Page 5 of Filthy Love

Could she give up without even trying?

But as any Marinos could attest. She didn’t give up easily. Not when she wanted something—someone.

Waiting a decade was far too long.

******

There was two very important things people didn’t know about Colton Hawk.

One; If you called him Colton he wouldn’t give you a fair warning never to do it again.

He would straight up fucking kill you.

He hated the name and hated the bitch that spat him out who gave it to him.

And two; He worshipped, completely obsessed over a woman who was so far out of his league he would need to catch three connecting buses to even have a shot at licking her zip code.

That was Hawk in a nutshell.

The unstable, deranged, or some would assume from his outwardly attitude offuck you, Vice President of the disreputable criminally minded MC, Colorado chapter.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

Even now he questioned Rider on how smart of a decision was it to put him as second in command of the entire MC when they all knew he was a hair-trigger away from exploding at any given time. Rider said he knew what he was doing.

The biased opinion of his oldest friend.

If you asked Hawk, Lawless would have been a better candidate. So, what if the guy liked to put the hurt on people. So, did Hawk, but Lawless had the cool, collected smart to go with it. No one should ever look to Hawk to lead.

He was better on his own. Though he missed home. He missed the numbing nothingness he felt most of the time in Colorado breathing the mountain air.

Knowing Gia was in the same area was fucking him up in ways he couldn’t put into words.

Jittery.

His skin too tight.

He couldn’t quit his obsession. Therein lies the rub. Any sane man would have dropped the fancy for the unattainable a long time ago.

She was a damn baby.

Or she was when he scraped his ugly, perverted eyes on her that first time.

She was too damn young when he kissed her, too.

A woman could do a lot of damage, he’d seen it first-hand. He wore the scars, he didn’t need a T-shirt advertising. He watched now as his closest allies tied themselves in knots over their old lady’s. Lowering their pride and becoming something other than the hard-worn men he’d worked alongside since he was a boy.

It wasn’t normal.

And he had to wonder—because Hawk was not the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to women and reading body language—what was the big deal?

He’d been called a woman hater many times, just because he didn’t date, didn’t want to fucking date, cuddle, talk or anything else with a woman other than stick his dick in her for five minutes.

And don’t fucking touch him either.

But observing his brothers in their weird … happiness, or so the delusion told, he felt as though he was stuck in place. Trapped in the web of a woman he couldn’t have, wouldn’t allow it, more to the point, for valid reasons that all started and ended with him being a dirty piece of shit.

But he wondered sometimes.

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