Page 8 of Hawk

“I’m baking scones,” she says with a lilt. “We can have tea and blueberry scones when you get back.”

“Make it coffee too, and I’m in,” I tease.

She giggles. “You got it.”

“I’m just about to go into a store to buy a few things. I should be back around noon.”

“Yay! You can taste my tomato chickpea salad.”

“You don’t have to feed me.”

“I know. Please let me do this,” she says quietly.

“Once I settle in, I’m cooking for you.”

“Looking forward to it. Gotta go!” And with that, she’s gone.

Time flies by as I walk up and down the aisles. I started with the highlighters, then got lost in the rest, discovering my cart was much fuller than it should have been by the time I got to the register. It’s the craziest thing, but I love weirdly shaped Post-It notes and fancy pens. Okay, so I’m a nerd. I own it!

Before I know it, I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I pay for my things and hurry back to my car. I toss the bag in the back seat, and my phone starts ringing again. Absentmindedly, I pick up, thinking it’s Sasha wondering why it’s taking me so long to get back.

“Sorry, I got lost in the pen aisle. I have an unhealthy attraction to fine pens and highlighters.” I laugh.

Robert’s deep voice sounds in my ear. “I know. I made the mistake of sending you out for printer paper, and you came back with a cartful of shit we didn’t need.”

I suck in a breath. Damn! I’m not prepared for another sparring session with Robert. I knew he’d be back, but I was hoping to have a few days before we had another round of squabbling.

“I thought you were someone else. What do you want, Robert?” I let out a heavy breath in preparation for what comes next. He argues like a petulant child, insisting on the same point until you’re too tired to fight him. Well, I’m done with that.

“Are you ready to discuss this calmly?” he asks. Same old routine. He’s trying to make me feel guilty. “We have a business to run. It’s unprofessional for you to disappear without giving me time to find a replacement.”

“Unprofessional!” My voice rises at his insinuation.

“Very unprofessional.”

“You should have thought of that before you cheated on me. I was building a life with you. I forfeited my education for yours, and I did it happily because we were doing it for us. I didn’t object when you made all the clients I do work for believe that I work for you instead of us working side by side. It was insulting and hurtful, but if that was what you needed, I let you have that. I also know that my bookkeeping earns over fifty percent of the profits. Which, by walking away, I’m leaving to you. You think this is unprofessional, but I’m calling it generous,” I tell him. “So, do me a favor and fuck off.” I hang up before he can get another word out.

I’m furious. When it comes down to it, I’m mad at myself for allowing Robert to manipulate me and for believing his bullshit. Argh! I want to scream. I can hear my mother’s voice in my head saying,“Three deep breaths, Etain. Breathe in and out.”

I’ve always had the tendency to explode when I felt life was being unfair. Mom blamed it on my flaming-red hair, which added to my fiery temper. My father decided I had an aversion to injustice and I was going to become a politician and try to save the world. I can’t imagine the corruption in Washington. It’s better to be oblivious to some things, and I don’t think I have enough finesse to become a senator. Mom readily agrees.

Sasha’s waiting for me, and it’s time to let go of the anger flowing through me. Robert doesn’t get to turn my good day into a shitty one.

Hawk

All morning, the guys have been ribbing me about hiring a sexy fox as our office manager. I let them have their fun, but I make it clear that Etain is off-limits to them. They understand me, but that doesn’t stop them from razzing me.

I’m their president, but I don’t pull that card unless our safety is in jeopardy. For the most part, I treat them like brothers, and it’s okay for brothers to drive each other nutty, as long as we remember to do it with respect. When it comes to running the garages, I have the final say, but even then, they know there’s nothing I hide from them.

Then there’s club business, and that has a layer of authority that all the men must abide by. We have our club rules, largely adopted from the same regulations Guard’s put into place with Satan’s Pride MC. Are we one hundred percent clean? Nah. But we’ve turned the corner, and we’re pulling away from the poison that seeped into the club a couple of years back.

I should have trusted Guard’s instincts. When Guard met Meteor, he knew he was bad news. I was stupid and was asserting my rank as president when I went ahead and accepted him as a member, against Guard’s better judgment. Meteor was in the club for a year, and for the first few months, everything was good. Then he started disappearing, being late for meetings, and his excuses weren’t making sense.

Drifter was the one who followed him and found out he was making deals with a rival club and running their drugs for them. The worst part was, he was using our prospects to run the drugs. Two of our prospects got caught. One of our founding members, Phantom, took the heat for the younger prospects. Phantom is an older man. He’s ex-military, huge, and mean as fuck to the enemy, but loyal as hell to the Redemption Riders. He’s doing time now because of Meteor. Meteor is gone, and by gone, I mean he doesn’t exist in this world any longer. Phantom has another year left on his sentence, and when he comes out, he’ll take his rightful place in our club and as an important part of the crew. He’s paid a price he shouldn’t have had to. I blame myself and my ego for not seeing what I should have seen.

I’ve learned and grown since then. I beat myself up pretty badly because of it, and Guard picked me up and helped me be a better leader. “Focus on the here and now,” he said, and that’s what I’ve done. I go see Phantom every week, and I make sure the guards are paid off well to ensure his safety. It’s not nearly enough for his sacrifice, but he’ll be home soon.

No drugs are allowed in the club. If the brothers want it, they do it off-site. Some might smoke a joint, but most are clean. They know my stance on the subject and my lack of tolerance. Because of Meteor’s “deal” with the rival club, we’ve spent the last two years extricating ourselves from their hold. We’re almost there. One more week, and we’re done.

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