Page 52 of Hawk

“I can’t go anywhere, anyway.” I shrugged and turned my gaze to the other man who held Ellie possessively. He was tall and bearded, with dirty blond hair.

“Stay here until we get back,” he said with authority. “No matter how long we’re gone. We will be back.” His gaze was dark and intense as it focused on Ellie. “See you soon.”

She tilted her head back with a soft smile. “Damn right you will. Be safe. I love you,” she whispered just before their lips met in a slow, smoldering kiss.

I looked away from the clear displays of love that were so sweet my stomach clenched.

“What happened to Hawk?” The question came out barely above a whisper.

“Don’t know yet,” Ellie’s man said in a grave voice. “We’ll bring him back, don’t worry.”

Before I could assure him that I wasn’t worried, they joined the other two men at the front door and disappeared, leaving the rest of the clubhouse tense and quiet.

“He’ll be fine,” Peyton said, and rubbed my back. “Hawk is tough.”

Of course he was tough. He was a certified bad ass, but he was also human, which made him susceptible to things like bullets and knives. One wrong move and he could end up gravely injured. Or worse. And it was all my fault. If I wasn’t here at the clubhouse, he probably wouldn’t have stormed off the way he had and right into the path of certain danger.

Please be okay, Hawk. Please.

I needed something normal, so I pulled out my phone and called the one person in the world I knew I could rely on, who was always there for me when I needed her. Kristy should’ve been at the hospital, but I called anyway, knowing she would get back to me as soon as she was free.

“Hey Kristy, it’s me. Give me a call back when you get a chance. Everything is all right, but I really need to talk.” I needed more than a conversation, what I needed right now more than anything else was my best friend.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Hawk

How the fuck do I keep finding myself in these situations? I asked myself that question just as an expensive leather boot crashed down against my back and I let out a rough grunt. “That all you fuckers got?” I asked with a smile, ignoring the way my jaw hurt like a son of a bitch.

“How about this, dick face?” A kick landed on my ribs, and it hurt like hell, but I managed another laugh.

“It’s okay. My grandma hits me harder than that, but not bad.” I had the dumb fucking luck of running into The Mercs, a group of nomadic bikers who existed solely to fuck shit up. They hated organized everything—motorcycle clubs, religion, gangs, cops, and the government in general. The thing they hated most of all? Rats.

And they thought I was a major fucking rat.

They were wrong, of course, but they weren’t the type of guys who listened to explanations or reason. They reacted instinctively and didn’t make apologies when they were wrong. Like now.

“That’s for Buzzard, you piece of shit.” An uppercut landed right underneath my chin as I tried to step up.

“Who the fuck is Buzzard?” I got to my feet again and sent my boot into the nose of one of the Mercs, flashing a satisfied smile at the agonized wail he let out.

“Our boy,” the leader said. “He’s one of us and the word around town is that you’re the fucking reason he’s locked up.” He lunged forward with a knife, and I jumped to the side to avoid a personal meeting with his blade. “How did you know?”

“Look, man, I don’t know who the fuck Buzzard is, let alone whatever I’m supposed to have ratted him out about. I swear.” I only knew the Mercs by reputation. Up until this moment, I wouldn’t have been able to pick these assholes out of a lineup. “If I wanted him gone, I would’ve killed him, not informed on him.”

“Of course, that’s what you’d say now that we have you at a disadvantage.”

“Do you?” I asked as another motherfucker lunged at me, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it until the ligaments snapped and the knife fell. I picked it up quickly and drove the blade straight through his hand. “You sure about that?” It felt good, but it was a hollow victory since it was still four to one with that one asshole on the ground crying for his mommy.

“Nice job, but you need to tell the cops you lied about Buzzard.” The voice came from the leader, but the punch that landed on my side came from the back.

“I don’t fucking know your boy and I wouldn’t talk to the cops about shit. Ever.” It had to be the fucking Ochos who spread this rumor. “You have bad intel, man.” Snitching wasn’t my style, and if the Mercs didn’t kill me tonight, tomorrow I would start taking out the Ochos, one by one.

“Wrong answer.” Three punches landed all at once and I knew I was in trouble. For every shot I landed, at least two landed in return. I was getting my ass handed to me and I didn’t like it at all.

I needed to think. To regroup and figure out a way to gain the upper hand. They took my piece in my hip holster, but I still had my twenty-two in my ankle holster which the dumb fuckers hadn’t thought to check for—I just had to get to it quick enough to take two of them down and make it an even fight. They wanted to make a point which was why they hadn’t just come out and shot me with my own damn nine mil.

I was on my own since nobody knew where the fuck I was, and worse, I was on my hands and knees, which put me at an even bigger disadvantage. I’d called Diesel when I’d seen the fuckers just after I’d left the gas station, but when it was clear they were gonna give me chase, I couldn’t hang around to shoot the fucking breeze with my prez. I only hoped that Slate could get a handle on my location from my phone’s GPS.

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