Hawk (Sex and Bullets Book 2) (5 page)

Can’t chance anyone who saw me walking out of the warehouse premises recognizing me.

Dorothy’s already pulled on my black dress and heels. “The sacrifices I make for you,” she mutters, frowning. “My feet will be killing me for the next three hours.”

“You look awesome,” I assure her absently and open my hand, palm up. “Car keys.”

“Take care of my baby.” She glances at her small green Audi before she tosses me the key. “You’d better bring it back in one piece.”

“I feel the love.”

“And bring yourself back in one piece, too. Whatever it is you’re about to do. Spying on your dad. And Hawk. What are you doing, Laylay?”

“Pulling a prank on them?” I give her the keys to my car. “You know how Dad is. He won’t tell me stuff. And Hawk’s the same.”

“That why you like him?”

I freeze for a moment. “No, that’s not it. Anyway, I need to find out some things on my own, since they won’t tell me.”

“That why you think you’re Layla Bond, secret agent extraordinaire?”

“You’re just upset because you’re not coming with.”

She gives me a long look. “Are you being straight with me? You’re not putting yourself into any sort of trouble?”

“Me? You know me, Dodo. I’m a good girl.”

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” Shaking her head, she waves goodbye and returns to her work, while I set out to find out what the hell’s happening in my dad’s warehouse.

***

My plan is to sneak back as night falls and try and get Hawk out. Or talk to my dad about this. Whichever is easier. Although making sure Hawk is okay seems more important right now.

In my borrowed car, I return to the warehouse. The people working there know my car, hence these dramatic measures. All this is justified, all right?

Doesn’t stop me feeling like an idiot. Dorothy is right. This is stupid. I should just talk to dad, clear this up. I bet he knows nothing about Hawk being tied up and beaten bloody next door to his office.

My pulse racing, I drive slowly into the parking lot of the company and kill the engine. I gather up my long hair into a bun at my nape, button up the dark coat, and grab my purse.

Really stupid, but what choice do I have? The police won’t help me, and I’m not sure what to think of Dad. I want him to be innocent of this, but is he?

And what about Hawk? Is he innocent? What about the mafia Dad said he was involved with? Is this because of it? Did he get himself into bad trouble—and why am I about to do the same for him?

What if Dad was right to warn me off? What if I’m about to commit the biggest, most dangerous mistake of my life?

Then I think… what if it was the other way round? What if someone found me tied up, hurt and alone, and didn’t do a thing about it? What if the police are in the dark, too? What if Hawk needs help?

Why am I so set on helping a man I have such contradictory feelings for?

I hesitate before I climb out of the car. I just need to talk to him. Look at him again, make sure I wasn’t hallucinating earlier. Snap a picture on my phone. Have proof.

Then I can go to the police and force them to look into it.

God, I’m shaking. As plans go this one is crappy, I’m well aware of that, but it’s all I was able to come up with after leaving the warehouse.

Thing is, I haven’t been able to get the image of his bloody, slack face out of my head. Say what you will. I can’t leave him to die, even if we barely know each other, even if we don’t care about each other.

Crazy or not, here I come.

***

Creeping into the warehouse feels all sort of wrong. I’m torn between abject fear and the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of what I’m doing.

Fear wins out as I try the door I used last time to enter and find it locked.

Good thing I’ve run around the place since I was a kid. I know another way in. I go around the back of the warehouse and try one of the small bathroom windows that never closes completely. I push it open carefully—there’s a trick to it—and slide inside.

My purse thumps to the floor before I catch it, and I draw a sharp breath.
Shit.
Then I stalk to the bathroom door and press my ear to it, listening for noise and voices.

It’s quiet.

Drawing a deep breath, I open the door and step into the warehouse proper. I tiptoe toward the stairs. Dorothy’s feet are smaller than mine, and her black All Stars are so uncomfortable.

Jeez, this place is cold.

And Hawk is tied to a pillar, sitting on the freezing tiles in the basement.

I’m going to do something about that. Hey, the guy gave me toe-curling orgasms. That counts for something in my book, even if he wants nothing more to do with me.

It’s not love. It’s not friendship. But he’s been nice to me. He’s been the perfect rebound from the last asshole I was with. And hey, we can’t let the world lose such a hot boy, right?

Right.

Besides, even if it’s mafia business, that still doesn’t mean the police shouldn’t be told, right? This is about justice and citizen safety and…

About Hawk’s life.

Some answers wouldn’t be bad, either, I think as I slink across the huge space, open the door soundlessly and climb down the stairs.

The only illumination comes from the lit-up EXIT sign on top of the double door behind him. And there he is, where I left him this morning, tied up, head bent forward, darker splashes on his long hair that can only be blood—only he’s blindfolded and gagged.

Jesus.
It’s like I stumbled into a horror movie. I half expect a madman to come around the corner, swinging an axe or a chainsaw.

I drop to my knees by his side and sweep back his hair. “Hawk.”

I push down the gag, untie the blindfold, and take it off, my hands shaking.

God, he looks terrible. His face is bruised, one side swollen. He has a cut under one eye that has bled a lot, coloring his fair beard, and his lip is split, too. His eyes flutter open, and they look bloodshot in the dim light.

He blinks at me uncomprehendingly and licks his cracked lips. A cough rattles his chest, and it sounds awful. Then he blinks again and something changes in his expression.

“Hot Body?” he rasps, and yeah, see why I shouldn’t worry about him? He won’t even use my real name, like, ever, even when I show up where he’s kept prisoner, and beaten bloody.

“Layla,” I say automatically. Not that it ever does any good. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Ah, that.” He chuckles, and although he winces, the warm, dark sound of it makes my whole body tingle. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it? Seriously?” I gape at him.

“Yeah... Seriously.”

God, that voice does things to me. Can’t help it with this man. My body responds to him without any input from my brain. Probably because it’s conditioned by now to react sexually to him. It’s not like we’ve done anything but have sex every time we met until now.

I mean, sure we talk sometimes. But since our first memorable meeting, when he witnessed my painful break-up with my boyfriend and invited me to his table, where he suggested an arrangement—only sex, no attachments, no feelings—we have only kept to small talk, skimming anything more personal.

After that horrible break up with my jerk ex-boyfriend, I wanted this handsome, rich, bad boy to take care of me like he promised. To fuck the ex out of my system, out of my memories. To remind me what it means to be a woman again.

He did and then put distance between us. No wonder he’s confused that I’m here now.

Just as confused as I am. “Hawk.” Is he falling asleep again? Or passing out? He looks too pale. “Hey.”

He blinks at me, those full lips turning up in a soft smile, and it twists something inside my chest. “Nice dream, though. You’re so damn pretty, girl.”

Um.
Warmth suffuses my face. God, I like the fact he finds me pretty, and…
focus, Layla.

“We are at my father’s company warehouse. I should get you out of here, before anyone returns.” I squint at the ropes they have him tied with. Damn, why didn’t I think of a knife? “I’ll untie you—”

“No.” That one word is sharp, and his eyes fix on me, colorless in the dim light, pale lashes sweeping low. “Put back the blindfold, and get out of here, Doll. Before they come back.”

“But that’s the whole point. We both get out before that happens. I’ll help you—”

“You don’t get it.” His gaze is steady, clear, and… pitying? “I’m not leaving.”

“What?” I shake my head, totally lost. “Why? What is this, some S&M dungeon? You get off on the pain? Explain this to me.”

“S&M dungeon?” He chuckles again, then stops, his breath catching on a grunt, his face going white. “Ow, fuck.”

Shit, he’s more injured than he looks.

“If not, then why would you want to stay, huh?” I’m scared, and confused, and working on pissed. “You got a death wish?”

“I’m staying. This is none of your business, Hot Bod. Leave before you get hurt.”

“Is it because you got mixed up in mafia business?”

“How do you know…? Ah fuck it, just get the hell out of here.”

I’m so pissed at him it’s all I can do not to slap his face, but I’m actually seeing red. Instead I put the blindfold back on and tie it behind his head. “Fuck you. I’m sorry I ever worried about you. You can get yourself out of your own frigging mess.”

And I’m even more pissed when he grins—but then there’s a noise from behind him. The door, I think, and his grin slips.

No time to think as I hurry away to hide behind a pile of boxes.

“Jamie Fleming,” a booming voice says. “Time’s up. What is your answer to my offer?”

***

The guy is tall and wide. With his perfect dark goatee and closely cropped hair, he looks too polished. Too careful. He looks dangerous.

What the hell did Hawk get himself into? I shrink back behind the stack of crates when someone hits the lights, blinding me for a moment.

More men have entered. When I twist and peek around the stack, I count three. Huge, hulking guys, faces set in dark scowls.

“All right, Boss?” one of them says.

I don’t know them. Never seen them around my dad’s office or the warehouse.

Chills race down my spine when, at the nod of the Boss, the guy who spoke leans over Hawk, grabs him by the hair and jerks his head back.

Dangerous
, my dad’s voice echoes in my head.
Get out of here.

I’ve always been too curious, too reckless for my own good. Just like my mom, who ran from home at sixteen, met my dad at twenty-one and had me, and now divorced him to do her own thing again. She doesn’t regret it, she says. Not me, not the years of marriage to my dad, not the divorce.

“Your hospitality sucks,” Hawk spits, his eyes hooded. “Assholes.”

What is he doing? The guy holding his head tilted back growls and prepares to punch him.

Oh God.

“Release him,” the Boss says, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Crap.
I wonder what Mom would think seeing me huddled behind the crates as a scene from a crime drama unfolds in front of my eyes with the man I’ve been sleeping with, in Dad’s warehouse.

Not sure she’d approve. When she advised me to follow my own path, I doubt it included being around mafia thugs beating up a man.

Not any man.
Hawk.
I know what gives him pleasure, what makes him fist his hand in my hair, what makes him lose control and—

“Is this the old good cop, bad cop routine?” Hawk rasps. “You have them fuck me up so you can rescue me and get in my good graces?”

“I don’t need games,” the Boss says. “And don’t try to pretend you’re clean and innocent, Jamie. Even if your parents weren’t up to their ears in corruption, you’ve made a name for yourself with the Chinese and Russian mafias. Don’t try to pretend you’re not thirsting to take your parents’ place in the Organization.” He leans over Hawk. “To have power. To have control. To move the strings in every deal you want and get your way, no matter what.”

“What makes you think I don’t get my way?” Somehow, even tied up and blindfolded, his lips cracked and caked with blood, Hawk manages to look arrogant and slightly bored. He manages to look in control, strong and sexy, and it makes my heart beat faster, my blood run hot.

He
does
always get his way—with me.

And I shouldn’t be thinking about this, not right now.

Not when the Boss says, “Don’t fuck with me, Jamie Fleming. I don’t give a damn about what you want or think you can do.” He leans forward. “You think you’re someone important, don’t you, boy? I bet the girls like it. You’re young and filthy rich, and they fall at your feet. Well, that won’t work here. Everyone in the Organization is powerful, and you’re a newcomer. You should’ve let your daddy handle this. You think we beat you up to convince you of something? Wrong. That was for betraying a member of the Organization, a member who happened to be your goddamn father.”

Hawk’s back stiffens. “You brought me here because you need me, so let’s drop the pretenses, all right? I just need some guarantee that—”

The Boss drops something to the ground and crunches the heel of his shoe over it. “Hear that?” He leans in closer. “Or maybe you didn’t. What do you think I just shattered under my shoe, Jamie Fleming? You’re stranded here, at my mercy, until you agree to all my terms, and the next time I walk inside, you’d better be ready to dance to my tune, or I’ll start breaking parts of your body.”

Holy crap!

“Tell me the truth, Jamie. Why did you betray your parents?”

Hawk grunts, tugs on his bonds, broad shoulders rolling under his stained shirt. “Fuck you. I need to piss.”

Shit, what is the idiot doing? Cold sweat sluices down my back, soaking my borrowed blouse.

A hush has fallen.

Then the Boss laughs. “You.” He points at the big guy, then at something I can’t see. “Help him piss. Grab that bottle.”

Saying the guy doesn’t look happy with his task would be an understatement. He hesitates just enough to show his displeasure, then lumbers over to the indicated spot and returns with an empty beer bottle.

Never thought about this before, but it feels strangely degrading and vaguely abusive, seeing this thug handling Hawk’s dick. It makes my hands clench.