Page 31 of Hawk

We broke apart only when my phone buzzed with a text.

Deviant

Get back to the compound now. I have what we need.

“We’re leaving,” I told her as I showed her the message. “The guys will finish the cleanup.”

“But—”

“I need you with me, baby. Locked up tight behind steel and concrete. Otherwise, I won’t be able to think straight.”

She didn’t argue. She never did when I put shit like that—knowing it wasn’t up for debate when it came to her safety.

12

HAWK

The moment we stepped into the lounge back at the clubhouse, chaos erupted.

Molly, Maverick’s wife, burst out of the kitchen, baby on one hip, yelling over her shoulder. “Luna, if you eat that cookie, you’re not getting another one!”

The three-year-old in question was already halfway behind the bar, crumbs trailing behind her like guilty glitter.

Molly groaned, catching her ten-month-old baby—Chase—just as he tried to wriggle free. She sighed when she saw us. “I swear, he skipped walking. Went straight to sprinting. I haven’t sat down since.”

Gemma laughed, and I felt some of the pressure inside me ease just a notch.

“I can help,” she offered.

“You’re an angel,” Molly said, her face lighting up. “Seriously.”

Before I stepped away, I leaned in and kissed Gemma’s cheek. “This’ll be good practice.”

Molly burst out laughing. “Oh, he’s definitely one of ours.”

Gemma blushed hard but didn’t have time to react further because Chase had wriggled free and took off like a rocket toward the hallway. Gemma darted after him, caught him mid-squeal, and the little punk smacked her cheeks with chubby hands and giggled hysterically.

“Up!” he shouted.

She laughed, heart-deep, as he wriggled and twisted, and I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my mouth. For one sliver of a second, I let myself imagine her like that—with our kid. Our chaos. Our joy.

I gave her a lopsided grin that made her eyes sparkle and kissed her once more. Then I turned and headed down the hall, where reality was waiting.

Fox’s office was heavy with the kind of tension that soaked into the walls like smoke. The blinds were drawn against the afternoon glare, the only light coming from the overhead fixture above the round conference table and the glow of Deviant’s laptop screen. The low hum of conversation cut off the second I stepped inside.

Fox stood near the table with his arms crossed, leaning against the edge like he’d been born there. Maverick sat across from him, one boot resting on the opposite chair, fingers steepled under his chin as he watched Deviant work. Midnight was off to the side near a small bar sipping coffee, his scarred knuckles drumming a rhythm against the counter.

Deviant didn’t look up as I entered. He just kept typing, rapid-fire, muttering under his breath as code scrolled across his screen. I didn’t speak until I crossed the room and stood beside the table, close enough to read the files flashing past his eyes.

“I want names. Now.” My voice was low and even, but the tension in my spine didn’t ease.

Fox nodded once. “You’ll get them. Sit down.”

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

Midnight raised a brow but didn’t comment. Neither did Fox, though his eyes held a warning. They understood. Sometimes you needed to stay standing so the rage had somewhere to go.

Deviant finally stopped typing. He leaned back in his chair, stretching until his spine cracked. “Took some work, but I pulled the last-known backups off the cloud where the stolen photos were hosted. The metadata’s scrambled to hell, but I recognized a few digital fingerprints from the hacker world.”

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