Page 7 of Filthy Love

“Why have two dogs and bark yourself.” He said turning to Krusher. “It’s what the fuck prospects are for, old man. You could have broken a hip or some shit like that.”

Krusher frowned in a kicked puppy sort of way, hobbled along the bar and began picking up debris. “I like doing for myself. Keeps me youthful.”

Youthful. Hawk was positive the old man was on first name terms with the crypt keeper.

He’d met Krusher on his first night at the MC after having a short talk with Ty the prez to get himself situated. The old man shuffled up, introduced himself with a shaky hand and proceeded to tell Hawk his whole fucking life story without drawing breath, starting back in the dark ages with Jesus and the dinosaurs.

With a beer and a plate of food in front of him Hawk had done his best to ignore the old timer, but found himself listening idly, because what the hell, not like Hawk could kill the man, he was older than Moses for fucks sake, so he listened, and he learned some stuff. Turns out Krusher was quite the man back in his day, first a sergeant at arms and then moved into the enforcer role. He’d earned his stripes tenfold, according to Ty. Now retired from any active club business, Krusher was more of a mascot nowadays, having lost his wife he stayed around to help the men.

Hawk found himself unconsciously over the weeks looking out for the old man.

He must have rocks for brains. Caretaker wasn’t in his wheelhouse.

As it went he didn’t mind the old timer. At least, he tolerated him, and his constant rambling more than he did most. He never pushed Hawk to talk, instead Krusher filled in the silence with his stories.

On any given day Hawk was divinely hollow inside and numb to the general out-crying of emotions every person around seemed to go through. Pitiful and exhausting as far as he could tell. A lot of crying from bitches, and the same amount of whining from his own species.

Allergic to every emotion.

For fucks sake he was forced to listen to twenty minutes of Snake’s borderline bitch-fest on a conference call with church last night. No man needed that shit in his life. And it seemed to domino when Arson joined in and then Tag, that prince fucking charming fuck-monkey. Only Reaper kept his trap shut, now he was a guy Hawk could tolerate for the way he ghosted in and out of their lives and barely said a word or stuck his nose in.

When Krusher went to see what the shop boys were up to, Hawk pulled out his cell, scrolled his messages. He answered the one from Lawless first.

Lawless:Whatcha got for me, smiler?

Hawk:Sending email now.

He switched out the app and found what he was looking for to forward to Lawless back in Colorado who’d been busy the last few days hacking into Rex’s expenses. What Hawk found wasn’t much of anything really since the bastard wasn’t big on a paper trail. A few shady businesses Rex invested in, and some intel given by Ty on Rex and his two sons. It wasn’t much, but until the old crone slipped up and bragged something he shouldn’t, Hawk was collecting everything, including watching Rex’s sons who were once in the MC life but no more, having changed their cuts for a car dealership. An excommunicated member wasn’t even allowed back through an MC door so for Rex to show his face around here even once in hopes of worming his way in with another chapter after so long as if his shit still didn’t stink, Hawk thought he was a piece of work.

Add in that Rider’s dad was possibly involved somewhere along the chain with his elder brother’s subterfuge with the RussianBratvaand it wasn’t looking good for the Marinos family.

Just like that he was thinking of Gia again.

Fucks sake. He had a goddamn disease eating out the back of his brain.

Lawless:You know how to thrill me. Gonna dig into this today.

Hawk:I’m tailing son #1 today. He’s shifty as fuck. The other is a pussy. Can’t see him involved with Russians.

Lawless:Apples don’t fall far from the rotten tree. Keep updated.

Hawk snorted. Rotten apples. True enough. His own apple was putrid right to the core, wasn’t it?

Being in the same town as Gia was giving him a major head fuck, to the point five times this week he was sure he heard her voice, only to give himself whiplash in his haste to look. To find out he really was a crazy fucker.

He stayed far from her.

And hungered to crawl near.

Catching her phantom scent everywhere.

What was she doing? Did she have a date with the Clark Kent bastard who carried the briefcase? Maybe she was taking a hot bubble bath.

Fuck, what he’d give to be the one to run her a bath at the end of the day with all that smelly gunk chicks liked to dump in the water and then carry her naked to the bathroom and submerge her weary body into the water and then maybe he’d—grow a new set of balls, since the ones he had between his legs had turned him into a royal, fucking pussy.

Growling his utter self-disgust for the course his thoughts had taken him and how easily they’d gone there, he grabbed at a fist full of blond hair, the pain radiating through his scalp bringing him back to reality. Specs guy could do all that soft shit for her. Hawk wouldn’t know one end of romance from the other if his life depended on it and he figured a woman like the little bit of a thing would want things like that from her man.

Normal things. From a normal man.

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