Page 7 of Toxic

As we pull up to the private entrance of Hawk’s luxury high-rise, I take a deep breath. This is it—the moment I step fully into Hawk’s world, crossing a threshold I’ve only observed through my hacking of his security until now. I turn to him, finding his eyes open but glazed.

“We’re here, Mr. Rivers,” I say softly, unable to keep a hint of excitement from creeping into my voice. “Let’s get you inside.”

He nods, attempting to straighten but swaying slightly. I exit the car first, then lean in to help him out. The moment my hands touch him again, it’s like a circuit completing. Energy hums beneath my skin, and I have to force myself to focus on the task at hand rather than getting lost in the feeling.

The doorman rushes forward, concern evident on his face. “Mr. Rivers! Are you all right, sir?”

I intercept smoothly before Hawk can respond, stepping slightly in front of him in a protective stance. “Mr. Rivers isn’t feeling well,” I say, my voice smooth and authoritative. “I’m a family friend, just making sure he gets home safely.” I flash a reassuring smile, projecting an air of calm confidence that leaves no room for question.

The doorman hesitates, clearly torn between his duty to assist and his suspicion of a stranger. I press on, my voice taking on a hint of steel. “I assure you, everything is fine. Mr. Rivers would appreciate discretion in this matter.”

Something in my tone must convince him because he nods and steps back. “Of course. Let me know if you need any assistance.”

I guide Hawk to the private elevator, keeping a steadying hand on his arm. As the doors slide closed, shutting us off from prying eyes, I feel a rush of exhilaration. We’re alone now, truly alone in a space I’ve only seen through hacked security feeds. The air feels charged, electric with possibility.

Hawk leans heavily against the elevator wall, his breathing noticeably heavier. His eyes, when they meet mine, are a whirl of confusion and something darker, more primal. I watch as he clenches his fists, his jaw tight with the effort of maintaining control.

“You knew exactly where to go,” he says, his words slightly slurred but his gaze intent. “How?”

I keep my expression neutral even as my heart races. He’s fighting the drug’s effects, but I can see the battle playing out across his face. I need to tread carefully. “I’ve attended events at the hotel before,” I say smoothly. “The layout isn’t difficult to remember.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see him trying to piece together the puzzle I present. But then his eyes drop to my lips, lingering there before he wrenches his gaze away, swallowing hard.

He takes a step toward me, then stops abruptly as if afraid of what he might do if he gets too close.

I consider my response carefully, knowing I can’t reveal too much. Instead, I deflect, turning the focus back to him. “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

He blinks, momentarily thrown by the change in subject. “I’m... I’m not sure,” he admits, his voice rough. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement drawing my eye to the flex of muscle beneath his shirt. “Everything feels... intense.”

As we step into Hawk’s penthouse, a thrill of triumph courses through me. Months of planning, of maneuvering myself back into my family’s social circles, have led to this moment. My presence at the gala wasn’t chance—it was the carefully orchestrated next step in my grand design. Regina’s clumsy attempt at manipulation has only served to accelerate my plans, gifting me an opportunity I couldn’t have dreamed of.

I guide Hawk to the large leather couch dominating the living area, savoring every point of contact between us. As he sinks into the cushions, I notice the sheen of sweat on his brow, the flush creeping up his neck. The drug is taking a stronger hold, and the sight sends a surge of excitement through me.

“Water,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “You need water.”

I move to the kitchen, my steps sure and confident. As I fill a glass from the tap, I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me. I turn to find Hawk standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes dark with undisguised want. The naked desire in his gaze makes my breath catch.

“Devin,” he says, his voice low and rough.

He takes a step toward me, then another, until he’s close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his body. The way he says my name makes me giddy. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and triumph surging through me. This is what I’ve wanted for so long—Hawk Rivers, the object of my obsession, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

“Mr. Rivers,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You’ve been drugged. You need to drink this and rest.”

I offer him the glass, but as he reaches for it, his fingers wrap around my wrist instead. The touch sends electricity arcing through me, and I can’t stifle the small gasp that escapes me. Hawk’s eyes darken at the sound.

“I don’t want to rest,” he murmurs, leaning in close. His breath ghosts across my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. “I want you. Fuck, I want you so much it hurts.”

The raw need in his voice is intoxicating. I’ve dreamed of this for years, imagined countless scenarios where Hawk would look at me this way again. The reality is so much more intense, so much more exhilarating than anything I could have fantasized about.

“Mr. Rivers,” I say softly, not pulling away despite knowing I should. “You’re not yourself right now.”

He laughs, a low, dark sound that sends heat pooling in my belly. “I’ve never felt more like myself,” he says, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek.

I lean into his touch, unable to help myself. The feeling of his skin against mine is electric, addictive. For a moment, I let myself imagine giving in, taking what I’ve wanted for so long. But no—not like this. When I finally have Hawk Rivers, I want him fully aware, fully present.

With herculean effort, I gently extract myself from his grasp. “You need to rest,” I tell him even as every fiber of my being screams to close the distance between us again.

Hawk’s eyes narrow, a flash of his usual sharpness breaking through the drug’s fog. “You’re holding back,” he accuses, following me as I retreat into the living room.

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