Page 6 of Hawke

Hawke’s fingers balled up into a slow, tight fist. His veins protruded from his forearms. He growled at me, taking steps forward.

“I have stayed around, thinking, hoping…” I paused, touching the door frame. “Praying you would feel something more for me. Feel what I feel for you.”

Hawke gritted his teeth, his perfectly chiseled jaw hid beneath his beard. “What’s wrong with kissing every once in a while when we both enjoy it? Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” I snapped. “It isn’t enough. None of it is enough. I need more, Hawke!”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” Hawke stepped closer to me, but I took a few steps back.

God, why did that hurt so much? Not that I wasn’t asking for it, that was beside the point. He didn’t want to sleep with me, just fuck my mouth with his tongue. He was emotionally toying with me, and he didn’t even know it.

“I want anus, Hawke,” I murmured, fiddling with my dirty dishwater hands. “I want what Journey and Grim have.” I was begging; I wanted him to take the bait. I wasn’t supposed to be weak. I had come so far to be an independent person. I worked, I lived, I survived. But he made me want to fall to my knees and beg him to keep me.

Which I shouldn’t. No woman should. Yet here I was, because of some unexplained pull.

These bikers didn’t keep women. I’ve never seen the guys with their arms around any women’s shoulders, their waists, or seen them kiss their lips. I thought it was a brother code to stay unattached because of the dangerous things they did behind closed doors. To keep loved ones away, to keep them safe.

But I was willing to take that chance. I needed to know if we would ever be anything.

When I saw Journey, I warned her what these men were like. They would never keep you, only make sure you were safe. They wouldn’t give you any emotional support; they wouldn’t claim you as theirs.

But Grim did. He surprised us all.

Grim was officially claiming Journey tomorrow, in front of the whole club, while I was the hidden dirty secret Hawke would never claim. As I came to that realization, I became more confident about what I needed to do, and what I needed to say, to push to get my answer.

Right now, Hawke was seething. If smoke could come out of his ears, I think it would. I had him trapped in a corner. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t run away until I stepped aside.

I knew he wanted me. His erection strained against his pants, his heart raced, and his heavy breathing that would scare most of the people in the bar was stifling. But not to me, because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me physically.

Emotionally?

“I need to leave,” Hawke grunted, trying to push by me.

I did the unthinkable and pulled on his arm until my nails were embedded in his skin. I could hear the proverbial knives cutting his skin as he tried to slip by me. He growled, glancing at his arm and looking at me.

Good, he was in pain. Maybe he would know what it was like to feel something.

“Do you even care about me? Like at all? Do you not want to have what they have?” I pointed to the front of the bar. The kitchen was empty now; I could no longer hear anyone’s presence.

“I care for your safety,” he growled.

“And?” I prodded, coming closer. I put my hand on his forearm, and he pulled away like I’d burned him.

My heart burst into tiny pieces of tissue paper. Pieces that would never be able to be put back together again without seeing the tiny rips and crinkles on the surface.

“No, I do not care for you. Not like that,” he said so low I barely heard.

“Not at all?” I whispered, still looking him in the eye. I would not break in front of him, not when he didn’t care.

I wouldn’t give him that last piece of me.

“You’re too broken. You can’t give me what I need, De. And this”—he waved his finger back and forth to us—“is officially over. Friends only. No more.”

I pinched my lips together, watching his muscular heaving back head to the back door. He opened it, and a cold wind pushed inside.

“Hawke?” I yelled out before he stepped into the darkness.

He turned, but only so he could hear me.

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