Boots shifted on the gravel as the men moved toward their bikes.
“I’ll be back later,” Hawk added.
“Got it, Prez.”
Footsteps moved away from us. Then engines roared to life. The sudden explosion of sound made me jump violently. My whole body jerked against Hawk before I could stop myself.
The motorcycles were loud—so loud the vibration seemed to shake the ground beneath my feet. One by one, the bikes peeled away, their headlights disappearing down the road until the night fell quiet again.
Only Hawk’s bike remained. And Hawk.
Slowly, his hand slid from the back of my head. Then two fingers hooked gently beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.
My eyes met his.
Up close, his gaze was intense in a way that made my stomach flip. Dark eyes studied me carefully, like he was trying to read something beneath the surface.
“You better tell me what the fuck happened to you tonight,” he said quietly.
His voice wasn’t loud, but there was a weight behind the words that made my chest tighten.
I swallowed. “A drunk asshole grabbed me outside the bar,” I said hoarsely.
His eyes darkened instantly.
I sniffed and lifted my injured arm slightly. “So I punched him.”
His gaze dropped to my wrist, and I could see the swelling had gotten worse, the joint already starting to puff up.
“I think I broke it, though.”
For a second, Hawk didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His entire body went completely still.
His eyes slowly lifted back to my face. “You dropped him?” he asked.
I wiped at my cheeks with my sleeve. “Yeah.”
Hawk let out a low breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Atta girl.”
The words were rough, but there was unmistakable approval in his voice.
Then his expression hardened again. The brief flicker of amusement vanished as quickly as it appeared. His jaw tightened. “Where is he?”
The question sat heavy in the quiet night air. But exhaustion finally caught up to me.
“Please…” I whispered. “Take me home first.”
For a moment, he just studied my face. Then he gave one small nod. “Alright.”
He grabbed his helmet from the handlebars of his bike and placed it carefully over my head. The helmet was huge—practically swallowing my face. But the gesture felt strangely gentle coming from someone who looked like him.
Hawk swung onto his motorcycle in one smooth movement. The engine rumbled softly beneath him.
I hesitated for a second before climbing on behind him. My injured wrist throbbed the moment I moved it wrong, and a sharp breath escaped me as pain shot up my arm. Carefully, I settled onto the seat behind him, my legs pressing against the sides of his.
Immediately, I noticed something: his body was solid. Not just strong—hard. Like every inch of him was carved from stone. Even through the leather of his cut, I could feel the heat radiating from his back.
I wrapped my good arm carefully around his waist. The engine roared to life beneath us, the vibration traveling through the bike and up my spine. My heart started racing again.
