Page 44 of Filthy Love

Only Hawk was smarter than the monster residing in his head.

Theysaid he was evil,theysaid he was a cancer.

Well nothing bad would touch his little bit of a thing, not while he breathed.

He didn't believe a word of what they'd preached to him. But it still lived in his skin. The dirt. His own filth. There was no amount of washing to make himself good for Gia, was there? Fuck knows he'd tried over the years.

Earn her. Hawk had thought.

Win her.

It was all no good.

Nightmares were a thing of his past. He walked and breathed among them, he didn’t need them in his sleep as well.

Be her friend? Fucking torture. But he’d take it. He’d take it in both hands and cradle it.

And when she got a boyfriend deserving of her? He’d kill him.

Fuck.

No. That’s not what friends do. He’d be happy for her.

Fuck that,he growled internally. His blood turning to battery acid at the thought of some lucky bastard with his hands all over Gia.

He’d kill that guy.

CHAPTER NINE

“With this lick I thee own …” - Hawk

He couldn’t even claim a depraved dream woke him.

Not when he hadn’t closed his eyes yet.

It was 2:30 in the morning according to the clock on his cell phone and Hawk was so fucking hard he was clawing at the inside of his own brain for relief.

A flashback of many nights in this situation over the years where a thought of Gia would escalate so fierce and fast he was left to resort to screwing any bitch to expunge the one woman he couldn’t have.

Even if he were at the club, no chick would appeal. No one interested him in months, and even then, it was a stretch to say he felt any true arousal because whoever was bent over for him. They were a means to an end.

It was always Gia. Beginning, middle and the end.

He’d used scores of women’s bodies for his sickness and still here he was in her house, his addiction scratching the inside of his chest cavity.

If he were in the clubhouse he’d find a bottle of whatever liquor was closest to hand. Or he’d smoke until his head was occupied with anything other than his addiction.

He was far too aware she was sleeping just beyond that thin wall. Probably in a pair of shorts with her butt hanging out of them. Or naked. So damn naked his mouth dried up.

Hawk shot up off the bed, grabbed the pair of sweat pants and yanked them angrily over his legs leaving them hanging on his waist.

She was in there now, burrowed in the downy comforter, warm and possibly, gloriously naked. Her skin warm to the touch.

Inviting.

Scraping both hands over his perverted face, he paced.

Needing a bullet to the brain. Or a fucking muzzle for his thoughts.

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