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.
“I’m not sure. Probably still at the bar. Please…” I whispered. “Take me home.”
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. 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.
Hawk reached back briefly and grabbed my hand, pulling it tighter around his middle. “Hold on, Trouble.”
The words were low but firm.
Then the motorcycle surged forward into the dark night.
Eight
Hawk
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet, either. This one felt heavy, like the walls had heard too much over the years and decided to keep their mouths shut about it.
I noticed shit like that.
Emma hadn’t said a word since we pulled up. Not on the bike ride, not during the walk to the front door. She moved like someone underwater—slow, distant, her eyes drifting past things instead of actually seeing them.
Shock.
