Page 19 of Hawke

“Delilah,” I chirped. “Name is Delilah, and you are?”

“Fuck.”

“That’s not a nice name,” I snorted. “I bet kids can’t call you that.”

He growled again, making him sound like a dog, but a really badass looking dog.

“Why do you not have any shoes?” he asked, exhausted.

I wiggled from side to side, feeling a bit sheepish. Now I didn’t want to look him in the eye because I knew he was going to call me crazy, but Iwasabout to try to get a job without shoes.

I mean, really, what was I thinking?

“There was a homeless woman in the town I came from. She didn’t have any shoes, and she looked like she needed them more than I did.”

The biker’s eyes softened, then he swore again.

“Is that the only word you know? The ‘f’ word and woman? Oh, and shoes?”

Then he smirked, showing off his pearly white teeth, and I swore my heart skipped a beat. To any other person, this guy would be terrifying, maybe a bit disturbing and rude with an odd fascination about shoes.

He might have a foot fetish.

Yuck.

He had scars on his fingers. The leather that covered his palms and the tops of his hands were worn and had holes riddled through them.

The leather vest he wore proclaimed his name as Hawke, and I blinked in realization.

“Hawke?” I whispered, and his eyes snapped to mine. Those dark eyes held something powerful that I didn’t understand, but I felt the need to trust this man. “That’s your name, right?”

He nodded, the stoic face softened, and a wistful breath left him.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

I shook my head, turning from him and putting my hand on the glass. “I don’t know you. I don’t need to throw all my problems on you.” I would not share my burdens with someone else. That wasn’t fair. I was a burden for most of my life, and I wasn’t going to do that to someone I just met.

“You’re running from something? Did you break the law?” His jaw ticked when I looked back at him.

“No, the law failed me,” I whispered. “I don’t concentrate on my past anymore. I look to the sun now.” I smiled. “I look at what’s in front of me, and I’m not going back.”

Hawke stared at me for a long moment, then turned to walk back to his bike. He opened a leather side bag and pulled out a helmet.

“You need a job? I’ll get you one,” he said.

I tilted my head slightly and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What makes you think I can’t get one on my own?” I put my hands on my hips. “I could walk into that bookstore and get that job.” I pointed.

Hawke ran his hands over the black, shiny helmet. “I don’t doubt you could with that attitude. But I can offer you room and board and protection from whatever you’re running from.”

I kept an eye on him, apprehensively taking a few steps away.

“As a waitress!” he shouted. “Nothing, bad, gods, no. Just a server, a waitress. The MC I’m in, we get people back on their feet. They can stay as long as they want, work for us, leave when they’re ready, or not at all. We have a server position open.”

I glanced around the sidewalks. The town was empty now. I could see people peering out their windows, but the police stood idly by, not paying any attention to Hawke.

My instincts weren’t telling me to run; they were telling me to follow.

Go.

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