to. Christ, he offered to teach me how to shoot, to protect myself, that he would get me a better weapon, something that they couldn’t see. That alone would get him killed.

  It could be worse. It’s been a hell of a lot worse.

  For the first time in years, I might actually have a small glimmer of hope.

  And, God help me, but I’m glad he’s a killer, a criminal. I should be ashamed of myself for thinking the things that have been filling my head. But I’m not, and it’s only getting stronger and more vivid. I even imagined offering him money to kill Frank, and I just might have if I had any. I’m a terrible human being, but I don’t feel like one. I feel like finally, FINALLY, I have something, someone who has the ability to play the game that Frank plays, who has the skills I need to win.

  That’s wrong, so wrong.

  Why does it feel so right?

  I have a feeling that Hawk doesn’t play by anyone’s rules, he’s a wildcard, and no one knows when he’ll flip and take the entire game down. He’s a loner, like a rogue hunter, prowling in silence, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike that lethal blow. I knew he was dangerous; I could feel it. I felt his contained power, that inner animal staring at you from behind his steely eyes, stripping you bare and revealing your vulnerabilities and weaknesses. And his silence is one of his weapons that tears you down. Like the Grim Reaper that comes for you silently in the night, lethal and deadly, there’s no escaping him.

  That only makes him sexier.

  When he first grabbed me last night, I thought he was here to rape me. I was terrorized, but his voice slowly penetrated through my panic, and I knew he wasn’t here to hurt me. I just knew. Slowly, his presence eased my discomfort, and even though he had his arms around me to capture me, I felt safe.

  I realize I’ve been brushing my hair for five minutes. “Get your head out of the clouds. He’s a killer, for Christ’s sake.” I throw the hair brush in the drawer and slam it shut.

  I should be afraid of Hawk.

  I am, there’s no denying it, but I want him. I want him in ways that should shock me.

  I’m not the same girl I was five years ago. This is not the same world it was then, either.

  Frank tried to break me. He almost did. I’ve spent years holed up inside myself, locked up within the walls of this bar, imprisoned by fear and loneliness.

  Or was I?

  Was I hiding because I was scared? Yes, absolutely. Was I hiding because I couldn’t fight, because I wasn’t strong enough? Without a doubt. Was I clueless to what the monsters really were? Most definitely.

  Am I still scared? Yes, but I’m not terrified. Am I weak? Not as weak as I once was. Am still clueless? Fuck no.

  Maybe I wasn’t just hiding. Maybe I was changing, evolving, becoming what I need to be. Knowledge is power, and I’ve accumulated five years’ worth.

  No, I’m not the same girl Frank duped, conned, and manipulated. I’m not the same weak child he raped and beat and left for dead. And possibly, just maybe, I’m not alone anymore.

  I think about Hawk’s words last night as I step out into the living room, and remember the things he told me. He wants to help me, he said he’d teach me to shoot. I’d been floundering for years, feeling like I was drowning, barely grazing the surface and gasping for air, with nothing to cling to in sight. It’s like he’s shown up out of nowhere on a life raft holding his hand out for me to grab. But is it to save me, or to completely destroy me?

  My eyes instantly move to the space on the couch he’d occupied last night and pulls me to it. The room feels empty without his commanding presence in it. I sit and run my hands over the fabric of the old couch, just like I’ve done thousands of time before, but this time it’s different. I glance to the other end where the blanket he’d used is neatly folded, sitting there like it’s staring at me.

  I’m crazy.

  In only my towel in the loud quietness of my apartment, I unhook where the terry cloth is folded at my chest. I throw the towel to the floor and pull the blanket over me. Laying down on my stomach where Hawk had slept last night, I rest my cheek on the pillow. There it is, his scent, man and earth, sun and leather, strength and darkness, the thing I wasn’t aware I was craving, a tiny bit of him he left behind. Alone, I allow myself the privilege of soaking in the little bit that remains of him, subtle yet strong, enough to send a ripple of need coursing through me.

  I would never admit that I wanted him to touch me, I was hoping he’d come into my bedroom, whisper my name in his gravelly voice, the sound stirring me from sleep, as he fucked me blindly in the dark. I’d never admit that my mind had images of him stripping me at the door with his hand over my mouth, my heart still pounding and fear still raging inside me when he captured me after I’d entered. It would have been dark, I could hear him, but couldn’t see him. He’d tell me things, filthy things, as he touched me everywhere, every inch of me, every hole he’d claim, every part of me he’d own. He’d obliterate every other monster in the dark I’ve lived with for years, and leave just him imbedded in my psyche, burn his power into my flesh, and leave nothing left.

  I’d wanted him to.

  I need him to.

  I’m sick, perverse, no normal woman would want a man to take her, need him and want him to practically rape her. But I do, because his is the only one I want to live with, his is the only one I want to haunt me. His is the memory I need to erase the remnants of the one I have now.

  Shame washes over me as desire unfurls inside me, battling each other. His lingering scent is enough to ignite the passion that had blasted through me the other night. I can still feel his hands on my body, his tongue between my legs, his teeth clasping my clit, and hear the primal sounds that had come from deep within him. My breasts ache with longing as my nipples scrape against the rough fabric beneath
me, inciting a rush of heat straight to my core. As my hand slips between my legs, I’m already slick with arousal only from the way he smells.

  You’re bad.

  My finger finds my clit.

  Very. It’s his voice.

  My walls clench with longing.

  You’re dangerous.

  I rub the sensitive bud.

  Extremely. The low timber resounds in my mind.

  My free hand pinches my nipple.

  You kill.

  My hips thrust into the sofa.

  I do. I can see his eyes burning into me.

  I’m soaked, the silkiness letting my finger move faster.

  Would you kill for me?

  My heart is pounding.

  Every. Single. One.

  The orgasm crashes through me, making my toes curl as I bury my face and scream into the pillow where Hawk had lain his head. My body spasms as his phantom words echo in my mind, just as clearly as if his mouth was at my ear whispering roughly as he thrust into me again, each slap of his hips against me punctuating every syllable.

  “It wasn’t real,” I mumble as the last tremors of the climax ripple through me.

  I lay there spent, curled under his blanket, my face in his flat pillow, as the words from my fantasy and the words he’d spoken last night swirl together leaving me feeling…content. I don’t know why I’m feeling these things, but for the first time in years, I’m calm. Fear and panic are not the pills forced down my throat this morning like they have been since my father died. Clarity is my cup of coffee, and it’s going down smoothly. I should be ashamed of my thoughts, but I’m not. This is the world I live in, have been living in. I didn’t come here willingly, I was thrown into it, they locked me up and threw away the key. They created me, Frank and his filth and torture and threats. He made me. He might have even brought me Hawk, I’m not sure. This is what I am now, I understand it and I accept it. I also know if I’m truly going to survive, I have to play by their rules.

  I sit up and fold the blanket back up and stand, still naked, and return it to the closet. If he’s coming back tonight, he’s sleeping with me. I’m not hiding anymore; I’m not denying anything anymore. Picking up the towel, I hold it in my hand and enter the bedroom. This is who I am, the good and the bad, the scars and memories. It’s made me, created me, and I’ll use everything in my power to win.