Page 29 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
He set the boat to autopilot, stepped out from behind the wheel, and ducked into the cabin.
And Jacqueline stiffened and inhaled sharply as if someone had lanced her with a pin.
She was afraid of him. Even if she hadn’t moved an inch, Hawk smelled it all over her. He knew her fear was justified—he’d told her he’d hurt her if he had to—but the knowledge irritated him nonetheless. He’d never intentionally hurt a woman before. He hoped that remained the case.
Though if anyone deserves it, it’s her.
Pushing aside his disjointed thoughts, he stepped in front of Jacqueline, and pulled the hood from her head.
Blinking, she squinted into the light and turned her face away, but not before giving him a murderous glare. She breathed deeply, nostrils flared, lips flattened, and he simply stood and watched her, waiting for her to speak.
As he’d instructed, she was dressed in sturdy, lightweight clothing: jeans, black T-shirt, long-sleeved cotton jacket that matched the tee, hiking boots. Looks a lot better naked, he thought, unable to press the smile from his mouth.
“I have to use the toilet,” she said, looking away.
“Be my guest.”
She glanced up at him. Twisting slightly to the side to show him her handcuffed wrists, she said with barely repressed fury, “And how exactly am I supposed to manage that?”
“Would you like me to take off your pants for you?” He smirked. “It’s not like I haven’t already seen everything you’ve got.”
Jacqueline turned away, biting her lip. Crimson crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks. She whispered, “You’re despicable.”
“And you, Red, are a bigot.”
Her head whipped around. She stared at him open-mouthed, horrified. “I’m not a bigot!”
Hawk crouched down on the glossy teak floor directly in front of her so they were eye level. She leaned back a few inches, caught herself, then lifted her chin and stared back at him in defiance.
“You’re prejudiced, intolerant, and full of hate. You despise things you don’t understand, simply because you don’t understand them, and they’re different from you. That’s a textbook definition of a bigot.”
She had the audacity to look outraged. “I understand you and your kind perfectly well! You’re the ones who are full of hate! You slaughtered dozens of people, just for sport, just to terrorize us—”
“We didn’t do that!” He leaned closer to her, his pulse spiking, anger tilting toward fury as her eyes widened in alarm. “One of us did that, and believe me when I say I’d like to kill that traitor myself for what he did! He’s a rabid dog that needs to be put down, but you judged us all based on the actions of one! Then you convinced everyone else that we were all the same, that all my kind should be exterminated like some kind of rodent infestation!”
Eye to eye, seething, they stared at one another. He didn’t realize when it had happened, but he was gripping the sofa cushions on either side of her legs so hard his knuckles were white. He’d never before felt such a strong urge to wring a woman’s neck.
“That king of yours, Caesar—”
“He’s not our king,” he snarled, moving even closer until their noses were an inch apart. “He only thinks he is. He thinks he’s a god, in fact, but he’s nothing more than a moron with a god complex, which are two very different things.”
One of her brows arched. With withering disdain, she said, “That must run in the family.”
Throttle her? Kiss her? She deserved the first, but he found himself struggling with the second, a magnetic attraction equally as strong as it was repellant.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The smart thing to do was stand, so that’s exactly what he did. He looked down at her—pale and livid, watching him in silent fury—and realized how wrong Morgan had been to think they could change this woman’s mind. This plan was doomed to failure.
From a safer distance, he said with deadly quiet intensity, “Let me ask you a question, Red. How would you like it if the entire human race was judged by the actions of, oh, say—Adolf Hitler? Or maybe Stalin? Or how about Charles Manson? Why is it you think only we must all be exactly the same as our lowest common denominator?”
Her silence throbbed.
“I’ll tell you why. Because you’re a bigot.”
“Stop saying that,” she said with a clenched jaw. She shot to her feet, and he thought for a moment she might try to kick him in the crotch.
Interesting. He’d found a sore spot. Which he intended to exploit to its fullest potential.
