Page 20 of Hawke

“What are you talking about?” I asked, hoping to throw my friend off.

Ryder removed his mask, looked strangely at me, then placed it back on his face. His blond hair flowed out from beneath the strap of it. He was imposing enough when dressed casually in the jeans and T-shirts that were staples of his wardrobe, but my friend looked even more menacing dressed as he now was in a full suit. The layers of material covered most of his tattoos, but like me, there were some that couldn’t be hidden even if we tried.

Ryder had at least a good two-inch height difference on me standing tall at six-foot-four. With his Icelandic roots, he resembled every bit the Viking his ancestors had been. His mother had been from Norway, and ended up leaving the country for America when she had fallen in love with a soldier stationed there. He also had a cousin who lived locally in Washington, D.C., and although I had extended an invitation to Lucien, he had been unable to attend due to work. I secretly suspected the decline had been because this was a party.

The two men were a lot like me in that regard. We all hated large crowds, so Ryder looked as completely out of place at this fancy gala as I did. Charlotte had done an admirable job pulling this sort of soiree together, and in such a short period of time.

It dawned on me then that I still hadn’t yet seen her. At all, not before the party even. I was certain she’d show up if for no other reason than to see how it’d all come together. I’d never fully admit it, but I had been watching for her. Maybe I missed her, though I would never admit to it even after my thoughts had drifted earlier. After all, Ryder had been able to approach me without me even realizing it. I needed to see her. Why, I didn’t know, but I did.

Ryder was growing restless standing there beside me. “Why don’t you go let loose inside. I’ll find you in a little while.”

It was sufficient enough for my friend because he gave a curt nod, then disappeared into the throng of partygoers. I spun around, intending to seek out the woman on my mind. When I did, however, I nearly knocked someone off their feet.

“Are you okay?” I asked, after bending down to pick up the mask that had fallen onto the train of another’s dress.

“I’m fine,” the female responded, the voice familiar. She turned around and grabbed the intricate jeweled mask from my hands. “Thanks.”

When she looked up, our eyes met. Something flared in hers, causing mine to darken with lust. Charlotte never failed to ignite something primal within me. Every voice in my head told me to banish her from my mind and my sight, but instead, I stood there, staring at her like a nervous teen. This was no prom and I had no corsage to slip onto her wrist. I had metal cuffs, but I couldn’t even trust myself to use them on her.

She was with another woman, one who was eyeing us curiously. “He’s sort of hot, Char. Do you know him?”

“He’s nobody,” she answered, grabbing the dark-haired woman’s arm. “Let’s go dance.”

I had to tamp down the urge to growl. She was challenging me. I could see it in the cerulean depths of her eyes, and in the hint of her smile. Those full lips were inviting, but it’d be an invitation I would decline for no other reason than preserving my sanity. Still, the need for retribution burned through my bloodstream.

Charlotte didn’t stick around to bait me more. She pulled her friend toward the center of the club, and I was left there standing alone. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. Her backside was one I hadn’t seen much of. Since our reunion weeks ago, I had not gotten the image out of my head of her glistening body when she’d been cuffed to my St. Andrew’s cross back at The Box.

I had wanted her then, and God help me, I wanted her still. Never one to stand around waiting for things to happen, my feet might as well be stuck in cement because I couldn’t move either one of them. Rendered immobile, I caught a final glimpse of her ass in the tight dress, this time letting out the low growl I had withheld moments ago.

I’d tasted her blood, sweat, and tears that night in my dungeon back in Washington, D.C., but I hadn’t gotten the chance to mark her backside. My hands itched to squeeze her ass. No, not just that. I wanted to touch it… mark it… and above all other things, I wanted to fuck it. I also wanted to hear her scream upon penetration, especially since I would never be able to take her there gently.

That, in itself, was enough reason to put as much distance between us as I could. Fifteen fucking years of self-preservation, and I sensed it disintegrating with every second that passed. Ever since that day in my office, my life was slowly starting to unravel. My control was slipping away, and I felt powerless to regain it. This wasn’t supposed to happen to men like me. I felt nothing, ever, until now, and it was honestly very nauseating.

“What the hell is happening to me?” I voiced out loud, ignoring whoever it was that asked me if I was okay.

I had to get out of there, and knowing the direction she went, I headed in the opposite one. I finally reached a dark, enclosed space which was empty at the moment and closed off to the club members. It’d one day be a theme room, but all the pieces hadn’t yet arrived, so it was unfinished.

Hello, darkness...

The famous opening chords to the Simon and Garfunkel song started to play in my head except it wasn’t by the men who wrote it. A familiar voice, that of my former self, was humming it instead. I’d been young, and for some reason, I’d hum it under my breath. Maybe it’d been because my mother had liked it so much. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the only one I knew and as I grew older, the lyrics would repeat over and over in my head.

As a boy, I had needed something to center me. In the darkest moments, I’d shut down mentally. Music saved me, and with this being the only song I really knew every word to, it had become my shield. It did little to stop the pain on the outside, but it made me focus on anything but the kind I ached with inside.

I’d become numb to everything happening around me during that time, but as I stood in the dark, a sense of unease filled me. For the first time in as many years, I was slowly starting to lose that iron-clad control I’d always possessed, and I knew why.

It was Charlotte. She was under my skin, and I had yet to find a way to get her out from beneath it. I pulled my mask off, then scrubbed my hands down my face. I’d broken out into a sweat, my skin now damp and clammy.

“I’m fucking losing it.”

And that I was. Practically suffocating at this point, I pulled my tie loose. It wasn’t enough. Sweat beaded on my skin, and it was slowly starting to seep through my shirt. Yanking off the jacket to my tuxedo, I was hoping it would help, but it didn’t. Nothing seemed to as my past and present began to spin like a cycle on a washing machine.

My breathing grew deeper and heavier, and it literally felt like a large boulder was sitting on my chest. I was paralyzed, and it was nothing new to me. I needed to pull myself together, so despite trembling hands, I managed to undo the top two buttons on my dress shirt. My heart was beating so hard, its erratic rhythm causing each beat to roar like a drum in my ear. I hadn’t had a panic attack in years, and I was desperately trying to ward one off now.

I closed my eyes and took a series of deep breaths until finally, I experienced a small bit of relief. Raking my hand through my hair, I knew I needed to get out of that room. I should rejoin the party, and I would. Work would distract my racing thoughts. It had to. First, however, I needed to freshen up. I exited the room, then headed straight to my office. Just before I reached the door, I noticed someone near it, and I knew exactly who it was.

Inwardly cursing, I stopped just behind her. “Nobody to dance with, Miss Maxwell?”

14 – CHARLOTTE

---