CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“When the past rings the doorbell … what do you do?” - Hawk

 

“Motherfuckin' Russian asshole is scraping on my last damn nerve.” Complained Rider as he climbed off his custom-built bike. Hawk followed suit climbing down off his Harley, and he fell into a strong step with his prez.

He'd seen Rider in these moods before.

It was impossible to live the outlaw life and expect to suck on daisies all day long.

Trouble came. Trouble went.

It was a hard life at times. Dangerous was a given. But this new strain of irritation was felt by every patched member. Rider especially. It was making the top man antsy as fuck.

They'd just arrived back into town after a closed meeting with Jamie Steele over at the Apollo Kingsmen MC.

Two Prez's. Two VPs and a locked door.

They'd discussed murder like they were organizing a summer tea party and needed to decide on which fancy cakes to have catered.

“It's as Steele said. We put Grigori six feet under now we're just begging his boss to send someone else, plus, it'll come with a side order of a hit on you or all of us. You really wanna wake up dead, Ri?”

Rider cast him a raised brow which morphed into a scowl. “This from my resident bloodbath maker. Thought you'd be the first one on the kill the asshole bandwagon.”

Hawk scoffed. “You know I got a hurt on to kill him and if that’s what you decide I’ll do it.” More so after what the Russian had dared do to Gia. “But we've looked at it front and back and the way to get him to go the fuck back to his cold country is to cut off his funds. While he thinks we're cool with him running his illegals through he hasn’t seen how we're chopping down his money tree.”

Lawless was all over getting Grigori’s funds siphoned to an untraceable account assisted by Texas.

They kept on walking.

Streets were overflowing with people in and out of the bars on main street.

It felt good to stretch his legs.

Even now people sensed to keep a good space between themselves and Hawk.

Hawk added when Rider didn't reply.

 “Didn't say we couldn't take out his generals though. Leave little Grigori all alone and vulnerable with no one at his side.”

Rider chuckled.

“There's the killer I know. We hit him at the money and his crew and send him back home with the message that trying to take Colorado is more trouble than it’s worth.” Before they stepped into Santino’s bar Rider asked. “You agreeing with Steele. Another first. What's got into you lately?”

Keeping his trap shut was the easy part. Not telling anyone about the shit that went on inside his head was second nature. Besides which it gave Hawk the scratch anything touchy-feely. That was if it wasn't Gia related and he didn't reckon Rider would wanna know what had his mood elevated was because his little bit was his sanity.

She made him fucking laugh yesterday, swear to god he nearly had a ruptured rib or something like that. All the while Gia shined her special grin at him like he'd bought her diamonds.

He read once that chicks loved the gems.

Maybe he'd see about getting her something nice.

Did they make thanks for the fucks jewelry? Maybe not. What the hell did he know anyways about doing something nice? Two nights after he’d been in heaven between Gia’s thighs he still didn’t have any fucking answers to what he did now.

There was no putting his obsession back in its box, that much he knew.

“Just good to be back home.” He said. “C’mon, he’s already here.” He gestured to a back table.

“Rider. Hawk.” Charlie Timmons the local sheriff rose and greeted them both, shaking Rider’s hand. Hawk kept his in his pockets but slid into a seat opposite the do-gooder law man dressed in civilian clothes. “You gonna explain what I’m doing here instead of home with my wife in front of a shitty movie she loves, or you wanna keep being a cryptic bastard?” Asked Charlie.

Santino’s wasn’t the usual haunt for any of the Souls, but they were known everywhere and would be afforded privacy from the other drunks and idiots in there. If nothing else seeing Hawk sitting at the table tended to keep people away.

The do-gooder with his sweep of blond hair and just all around fucking angelic demeanour despite his shit job had known Rider since they were kids. But you take an outlaw who thumbed his nose at the law and a cop and you’d find they didn’t have much in common.

Only, Charlie and Rider both loved the town and from what the brothers heard, Charlie had been dealing with shit problems from Grigori’s men for a few months now. Mainly drunken disorderly, handling stolen goods, harassing woman and causing a disturbance wherever they went. But since Grigori had a team of lawyers no charges could ever stick to the bratva.

Hawk idly listened to the conversation between the two men. He knew the deal already so didn’t need to chime in. Besides which, he was Rider’s right-hand man, he let the boss do the talking while he sat and looked scary.

At that Hawk’s phone vibrated. He frowned looking at the Nebraska area code. Pressing red, it wouldn’t go to voicemail because he hated those things and deactivated the service.

It rang again immediately. And then again. And again.

Fuck.

He rose from the table. “Be a minute.” He gruffed to his president, striding outside. “What?” He barked into the phone, irritated.

And then his fucking belly hit his shoes, bile hurtled into his throat like it was gonna win first place in a race.

“Colton, baby, I need ….” The female voice purred, making him murderous.

Everything chilled over. Bones, nervous system, his fucking bloodstream all turned to icebergs. Hawk felt his throat lock up, struggling to even swallow even though his mouth was Sahara dry.

He didn’t know his free hand had fisted until he rested it to the brick wall.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, venom pouring through him in an alarming rate. “Seriously, go fucking die.”

He hung up and immediately blocked the number.

A scream raced across the landscape of his mind.

Without thought, his head hissing too loudly with voices and dark whispers and a sickening homicidal taste coating the back of his throat, he cocked back his fist, repeatedly punched the brick.

Teeth clenched.

He hammered the wall until his bones begged for him to stop, blood oozing from the broken skin.

Huffing like a monster, he felt all his deranged self as he paced four feet one way and then back again. Repeating it on a loop, cursing to himself like an animal would in the wild if it were afforded a human voice.

It was murky, unhinged, inaudible mutterings.

Answering to inner thoughts that should have been long gone, but no fucker would ever let him forget. Her fucking voice. It grated like broken glass.

Taking a huge gulp of air, he knew he’d been outside too long when people fell out of the bar laughing. He straightened from the wall, used the front of his shirt to mop up what he could of the blood, only now feeling the tug of pain on his hand, he zipped his jacket masking the stain and shoved both hands inside the pockets before striding inside.

Both Rider and Charlie were standing prepared to leave.

“Everything sorted?” He managed to ask around the bolder of crap in his throat.

The cop looked at him probingly as if he could see down to Hawk’s guts and he didn’t want any person knowing what was down there, so he scowled like a degenerate at the innocent guy. He knew what he saw when people looked at him, if they got past his scary demeanor. His face was a constant canvas of inscrutability and that’s how he liked it. He didn’t want no one in his face let alone his head.

“Seems to be. So, you’re in, right? This makes sense for both of us, Charlie.” Rider asked the guy. And Charlie nodded reluctantly. “Just … fuck, just try not to get ya ass in my cells okay? Not much I can do for you if you’re on a rap sheet. I’ll do what I can on my end. This ends well without fatalities, you got it?”

Hawk and Rider left first, retracing their steps back to the bikes.

Rider kept right on yapping his gums, but Hawk heard none of it.

Left and right the sickness slopped in his belly.

It was nebulously fucking depressing that at thirty-seven he was still dealing with shit he couldn’t drop off the edge of the earth. That the kind of person he was with several wires not working real good meant he had coping mechanisms that screamed to be utilized to dull the noise as he threw a leg over his bike. He could only think of pouring his fury into someone until they gathered all his pain and he’d be blessedly empty again.

“You fuckin’ listenin’ to me?” He caught, and he switched his gaze to find Rider’s eyes on Hawk’s hand around the bike gears. “The fuck happened there?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.” He lied.

“Asked you a question, Hawk. The fuck happened? Who called you?”

Hawk cocked a brow. “You wanna climb down off my dick? It was nothing.”

“A busted hand is nothing? You either killed some fucker in those ten minutes you were gone, or you’ve taken to scraping your hands on the floor like a gorilla.”

Any other time he might have cracked a partial grin.

Twitching his jaw, he revved the engine, kicked off the foot stand.

“You good, man?” Asked Rider in that concerned voice of his that any decent man had in him somewhere. Hawk hated pity. He’d rather have his fucking head chewed off by a cobra than have someone’s pity and not his best friend’s.

“I’m fucking fine,” he growled. “Christ, Rider, we don’t always gotta be in fucking touch with our feelings, for fucks sake. Having an old lady has turned you into a damn pussy.”

He wanted Rider to climb off his bike and crack Hawk’s skull against the concrete floor. Anything was better than the look in his buddy’s eyes.

Rider didn’t do anything but lean his forearms against the handlebars. Calm and collected. Watchful. “You’re acting like you’re on the fuckin’ rag, brother. You gotta get away for a few days?”

Fuck. Fuck. That was code for Rider thought he was being an unstable asshole and maybe he ought to go out of town for a few days, fuck pussy until he was dry, drink liquor until he couldn’t walk, smoke a few dozen pipes and maybe cause damage to someone’s face. Anything to get him back level again.

Rider didn’t even know the half of it.

He’d never done any of those fucking things. When he’d gone out of town it was to Texas to be like a fucking predator to spy on Gia.

“I’m out.” He said between clenched teeth.

“Don’t make me pull fuckin’ rank on your ass, Hawk.” Rider said, looking like he was gonna get off his bike. Maybe he could throw down with his prez, have Rider bust his face and a few bones.

He swallowed around the fire of bile in his throat.

“I’m fucking fine, dad. Gonna get some pussy if you don’t have objections. Don’t wait up.”

With a hard rev of the Harley engine, the pipes rumbling like a tank under him, the vibrations traveled from his legs right up to his brain, he roared off down the street.

Only one destination in mind.

Knowing he was gonna use Gia for sex in the same way he’d used bitches over the years as a mood stabilizer made him feel sick to his stomach. But the moment she opened the door with her face flushed and her mouth dropping open with a surprised O shape he didn’t feel so bad when he grabbed her up around the armpits, kicked the door closed and attached her sweet fucking lips letting her flavor tame the monster as only she could.

Getting with the program instantly and thank fucking god for that, she wrapped her legs, popped her hips when he skimmed his wanting hands down into the knee length shorts without unfastening them first and finger-fucked her into the fastest orgasm he’d ever witnessed.

“God. Hi.” She whimper-laughed into his mouth doing her own attacking on his tongue.

She soaked his hand.

It made the monster inside his head snarl with satisfaction.

When he was making her come he didn’t have room to think about anything else. Couldn’t let the past creep in any cracks. It was all about Gia.

She was his woman to undo. His woman to make soft and pliable.

His woman to fuck against the hallway table and that’s what he did.

There's no telling who dove in first, only their kiss became desperate real damn fast.

Hawk angled his head down and ate her alive.

“I need to give you one fuck of an orgasm.” He rasped. “Ready to let a disreputable man inside you? Widen your legs so I can see where I want to fuck you.”

With a rough series of tugs, he finally freed his pants. His arms felt like rubber. She tried to give him a heart attack with her legs squeezing his internal muscles.

Perfection. She was his in those frantic hallway seconds. All fucking his.

“Sweet, beautiful girl.” He husked sucking on her lower lip.

Hawk had no good thoughts left in his mind.

Her mouth was everywhere on his neck, fingers rough in his hair. Her fucking pelvis jerking against his dick fast enough to make him see pops of light.

 “A filthy man is about to slide all your sweet-tasting pussy juices down on his cock. Hold onto me tight, Gia.”

“Please. Yes, Oh, Please.” She begged sweetly.

It was. Pure. Unadulterated. Sex.

He railed his little bit with about as much finesse as a bull in a china shop.

He fucked her through a second orgasm and pulled his dripping length free of the heaven he wanted to die inside of. Hard and wet, he grabbed his dick at the base, watched her eyes cloudy and full of lust as she leaned into the wall panting. It was a strong, dizzying feeling to know he’d put that fulfilled look in her eyes, he was the one who made her scream his name and her goddamn too-tight pussy to shake around him.

Now he wanted something filthier.

What the fuck, he was a monster, right?

Monsters liked dirty things.

Monsters liked owning pretty things and little girls who should know better who they let in their doors.

 “Lift up your shirt,” he hissed through his teeth and didn’t she just smile at him and reveal her perfect tits. Fuck, she killed him. “Gonna come on those pretty, good-girl tits.” He told her stroking it out.

She gave him saucy words of encouragement but all he heard was white static.

He exploded at the seams, at the nuts and bolts of his body, spilling and spilling until he dripped onto the clean floor and all over Gia’s flawlessness. Her tits glistened, two fucking perfectly plump snow-capped mountains.

His come dribbled down her belly, gathered on her pussy and with the flat of her hand she undid all his rage by rubbing it in and mewled like a cat in heat.

Nothing had ever felt so good as feeling Gia come apart for him, he’d go to his miserable grave knowing how constricted she squeezed that pussy.

Nor the way she smiled all the way through him cleaning her up.

And later when he tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead even though she was already dead to the world he sat a while and watched her, his predator habits hard to break. She murmured his name in her sleep, and he recalled the way she’d declared she loved him.

Loving a deviant would only bring her heartache.

He was a fucking fool for messing with her, but now he was trapped.

He loved the little bit of a thing more than he could ever love anyone.

He wanted a future with her. At least another day, another week.

He would make ten more minutes last him a lifetime.

She made him be not so … himself.

And no fucking shadows from his cracks were gonna ruin that.

He kissed her again, inhaling her scent and left quietly.

From his experience, bad blood was not only difficult to wash, it was next to impossible. Once it soaked down to the soul, in that place that should always remain untouched, the stain was set.

It was the dead of night, just when deviants like him functioned best.

He was cash rich, and ethically poor for how he earned that money, but it meant nothing if he couldn’t grab a few good moments with Gia before his life all went to shit.

Within the hour he’d overnighted a package full of money that equalled to ten grand.

He sent it to Nebraska in hopes it would keep them quiet for another six months.

He could have a good six months with Gia.

Soak every sweet drop of her in, take her down to his soul.

Be happy.