Page 25 of Hawk's Treat
"You're mine," he growls, as his movements become faster, more urgent. "Forever. You hear me? Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to love.”
"Yours," I agree, feeling myself approaching what I now recognize as an orgasm.
"Say it again," he demands, his rhythm faltering slightly. “Say it.”
“I love you, Hawk. I’m yours," I gasp. "Forever."
His hand slips between us, finding the bundle of nerves that sends me spiraling into oblivion. I cry out his name as wave after wave of pleasure cascades over me, vaguely aware of him grunting out his own release moments later.
Afterward, he gathers me against his chest, pressing kisses to my hair, my forehead, my lips. We lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath my ear.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.
I shake my head, smiling against his skin. "No. It was perfect."
"You'reperfect," he corrects, tightening his arm around me.
In this moment, basking in the afterglow, I can almost believe everything will be okay. That the love we have will be enough to weather the danger coming for us.
But as I lie in Hawk's arms, a terrible thought occurs to me. What if the only way to truly protect Hawk and the club is for me to surrender myself to the man who wants to hurt me?
Chapter 11
Hawk
"That motherfucker put his hands on her." My voice comes out like gravel being crushed. "And now he's trying to paintheras the crazy one.”
Around the table, my brothers listen with hard eyes. Ghost sits at the head of the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Blade to his right, expression calculating as always. Saint's knuckles tap against his opposite palm as though he’s envisioning punching something—or someone. Cipher types away on his laptop.
I plant my palms on the table, leaning forward. "Russo isn't just some random cop with a hard-on for Aria. There's more to this shit." The weight of ten years' worth of suspicion sits heavy on my chest. "Much more."
Ghost nods like he's been expecting this. "Tell them."
Taking a deep breath, I straighten up and face my brothers. Out in the common room, Aria is laughing, joking with the other women. Safe, while we decide how to burn her enemies to the ground.
“Most of you know that ten years ago," I begin, "my family died in what was ruled an accident. It was determined my fatherwas drunk driving, lost control, hit a tree, and the car exploded into flames.”
Saint nods his head gravely. “We were prospecting back then. I remember you never bought that story.”
"Never." My jaw ticks as I clench my teeth. "My old man rarely drank. When he did, it was a single glass of wine at dinner. And that road? He'd driven it a thousand times."
Blade leans forward. "What's the connection to your ol’ lady?”
"Russo was the detective who closed the case. But there’s more.” I tell them of my recent findings, my theory of how the events went down, and how I’ve connected the puzzle pieces.
"Vincent Carducci," I spit his name out like poison, "was my father's biggest business rival. They were competing for the same multi-million dollar government contract." I glance around the table. "A contract my father won. A contract that mysteriously went to Carducci after my family died."
Understanding dawns on their faces, but it's Cipher who connects the final dot.
“Questions arose about the accident, but it was Mark—akaMarco—Russo," he says without looking up from his screen, "who quashed any suspicions surrounding the incident and ruled it a drunk driving accident, clearing Carducci and anyone else of any involvement.” His fingers pause over the keyboard. "Now Carducci's giving his niece to Russo as what—payment for services rendered a decade ago?"
The room temperature seems to drop as the implications sink in.
"Fuck," Ghost breathes, running a hand over his face.
Cold rage settles in my gut. Blade emits a low whistle.
I stand and begin pacing, unable to contain the energy coursing through me. "They killed my family. And now they'retrying to take my woman." My hand unconsciously moves to the gun at my hip. "Not fucking happening."
