Page 59 of Hawk

“You asked for my help,” he says.

“That’s it? That’s the big answer? That I asked for it?”

He laughs. “Pretty much,” he offers. “I mean, I saw what you were going through and wanted to help. I wanted to get you out of there because what was happening to you was so wrong. It broke my heart for you, Molly.”

I purse my lips and look down at my plate, doing my best to avoid the avalanche of emotions threatening to topple down over me.

“But I didn’t know if you would even want my help. I didn’t know what your situation was, and I didn’t want to make things worse for you,” he goes on. “But then I got your note and knew you wanted out of there as bad as I wanted to get you out. After that, the plan came together pretty easily.”

“But now you’re a wanted man because of me. Hammerhead will—”

“To be honest, I think he’s dead. The arsenic you put in his food was enough to be a lethal dose,” he tells me. “I wanted it to be. I wanted him dead just for what he did to you. So, I got enough to kill a man. He’s dead, Molly. Dead and gone.”

His words have a calming effect on me. But there’s still a tiny scrap of skepticism in me. Unless I see the body, I can’t force myself to believe he’s gone. I want to believe, though. I know how much powder was in that baggie. I’m no doctor or anything, but I read somewhere that even a small dose of arsenic can be lethal. What I gave him was probably enough to kill an elephant.

“I hope so,” I say.

“I’m almost positive of it,” he replies.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, and I feel the shadow that had settled down over me begin to lift. It’s probably bad karma, but the thought of that man being dead absolutely lifts my spirits. I give him a wide smile and pick up my glass of soda and tap it against his tea.

“To new beginnings then,” I grin.

“To new beginnings.”

* * *

After the most delicious meal I’ve ever had in my life, we walk back to the hotel. I’m stuffed to the gills and happy. I’m giddy and giggling like I’m drunk even though I haven’t had a drop of alcohol. I just feel lighter and freer than I have in so long that my heart is swelling and I’m feeling overwhelmed. In a good way though.

I have hold of Hawk’s hand as we walk across the parking lot toward the hotel. It’s a cool, clear night and we’re still so far out from so-called civilization and all the light pollution it causes. Above us in the heavens, I can see thousands upon thousands of stars. It’s like a breathtaking tapestry of diamonds glittering in the night.

“It’s gorgeous out here,” I say.

Hawk nods. “It really is.”

I turn to him and give him a smile. “You are a good man, Tyson Richards.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” I insist, my expression sober. “It takes a good man to do what you’ve done. To put your own life on the line for a complete stranger.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was just trying to balance the cosmic scales for all the bad I’ve done,” he counters.

I laugh softly. “You know, there was a time in my life where I would have seen you as a bad guy simply because of the tats and the fact that you’re a biker. I would have thought you were just as bad as Hammerhead,” I say. “But I’ve come to realize that things are never that simple. I know that bad people can do good things just as easily as good people can do bad things.”

“So, which am I?”

“I told you. You’re a good person who sometimes does bad things,” I reply.

He smiles to himself as he opens the door to our room. “Maybe so. But sometimes I feel like a bad guy.”

“Let me clue you in. A bad guy would have never done what you did for me. Never. Bad people only think of themselves. While they can occasionally do good things, there is usually some sort of selfish motivation for it.”

“Think so?”

“I know so.”

He laughs as we step into our room. He again checks around behind us before closing and locking the door. Feeling like I’m walking on air, I flounce over to the bed and throw myself down on it. Hawk takes off his boots and sits down on the edge of his bed for a moment, looking at me with a tender look on his face. Then he lies down and props himself up on his arm, his eyes still on mine.

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