Page 21 of Hawk

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing harder than before, I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my fingers over his scruffy jaw. His hand curled around the back of my neck, holding me in place.

We stayed like that for a long time, until he eventually broke the spell so we could get ready for bed. Where we just slept together…and nothing else happened. Unfortunately.

8

HAWK

Two nights. That’s all it had been.

Two long, excruciating nights of holding Gemma in my arms. Of wrapping myself around her like a fucking shield and breathing her in while she slept.

Every time Gemma curled into me, her soft breath warming my throat, her thighs brushing mine under the covers, I came closer to snapping. I’d kiss her good night, low and deep, just enough to taste the sweetness of her lips. But then I’d pull back, bury my hunger, and clamp down on every possessive, mating-driven instinct in my body that told me to take what was mine.

Not yet.

She wasn’t ready. And I wasn’t going to ruin the safest place she’d ever felt by losing control.

Then I’d press my lips on her forehead or temple. Gentle and reverent. Sometimes it felt like that tiny touch was the only thing tethering me to sanity.

But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

So instead, I worked.

Gemma was over at Blade and Elise’s place, doing newborn pictures of their little girl, Emily. She said it would help her feelgrounded, and I trusted Blade to watch her six while I handled the backend—sorting through Deviant’s info dump, looking for anyone in Ellen’s life who pinged the radar.

I was in my room at the clubhouse, my back against the worn leather of the desk chair and my laptop open in front of me. Multiple files from Deviant filled the screen. Each one was a carefully built profile of someone Ellen had regular contact with before she vanished.

Deviant was a genius with code and data trails, but he was a machine. Cold, technical, thorough. I was the one who read between the lines. Who knew how to strip someone bare from words unsaid and patterns that didn’t make sense.

People were my specialty. I knew how to read them. How to spot patterns, inconsistencies. And predators. So I was building a different kind of map. Psychological. Behavioral. Emotional.

I was mid-profile on one of Ellen’s coworkers—a freelance designer who’d been a little too interested in her travel plans—when a knock on the door broke my focus.

I grunted a low, “Yeah.”

Fox stepped in and tossed a package on the edge of my desk. I caught it before it slid off.

“Gift for your girl,” he said as he dropped into the chair across from me and stretched out his long legs. “Don’t say I never got you anything.”

I peeled back the plain brown wrapping and leather met my fingers. Soft, deep black, unmistakably custom. I unfolded it and held up a vest in Gemma’s size.

On the front, just above the left breast, it read Gemma. On the back was a patch with the club logo and Property of Hawk in bold block letters.

My gut twisted, and my heart thudded once—hard.

“Had Sheila start on it the day after we met her at the bar,” Fox explained. “Figured you were already fucked, might as well make it official.”

I looked up, one brow raised. “You always this optimistic?”

“No. But I know the look a man gets when his brain’s stopped working and all that’s firing is instinct.” He crossed his arms. “You weren’t thinking. You were reacting. You saw her, and that was it. Might as well save us all the wait.”

I grunted. “You done waxing poetic about my woman?”

His grin was slow. “I’m just confirming what we all saw. You were hooked before she even said your name.”

I didn’t argue. Because it was true. And I didn’t have the patience to pretend anymore. Instead, I traced the lettering on the vest, my thumb brushing over the word Gemma like it was holy. My jaw clenched.

“Thanks,” I finally said.

---