Page 58 of Taming Hawke

Hawke

This doesn’t feel right, I shouldn’t be keeping this shit from my club. Quill’s gonna kill me when he finds out I’ve upped and left his wedding without telling him where the fuck I’m going. It’s okay, though, Quill will understand when the time comes.

Well, that’s what I keep telling myself as I ride to the airport, not liking that I’m alone, without my brothers for protection. Nothing I can do about it now. I made my choice, and I can’t risk Josie’s life because I didn’t follow an order from Santana.

What does he want with our club?

As promised, I didn’t mention to anyone where I was going. Luisa… fuck! I can’t get her look of betrayal out of my fucking head. I’ve hurt her, I know it. But what the hell was I supposed to do? I can’t take the risk of her knowing where I’m going, or why I left. Santana made himself very clear, either I keep quiet, or Josie dies tonight, and I know he’s a man of his word. Santana has a reputation for callously murdering those who don’t obey his commands, and no one makes a fool out of him without consequence.

Parking my bike at the private airfield Santana instructed me to go to, the jet he sent to take me back to New York comes into view. Not having had time to change, I’m still wearing my suit from the wedding. I stride across the tarmac and up to the aircraft. Two men stand beside the stairs leading up inside, guns visible in holsters. I stop and one draws his gun and points it at me, while the other steps forward and begins to frisk me for weapons. He finds my phone and pockets it.

“He’s clean,” the one frisking me says, and the guy still pointing his gun at me nods.

“Get in, Santana’s waiting,” he says waving the gun in the direction of the stairs.

Without further thought, I race up the stairs and take a seat in one of the leather chairs beside the window. I hate fucking flying.

The two men waste no time in following me inside, and they both take seats to the right of me. The aircraft would hold at least ten people comfortably, but it looks like we’re the only passengers on this particular flight.

A petite, blonde stewardess eventually comes forward, and I watch her as her eyes take me in. Just as she’s about to speak to me, one of the men—greasy black hair slicked back, a diamond earring in his left ear, and wearing a pinstripe suit—clicks his fingers, and the stewardess turns her attention to him instead.

“Don’t talk to him, you hear?” the man says in a thick accent.

She looks over to me, disappointment clearly evident on her face, before looking back at the asshole. “He’s not here for pleasure, caramelo.

I look out the window of the plane and notice we’re now moving. Feeling like I’m struggling to breathe, I pull my bow tie off, and unbutton the first two buttons on my shirt. I tighten the seat belt around my hips and brace myself for take-off.

“Look, Franco, he looks like he’s going to hacer caca.”

This Franco asshole doubles over in laughter, and the slick-haired fucker who think he’s a comedian just stares at me, a smug grin on his face. I wanna go over there and wipe it off with my fist, but I’m not willing to lose my life over it. Instead I look out the window, and watch as the plane lifts off the ground. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing Lu was here to comfort me.

Once we’re safely off the ground and the plane has levelled, the stewardess takes off her seat belt and walks down the aisle toward us. She asks the two fuckers across from me if there’s anything they would like to drink. They both ask for tequila, and the stewardess wastes no time pouring their drinks and handing them to the men.

My mouth feels parched, and right now I could do with a fucking shot myself.

“Not so tough are you without your president?”

I clench my jaw. “Go fuck yourself.”

A loud laugh erupts out of Franco’s mouth before he straightens up, his face serious again. “Watch your mouth, estupido, or else I might just shut it for you. What do you think, Carlos?”

Carlos smiles, but it’s not a happy smile; it’s a warning. Carlos sports a gold tooth, which flashes in the light of the plane’s cabin as he chews on a toothpick. He too is wearing what looks like an expensive suit, and both he and Franco are walking clichés in their mobster getup. Carlos pulls something out of a pocket in his pants, then fists his hand into his other. The gold knuckle-rings catch my eye, and I smile. More evidence these guys aren’t just businessmen on a business trip. If he thinks I’m worried about what they’re going to do to me, then they don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with. I’d easily take these two assholes on. Franco’s short and fat, and Carlos is skinny as fuck. I could blow out a breath and he would fall.

“Not sure your boss would want that,” I say sarcastically, looking pointedly at Carlos’s pockets. “You see, he’s very keen on meeting me tonight. I mean, why would he have his own private jet pick me up?”

Carlos smirks at me but doesn’t respond. Fucker. I decide I should catch some shut-eye before I meet the man himself. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep.

It doesn’t feel like long before I’m being shoved awake by Franco, and he grips my arm, forcing me up from my seat. I pull out of his hold and growl. “I can fuckin’ walk by myself.”

“Move, hijo de puta,” he replies in Spanish, and I know he just called me a son of a bitch. I’ve grown up around Quill’s parents, and heard Quill call his old man that many a time.

Franco shoves his gun between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward with each push of it against my back. If it wasn’t for Josie, I would take this motherfucker out, but I don’t. I shut my mouth and let them lead me down the stairs, and then into a black SUV waiting nearby. The car looks familiar, and I realise it’s similar to the car that was captured on our surveillance camera at Ink Me.

I’m pushed into the back seat, the two men entering and sitting either side of me, and the car takes off into the dead of night. I hear my phone’s ringtone, and Franco takes it out of his pocket and laughs at whatever he sees on the screen. When Franco puts the phone up in front of my face, I can see it’s Quill calling me. “Looks like your president is looking for his VP. Too bad he doesn’t know where you are.”

I glare at Franco as he switches the phone off and places it back in his pocket. That’s okay, motherfucker, you’ll get what’s coming to you.

We drive into an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere. The lights inside are dim and I can see people standing in the centre of the large building, but I don’t get to focus too long. Once the SUV stops, the doors are opened and I’m shoved out one side by Franco, once again his gun pushing into my back. It takes everything in me to hold myself back from thrusting a fist into his smug face.

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