Page 2 of Hawk's Treat
Aria
Pain pulses through my skull, dragging me from the darkness. I blink, trying to make sense of unfamiliar shadows dancing across a ceiling that isn't mine. A storm rages outside. Yes, I remember a thunderstorm. I was running. Rain pelts against windows somewhere nearby. I was running in the rain.
My body feels like one massive bruise, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through me.
When I try to move, a large hand presses gently against my shoulder.
"Easy," rumbles a deep voice. "You're safe.”
I jerk away instinctively, a whimper escaping my lips as pain shoots through my ribs. My vision clears enough to see him—towering and broad-shouldered, with piercing eyes that both captivate and enthrall. His dark hair is shaved on the sides and longer in the middle, a mohawk. The style, combined with the rest of this guy’s looks, are harshly terrifying. His face is all hard angles, stubbled jaw, and stark intensity. Black ink crawls up his neck and disappears beneath his shirt collar, reappearing on muscled forearms exposed by rolled-up sleeves.
I remember him. The man who caught me trespassing. The one with the gun.
My heart hammers against my bruised ribs. I push myself back until I hit what I now realize is a headboard.
"Where am I?" My voice comes out raspy, barely audible.
His brow cocks as if to say,“You’re the one who snuck in where she doesn’t belong,you tell me, dumbass.”But that’s not what comes out of his mouth.
"You collapsed,” he informs me, watching me with those sharp eyes. “I carried you here to the bed.”
I scan the room, cataloging escape routes. The man blocks the only path to the door.
"I'm Hawk," he says, as if sensing my calculations. "This is my house."
"I didn't know anyone lived here," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I'll go?—"
"No one lives here. Not anymore." Something dark flashes across his face. “I received a security alert and came to check it out.”
When I shift again, pain rips through my torso, and memories flood back unbidden.
"You think you can just refuse me, wifey? Refuse me what I’m owed?”
Marco's face contorts with rage as he looms over me in my uncle's kitchen. The engagement ring he forced onto my finger glints ostentatiously under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I can barely believe this is happening. Marco is more than twice my age.
“I-I don’t want to marry you," I say, hating how my voice trembles. "I never wanted this. Uncle Vincent arranged it without my consent."
"You ungrateful little bitch." His hand connects with my cheek, snapping my head sideways. The shock of it freezes mefor precious seconds. "Vincent promised. Gave me his word. Do you know what happens to people who renege on their promises to me?”
I back away, bumping into the counter. My fingers close around the first object they find—a ceramic mug. "Stay back."
Marco laughs, the sound chilling. "What are you going to do with that? Hit me?”
“Self-defense,” I state with as much courage as I can muster.
He steps closer, his bulk filling the kitchen doorway. “The orphan troublemaker defending herself against me?” He scoffs. “Do you honestly think anyone will believe you? You think anyone in this town will take your word over mine?” Marco is truly frightening. The look in his eyes—there’s zero compassion or understanding. There’s excitement. He gets off on this. On cold cruelty.
When he lunges, I swing. The mug shatters against his temple. He staggers, blood trickling down his face, expression morphing from shock to murderous rage.
"You should not have done that, wifey,” he whispers, a menacing grin transforming his features into something truly demonic.
I want to flee, but I’m trapped. He has me cornered. He grasps my neck in his iron grip and squeezes until I see stars. After the first few blows, I barely feel the beating he wields to my face and body—his punishment for my insolence and disobedience. Eventually, he releases me, and I fall to the ground, a puddle of bruises and pain.
He must think I’m unconscious. Because when he gets a call, he steps into the other room.
That’s when I run. Pushing myself up on shaky legs, as quietly as possible, I stagger to the kitchen door. I have the presence of mind to grab my backpack from its hook beforestumbling out into the rain. With every step, I gain more confidence, more momentum until my feet pound against the wet grass. Blind with terror, I duck through yards, down side streets, finally reaching an overgrown property lined by trees.
