Hawke
This doesn’t feel right, I shouldn’t be keeping this shit from my club. Quill’s gonna kill me when he finds out I’ve upped and left his wedding without telling him where the fuck I’m going. It’s okay, though, Quill will understand when the time comes.
Well, that’s what I keep telling myself as I ride to the airport, not liking that I’m alone, without my brothers for protection. Nothing I can do about it now. I made my choice, and I can’t risk Josie’s life because I didn’t follow an order from Santana.
What does he want with our club?
As promised, I didn’t mention to anyone where I was going. Luisa… fuck! I can’t get her look of betrayal out of my fucking head. I’ve hurt her, I know it. But what the hell was I supposed to do? I can’t take the risk of her knowing where I’m going, or why I left. Santana made himself very clear, either I keep quiet, or Josie dies tonight, and I know he’s a man of his word. Santana has a reputation for callously murdering those who don’t obey his commands, and no one makes a fool out of him without consequence.
Parking my bike at the private airfield Santana instructed me to go to, the jet he sent to take me back to New York comes into view. Not having had time to change, I’m still wearing my suit from the wedding. I stride across the tarmac and up to the aircraft. Two men stand beside the stairs leading up inside, guns visible in holsters. I stop and one draws his gun and points it at me, while the other steps forward and begins to frisk me for weapons. He finds my phone and pockets it.
“He’s clean,” the one frisking me says, and the guy still pointing his gun at me nods.
“Get in, Santana’s waiting,” he says waving the gun in the direction of the stairs.
Without further thought, I race up the stairs and take a seat in one of the leather chairs beside the window. I hate fucking flying.
The two men waste no time in following me inside, and they both take seats to the right of me. The aircraft would hold at least ten people comfortably, but it looks like we’re the only passengers on this particular flight.
A petite, blonde stewardess eventually comes forward, and I watch her as her eyes take me in. Just as she’s about to speak to me, one of the men—greasy black hair slicked back, a diamond earring in his left ear, and wearing a pinstripe suit—clicks his fingers, and the stewardess turns her attention to him instead.
“Don’t talk to him, you hear?” the man says in a thick accent.
She looks over to me, disappointment clearly evident on her face, before looking back at the asshole. “He’s not here for pleasure, caramelo.
I look out the window of the plane and notice we’re now moving. Feeling like I’m struggling to breathe, I pull my bow tie off, and unbutton the first two buttons on my shirt. I tighten the seat belt around my hips and brace myself for take-off.
“Look, Franco, he looks like he’s going to hacer caca.”
This Franco asshole doubles over in laughter, and the slick-haired fucker who think he’s a comedian just stares at me, a smug grin on his face. I wanna go over there and wipe it off with my fist, but I’m not willing to lose my life over it. Instead I look out the window, and watch as the plane lifts off the ground. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut, wishing Lu was here to comfort me.
Once we’re safely off the ground and the plane has levelled, the stewardess takes off her seat belt and walks down the aisle toward us. She asks the two fuckers across from me if there’s anything they would like to drink. They both ask for tequila, and the stewardess wastes no time pouring their drinks and handing them to the men.
My mouth feels parched, and right now I could do with a fucking shot myself.
“Not so tough are you without your president?”
I clench my jaw. “Go fuck yourself.”
A loud laugh erupts out of Franco’s mouth before he straightens up, his face serious again. “Watch your mouth, estupido, or else I might just shut it for you. What do you think, Carlos?”
Carlos smiles, but it’s not a happy smile; it’s a warning. Carlos sports a gold tooth, which flashes in the light of the plane’s cabin as he chews on a toothpick. He too is wearing what looks like an expensive suit, and both he and Franco are walking clichés in their mobster getup. Carlos pulls something out of a pocket in his pants, then fists his hand into his other. The gold knuckle-rings catch my eye, and I smile. More evidence these guys aren’t just businessmen on a business trip. If he thinks I’m worried about what they’re going to do to me, then they don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with. I’d easily take these two assholes on. Franco’s short and fat, and Carlos is skinny as fuck. I could blow out a breath and he would fall.
“Not sure your boss would want that,” I say sarcastically, looking pointedly at Carlos’s pockets. “You see, he’s very keen on meeting me tonight. I mean, why would he have his own private jet pick me up?”
Carlos smirks at me but doesn’t respond. Fucker. I decide I should catch some shut-eye before I meet the man himself. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep.
It doesn’t feel like long before I’m being shoved awake by Franco, and he grips my arm, forcing me up from my seat. I pull out of his hold and growl. “I can fuckin’ walk by myself.”
“Move, hijo de puta,” he replies in Spanish, and I know he just called me a son of a bitch. I’ve grown up around Quill’s parents, and heard Quill call his old man that many a time.
Franco shoves his gun between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward with each push of it against my back. If it wasn’t for Josie, I would take this motherfucker out, but I don’t. I shut my mouth and let them lead me down the stairs, and then into a black SUV waiting nearby. The car looks familiar, and I realise it’s similar to the car that was captured on our surveillance camera at Ink Me.
I’m pushed into the back seat, the two men entering and sitting either side of me, and the car takes off into the dead of night. I hear my phone’s ringtone, and Franco takes it out of his pocket and laughs at whatever he sees on the screen. When Franco puts the phone up in front of my face, I can see it’s Quill calling me. “Looks like your president is looking for his VP. Too bad he doesn’t know where you are.”
I glare at Franco as he switches the phone off and places it back in his pocket. That’s okay, motherfucker, you’ll get what’s coming to you.
We drive into an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere. The lights inside are dim and I can see people standing in the centre of the large building, but I don’t get to focus too long. Once the SUV stops, the doors are opened and I’m shoved out one side by Franco, once again his gun pushing into my back. It takes everything in me to hold myself back from thrusting a fist into his smug face.
I’m pushed forward until I’m standing in front of the man himself.
Santana.
He’s standing there in a pinstriped navy suit, gold cufflinks gleaming even in the muted light, and a red tie standing stark against his crisp white shirt. His black hair is slicked back, just like Franco’s, but the difference is that Santana is going gray on the sides.
He’s smoking a cigar, and smirks when I’m a couple of feet away from him. “Ah, Hawke, you made it. I take it your flight was an enjoyable one?”
“Cut to the chase, Santana. I’m not here for small talk. You wanted me here, I’m here, so spit it out. What do you want?” I bark out in case he didn’t get the idea I wanted to get down to business.
My arms are suddenly folded up behind my back, and I feel a slight sting at the uncomfortable stretch of muscle. “Watch your mouth, puta,” Franco growls in my ear.
“Franco!” Santana shouts. “Let him go.”
My arms are freed, and I stand to my full height again. I look around the warehouse. There are men above, leaning on railings holding machine guns on us, but no sign of Josie.
“Where’s Josie?” I demand, my heart sinking at the thought she might already be dead. That I was too late.
Santana puffs on his cigar as he walks closer, blowing the smoke over my face when he’s in front of me. I clench my jaw and look straight into his dark brown eyes.
“She is fine. First we talk business, then I will show you Josie.”
I shake my head. “Not gonna fucking happen, I need to see she’s okay.”
“Are you giving me orders, Hawke?”
“Not orders, Santana, an option,” I say sternly.
He laughs, but it’s not genuine. “You have some balls on you, Hawke,” he says before sucking on his cigar again. He inches closer, and leans into my side. “But I like that,” he whispers in my ear.
I swallow hard because I’m playing with fire here. Santana could have me shot at any time, but for whatever reason I’m choosing to test him.
Giving me his back, he turns toward the men above us. “Javier, bring the girl.”
I look up at this Javier. He’s holding a machine gun, and nods down at Santana. “On it, boss.”
Javier walks to one of the closed doors behind him, and opens it. Only seconds later he’s dragging Josie out the room. She looks a mess. Black mascara streaks down her cheeks, telling me she’s been crying, and I can hear her sobs even though her mouth’s covered by the dirty rag tied around her head.
Her eyes show hope when she sees me, and I yell up to her, “You okay, Josie?”
She cries even more, but nods her head.
Santana looks from Josie to me. “She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” I don’t reply, and he laughs. “Oh, that’s right, you two are not together anymore. So you won’t mind if I have a taste?”
My fists clench at my side. I may not still be with Josie, but I can’t allow this fucker to rape her. Josie doesn’t deserve that.
Santana looks down at my fists, and smirks. “You still care for her, don’t you, Hawke?”
I don’t reply, just look Santana in the eye. “Get to the point, Santana. What do you want?”
“Please,” he says, gesturing for me to sit at a nearby table and chairs. On the table is some whisky, and my mouth dries at the vision. I could do with a drink right now.
I follow Santana and take a seat. He lifts the bottle of whisky and pours two glasses. I quickly take mine, and down the whole drink.
“Another?”
I nod, and Santana fills my glass again. I grasp it in my hand and swirl it around this time.
“Okay, Santana, you wanted me here, I’m here. Cut to the chase, what do you want?”
He takes a sip of his whisky, and taps the glass on the table. “What do I want?” he repeats. “I asked you here, Hawke, because I need you to influence your president. And I think you can do it.”
I inhale deeply. “Influence my president to do what?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Your president and his club interfered in my business. Usually, I would have you all killed, but I’m willing to reconsider if you convince your president to be my New York distributor.”
And there it is; I should have known. Quill’s father was Santana’s previous distributor, and we used to help with the transportation of drugs once it arrived at our docks. Quill only did it because his old man had a hold on him, had the power to have him thrown back in jail if he didn’t follow his father’s orders. But that ended when Quill took his old man’s life. It had to be done. We don’t talk about it, but when his old man abducted Jasmine, and used her as a pawn to get Quill to continue to smuggle the drugs, Quill got his revenge.
“So let me get this straight,” I say sitting back in my chair. “You want my club to take over from where Quill’s old man left off?”
“I see you are getting the point.”
“And what if I was to say no?”
I see Santana’s knuckles whiten as he squeezes his glass. “Well I would say, Hawke, that you can kiss Josie and your club goodbye.”
My eyes look up and lock on Josie’s. “She’s nothing to me anymore, Santana. You wanna kill her, go ahead.” I spit the words out, and struggle to conceal my panic.
He laughs huskily. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” I repeat, taking another sip of my whisky and calling his bluff.
“Well then, you won’t mind if I fuck her with this.” He removes a blade from inside his jacket and points it at me, running a finger over its edges. I hear a sob from above, and I don’t need to look up to know Josie is the one crying.
Still trying to call his bluff, I cross my arms over my chest. “Go ahead, Santana.”
“Javier!” he orders looking up to the railings above.
“Yes, boss?”
“Bring her down here.”
I watch as Javier grabs Josie’s arm and pushes her forward. She tries to fight back but is no match for Javier’s strength. He’s muscled and strong-looking, she’s skinny and looks as if she hasn’t eaten in days. Her skirt sits low on her hips, showing how much weight she’s lost recently.
Once down the stairs, Javier drags her to our table. He pulls her arms around her back, holding them there so tightly her eyes squint with the pain.
I grind my teeth when Santana slides the point of the blade down the side of Josie’s face, leaving a slim cut, and blood starts dripping down her cheek. Her eyes plead with me to do something, her look fucking heart-wrenching. Her screams are muffled by the rag covering her mouth, and Santana looks over to me, the blade now pointing at Josie’s neck.
“Did you know that this little puta owes me ten thousand dollars?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “For what?”
“Did she not tell you she was selling for me on the streets? The only problem is, she was sniffing more than she was selling. Isn’t that right, puta?” he says, piercing her skin again with the point of his blade.
She’s fucking working for Santana? Fuck, Josie, what have you gotten yourself into?
Tears fall from her eyes as the knife travels lower, cutting her white lacy top open and revealing her breasts and stomach. Her chest is rising fast as she struggles to breathe, and I don’t miss a beat when he pushes the knife beneath the center of her bra and cuts it open. Her breasts are now on full display, her nipples erect as the coolness of the warehouse hits them.
“Beautiful,” Santana says as he caresses her nipples, but then squeezes them tightly, causing Josie to scream. “It’s a pity I will be cutting these nipples off.”
Josie’s head snaps to me, her eyes wide.
Fuck my life.
The blade outlines the curve of her left breast, and once again Santana pulls on her nipple and places the blade just above it. I hear Josie’s muffled cries as the blade cuts into her skin, and my hands grip the edge of the table, the only thing holding me back from beating the fuck out of Santana.
“Stop it!” I finally yell. “All right, you fucking win. Just stop.”
“Ah,” Santana says placing the blade down on the table in front of him. I look over to Josie, her eyes are closed in relief. “You’re a smart man, Hawke.”
I finish the contents of my glass and smash it down on the table. “Let her go, I’ll do what you want.”
Santana looks over to Josie, and then Javier. “Let her go.”
“But, boss,” Franco interrupts. “We didn’t get to have some fun.” I notice he adjusts his cock as he looks over at Josie’s tits.
“Ah, Franco, you greedy man. Don’t worry, I have women waiting for us at the house. You’ll get a blow job tonight.”
Franco smiles at Santana, then looks at me and straightens his face.
“Franco!” Santana yells. “Take the lady home, will you? Javier, go with him and make sure she’s not touched by Franco’s wandering hands,” Santana demands, lifting his chin toward Franco.
Javier unties the rag from around Josie’s mouth, and she sobs and falls to the floor. I immediately jump out of my seat and squat down in front of her. I embrace her, and she cries on my shoulder. “Thank you, Reece. Thank you.”
Josie finally pulls back and looks me in the eye, running the backs of her fingers down my cheek. “Thank you for sparing my life.”
I nod at her. “This is not over, Josie, we need to talk. Now go,” I demand, and she nods in understanding. She struggles to stand again so I help her up, and she sways slightly. I go to steady her but Franco grabs her arm instead, and pulls her roughly toward the SUV.
“If I find out you’ve laid one finger on her, I’ll hunt you down and kill you,” I warn him. He just looks back at me and smiles wolfishly.
I feel Santana’s hand on my arm, and I pull back, making it drop away from me. “Don’t worry, Hawke, she will not be touched, or else Franco will have to deal with me.”
I look at Santana and lift my chin, letting him know I got it.
“Please sit,” he asks, and I do.