Page 78 of You've Got The Love
“You start without me?” Jack’s voice is calm, even bored. But the edge under it is steel.
“Just started,” I say.
“And Amber?”
I don’t answer. She’s somewhere behind these bastards, locked up, and every second we spend here is another she spends in that room.
Hawk glances at Jack, clocks the way his men stand—loose but ready. “Two for one, Chains,” he drawls. “Must be important to both of you.”
“She ain’t important,” Jack says, stepping slightly ahead of me. His voice is flat. “She’s everything. And you’re going to hand her over.”
Hawk’s grin says he’s been waiting for that. “Maybe. You’ve got one hour to give me what I want. You drag your feet… she stays with me. And she won’t be walking anywhere by the time I’m done with her.”
Inside, I go cold. On the outside, I give him nothing. But he’s smart enough to know his words hit home.
The wiry Brit on Hawk’s left pulls a phone from his pocket. “You want proof she’s breathin’?” He taps the screen and hands it over.
The video’s grainy, but I’d know her in a blackout.Amber. On the floor, her back to the wall, knees drawn in. Wrists bound. Eyes locked on the camera steady. But I see the truth in the small things: the tightness at her mouth, the stiffness in her shoulders, the controlled, deliberate breathing.
“Say hello, princess,” a voice purrs from somewhere off-screen.
The gag’s in, she can’t fucking speak. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. She stares into the lens like she’s trying to burn through it and reach me.
“That’s enough,” I snap. My voice is sharper than I intended.
The wiry prick smirks, but Hawk takes the phone from him, slips it into his cut. “She’s alive. She’s fine—fornow.”
Jack’s voice cuts in, even, low. “Here’s the deal. You get your guys back, I get my daughter whole. If she’s not, I’ll start takin’ pieces off you until we’re fuckin’ even.”
Hawk tilts his head like he’s weighing it. “We’ll see. I want confirmation. Clock’s ticking.”
“You’ll have it,” Jack says.
Hawk’s hand shifts. It’s small, almost lazy, but I track it. He dips under his cut, and then steel catches the floodlight—a gun, black and cold. He levels it at my chest.
“See,” Hawk says, conversational, “I don’t like deals I can’t enforce.” His thumb drags the slide back with a metallic hiss, chambering a round. “One wrong move, I drop you before your girl’s daddy here can fuckin’ blink.”
I lock my stance. My gaze doesn’t leave his. If he’s looking for a flinch, he won’t find it here.
Jack doesn’t even shift his weight. His voice comes low and lethal. “If you shoot him, Hawk, you’ll be chokin’ on your own blood before you hit the fuckin’ water.”
For one long second, the only sound is the tide slapping the pilings and the hum of the floodlight. Then Hawk lowers the gun, slow and deliberate, sliding it back under his cut. The threat stays.
He grins. “Better hurry. Pretty bitch like that… I might get bored waitin’.”
The hour grinds past like rusted chain. Jack takes calls—short, clipped, no wasted words. His men shift positions, scanning the shadows beyond the dock’s light. I stay where I am, watching Hawk, picturing her.
Not the grainy version on the phone. TherealAmber. Sitting on a cabin floor in her bare feet, brushing her thumb over my cheek. Laughing once—head tilted back—because I told her one of Abel’s godawful knock-knock jokes that wasn’t even a joke. I think about her breathing in a small, locked room, listening for footsteps, forcing herself to stay calm.
Jack’s phone buzzes. He checks, answers, speaks ten words and hangs up. His eyes cut to Hawk. “London’s ready.”
Hawk’s eyebrows tick up. “Is that right?”
Jack lifts his chin toward Hawk’s man with the phone. “Put your people on. Live.”
The wiry fucker snorts like it’s a game but taps again, then flips the screen outward. A video call blinks into focus: a dim clubhouse room, wood panelling, a torn banner. Two men on a couch—banged up, pissed off, breathing. Behind them, a clock on the wall says 23:18. A hand we don’t see holds the camera steady.
“Talk,” Hawk says.
