Page 30 of Hawk

“Ask for Marcus.”

If she replied, I never heard it.

Chapter 8

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, pacing the room where Marcus and his bouncers had brought Hawk.

The Powder Keg seemed like a typical bar until I got ushered through a series of rooms, some of them with private parties, stripper poles, and people engaging in sexual acts. Like right out in the open. On furniture. Against the wall.

A woman pleasuring three men on a pool table.

What the hell? Was this a porn studio or something? Did hidden cameras record all of this for entertainment?

“I’ve contacted Falcon. He’ll know what to do.”

“Falcon?” I asked, perplexed.

“A healer.”

Like a doctor? Hawk needed that bullet removed and the wound sewn by a professional.

I hoped Marcus knew what the big wounded biker wanted because I didn’t have a clue.

Hawk groaned but didn’t open his eyes as Marcus turned him onto his stomach. He pulled a knife from his pocket and leaned toward the leather vest Hawk wore.

“Don’t you dare cut into that,” I ordered, stomping over to Marcus. “That’s sacred to him.”

Marcus smirked. “Alright. Help me remove it.”

Carefully, we balanced Hawk and removed the vest, draping it over a nearby chair. Marcus tossed the blood-soaked shirt into the trash, bellowing for a bottle of whiskey. He checked on the wound, nodding as someone brought him a first aid kit along with a bottle of dark amber fluid. I watched as he doused Hawk’s side with the liquor and then patted the skin dry. He placed a new bandage over the wound and added the one I’d made from my shirt to the trashcan with the other supplies he had discarded.

I stood a few feet to the side, anxious, staring at the exposed back of sculpted muscle. Tanned skin caught my attention briefly, but it was the dark ink I couldn’t help but admire. Black feathers formed giant wings spreading out from Hawk’s shoulder blades and reaching outward to the edges of his torso. The exquisite detail made them appear real, as if you could blink, and they would sprout free from his body and help him take flight.

Breathtakingly beautiful. I never saw a tattoo as ideally suited to someone as this one. I thought of the crow that seemed to shadow Hawk wherever he went this afternoon, even following us to the Powder Keg. The man I’d met harbored dark secrets and an affiliation with a dangerous motorcycle club. Yet his playful, teasing nature and passionate responses contradicted the image I’d conjured in my head about bikers.

I couldn’t help my attraction to this man. He placed my safety above his own and insisted on protecting me from the Dirty Death and Undertaker.

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