Page 53 of Hawk

A switchblade opened behind me on my left side, and even as I braced for impact, I scrambled to get my own blade. I wrapped my hand around the smooth wooden handle of the blade just as the blade pierced the skin of my back and sliced down from left to right.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” Yeah, that hurt like a motherfucker, but I shoved that pain down deep and pushed onto one foot and then the other. When I was sure of my footing, I opened my blade and spun quickly, slashing across the chest of the first person I encountered. He cried out and I smashed the handle with my palm, burying the knife deep into his shoulder joint.

“Fuck,” he cried out, and dropped to his knees.

I smiled, but my triumph was short-lived when another hit landed on the back of my head. “Shit.” My vision blurred and the sounds around me came from far away. I was down, but I wasn’t out, not yet and not completely. “Don’t. Know. Buzzard.” I didn’t know why I was still trying to convince these assholes of anything, but it was all I could think to do until I came up with a better plan.

“Bullshit.” A grunt sounded and then the distinct sound of a fist landing against bone and then a fall.

“You fuckers don’t like a fair fight, I see.” It was Rocky’s voice, but I was sure it was a hallucination because there was no fucking way they were here.

“How about now, assholes?” That was Rebel’s voice, and when I flipped over onto my back to see that they were both real, a slow smile spread across my face.

“What took you fuckers so long?” I jumped to my feet and wobbled just a bit before I spun and punched the first Merc I spotted. In the next few minutes it was an all-out brawl. Fists flew, kicks landed, and pained grunts made a symphony of sounds.

Fifteen minutes later, the Mercs limped away back to their bikes. “This shit ain’t over. Until Buzzard is free, we’re at war, motherfuckers.”

I was doubled over with my hands on my knees. “Anybody know who the fuck Buzzard is?”

“No idea,” Rebel answered, and shook his head. “Should we?”

I nodded and spat out some blood. “Yeah, because, apparently, I snitched to the cops and got this Buzzard asshole locked up. He’s looking at fifteen years and they’re pissed.”

“We have to get to the bottom of this shit,” Diesel said. “It’s becoming a problem.” That faraway look in his eyes said he was reaching his breaking point.

“I’m not a fucking snitch,” I shouted at my brothers, even though I shouldn’t have to.

Diesel’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, Hawk, we fucking know that. When the hell did you get so damn sensitive?”

I frowned. “When you didn’t back me up with the Vipers.”

Rocky clapped his hand on my shoulder. “It don’t matter what they think, brother. Let them think there’s friction in our ranks. Let them think we’re fighting and fractured. It works to our benefit.”

“It has to be Los Ochos,” I said instead of responding to Rocky. “This all started with them.”

“Technically, it started with Laura,” Rebel offered up with a smart-ass smirk on his face. “They want her, and right now we have no good reason not to hand her over.”

“She’s a fucking civilian,” I countered angrily. “An innocent one at that.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that you like her, right? Too fucking much.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. “Irrelevant. The point is that I promised her I would help her, and I will. But that doesn’t mean those Ochos assholes have kept their word. Laura is safe, but they’re fucking with me. It’s time to fuck back.”

No matter what happened, no matter what Diesel said, the Ochos would have to fucking pay.

Soon.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Laura

“What the fuck, Hawk?” Two days had passed since he returned to the clubhouse with a black right eye, a split over his left eye, and a giant slash across his back which he refused to let me treat. More than forty-eight hours had come and gone since that silent ride home and the house had been a mausoleum, silent and utterly cold.

And dammit, I knew it was my fault. I hated that he was hurt, which was probably also my fault, and was willing to let the wound fester rather than let me anywhere near him. So far, I thought as I stared at the angry red slash across his back when I arrived in the kitchen. The plan had been to make him breakfast and clear the air, but, once again, he beat me to the punch.

He turned slowly, and his lips curled into a slightly amused grin. His long hair hung messily around his broad shoulders and his green eyes were oddly void of emotion. His left hand gripped the coffee mug because a few of the knuckles on his right hand were still red and swollen. “Good morning to you too, Laura.”

“No.” I pointed a finger in his direction. “Don’t do that.”

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