Hawke: A Bad Boy Fighter Romance (With bonus book Sons of Flame MC) (12 page)

The woman took me to the side of the table. I didn’t see Jack.

“Peter,” the woman said to the skinny looking man with a thin, close cropped beard and flinty eyes in a gray suit and crimson tie, “this is Naomi. She says she knows Jack Hawke. Sounds like they’ve got history. I thought you might want to talk to her.”

The man looked at me, and then smiled a slow, vicious smile that made my heart jump and try to scramble away. “Does she now?” he asked. His voice was oily and slick, and made me feel greasy just from having heard it. He licked his lips. “By all means, then, Naomi. Have a seat and talk with us. What’s Jack’s is mine, after all.” The woman shoved me into the booth, and the two men to the oily bastard’s left scooted closer in to accommodate first me and then the blond woman as well as she slid in beside me and trapped me there. She tugged something out of her blouse and then rested both hands on the table. There were glinting, stained brass knuckles in her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Naomi,” the man said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Peter Valentino—uncrowned king of the Downs. And I expect you and I have a great deal to talk about.”

It was at that moment that I knew, without a doubt, that I was going to die.

Chapter 13

Jack

“You want another, bub?” the bartender asked.

I shook my head slowly, not looking at him. “One’s good for me, Zig.”

I stared at the last sip of cheap whiskey at the bottom of the tumbler, trying to think about anything other than Naomi. But when I wasn’t thinking about her, I was thinking about Valentino and his boys and how long it would be before they realized I wasn’t at the hospital and came looking for me. I couldn’t step foot in the Downs.

It made my options seem slim. I glanced at the clock. Naomi would be getting off soon.

I swirled the liquid in the bottom of the glass. Maybe if I just showed up, explained everything, told her how I felt. Maybe if I could figure out how I felt…

It was new. Raw, and painful like new skin over a burn. This feeling that we were connected, like she was out there, and I was in here but there was something filling the distance between us that tugged and pulled at me from inside. I never had that before, and it didn’t make any goddamn sense, and it was pointless and it hurt.

My whole life, I looked out for me. Nobody else, and nobody else did it for me. It was easy that way; like I only had one thing to worry about. Now, suddenly, I had two. Me, yeah—that’s a survivor’s life for ya—but, now there was her, too. I couldn’t drink her away, I knew that. I was pacing myself because if I did decide to go back, to surprise her—she’d be pissed that I left without sayin’ anything but, I figured I could make it up to her, and anyway she was hot when she was pissed—I didn’t wanna be wasted when I did.

It took me another half hour to decide. That cop, Jason; he had nothin’ on me. And if he was really a friend to Naomi, was he really gonna ruin her career over this? If he did, he wasn’t a friend she needed anyway; not a friend anybody needed. Plus, if me and Naomi were gonna get outta this town, move on, find something else, some other life, well, what did she need Saint Michael’s for anyway?

I could maybe take a look at the Urban Violence whatever-it-was. I tapped my cup on the bar, slow, trying to imagine a life outside the city. In the end, I decided that maybe it didn’t matter where it was, what kind of world I learned to survive in, just like I did this one, as long as I was doin’ it with her.

I dropped a ten on the bar, didn’t wait for change. I was a man on a mission.

Naomi wouldn’t be off for another half an hour when I got to the hospital. Plenty of time to check this thing out. So I went to the reception desk and stood awkwardly in line, feelin’ like a rube. This sort of thing; I figured it was for beaten housewives or something. Not for guys like me.

Still, I’d swallow my pride.

“How can I help you sir?” The guy behind the counter asked. His eyes lingered on my bruised face.

“All this is old,” I said, waving at it. “I’m looking for the Urban Violence, uh…”

“The Urban Violence Outreach program help desk?” The guy offered.

“Yeah, that. Where do I find it?”

He pointed toward the long hall to my right. “Just down that hall, take the elevators at the far end, you want the fourth floor. There are signs, but you’ll hang a right and it’s room four two one four.” He paused. “Would you like me write that down for you?”

I started to say somethin’ rude, but… “Nah, thanks. I got it. Elevator, fourth floor, forty-two fourteen. Thanks.” People saw a guy like me, they assumed they were dumb, or concusses. They weren’t always wrong, so, I cut him some slack.

A few minutes later, I was lookin’ at the UVO sign, wondering who’d be on the other side of the door. Bunch of kids and women, maybe as beat up as I looked. All way ahead of me in line. A town like this probably kept this place busy day in and out.

But when I pushed through the door, I was surprised how empty it was. One guy sat behind a desk, black guy, maybe late twenties or a little younger, looking down at something I couldn’t see, bored. He looked up when I closed the door. “Oh. Hello. Can I help you?”

I looked around the place. Not as soul in sight. “Yeah, uh… Naomi sent me. Naomi Ellis.”

“Yes!” They guy said. “She called earlier today. I’m Randall Cornish. I’m the UVO representative for the Saint Michael’s network. Please, come in.”

He stood up from where he was sitting, came around the desk, and shook my hand. He was maybe the first person in a long time to look at me and not flinch. “You get a lot of guys like me in here?” I asked.

Randall gave a disappointed looking frown and shook his head. “Not really. I mean, not guys like you; just not much of anyone in general. It’s a shame, given how many people come through here in need of help. What’s your name?”

“Naomi didn’t tell you?” I asked. “Sorry… I’m tryin’ this new thing where I’m not an asshole. I’m Jack Hawke.”

“Nice to meet you Jack. And, no, Naomi didn’t give me any details. Just that she’d had a new patient check in who was involved with the cage fights at the docks in the Downs.” He sighed, sympathetic, and squeezed my hand again before he let it go. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you. That was a quick recovery, though; I’m surprised they let you out of bed. You checked in this morning?”

I frowned at him. “A few days ago. You sure you got the right guy?”

“Oh… maybe not. Though, I guess Naomi did call a couple of days ago…” He tapped his chin, and then rummaged behind the desk. “Right, of course. Jack Hawke! Sorry, I had a brain fart. Naomi did call to check up on you though. Said you’d checked out. I’m pleased to see you came to see us.” He came back with a clipboard and a form. “If you could fill this out for me—”

“Wait,” I said, suddenly worried and trying hard to pin down why. “So Naomi called twice?”

“No, just once. Another patient she had, she was just fact checking.”

“Fact checking what?”

Randal eyed me up, a little suspicious. “I’m afraid that’s privileged—”

“Listen, you… Randall,” temper, temper, big guy, “you said something about the cage fights at the docks. When? Why? To Naomi? Why’d you tell her that?”

Randall didn’t back down, but his eyes searched me quick like, maybe trying to guess the odds I’d hit him if he didn’t talk. They were low—real low, if I wanted to keep things straight with Naomi—but he didn’t know that. He swallowed, and then sighed. “She called about a new patient who said he was forced to fight at the docks and got beat up. Real bad. She wasn’t sure he was telling her the truth about it, so she called up to ask. Of course we know about the Docks; lots of people know, but it’s a bit of a blind spot.”

“Did you tell her where it is?”

“Well… not an address, per say… the docks aren’t a big place and—”

“Shit,” I muttered and turned to leave.

“But, we can still help you—”

I didn’t hear what else he said. I tore down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, feeling every pounding step in my ribs until my teeth were aching and I could barely breathe. Didn’t care. Naomi had pulled the wool on that guy; she was trying to find out where I was. She thought I’d left and gone back to the cage. This was my fault. I should have left her something… if anyone there found out she was looking for me…

Thinking about what might happen was pointless. Instead, I grabbed the first cab I saw, and focused instead on what the hell I was gonna do when I got there.

Naomi

“How long you known Jack?” Valentino asked, casually, as though he weren’t the skeezy, hardened crime boss everyone at the table knew he was.

I shifted in my seat a little. “Not long,” I said. “I saw him once… here, and I thought—”

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” Valentino crooned. “This’ll go easier if you just tell me the truth. Jack hasn’t been around here for a while now. Almost a week, right Tatya?”

The tall blond nodded. “Five days.”

“And besides that, it’s Tatya’s job to know everybody that comes through here.” Valentino looked to the woman again. “Tatya, do you recognize Naomi?”

Tatya looked me over, then shook her head. “No.”

“So, either I’m paying Tatya here way too much,” Valentino said, “or you’re already lyin’ to me. And here we just met. That’s not a way to start a relationship, sweetheart. Hell, it’s downright rude. And, I was raised with impeccable manners, see? Rudeness…” he shivered like something had crawled down his shirt, “…it just gets under my skin. Like nails on chalkboard. Gives me this visceral urge to put a stop to it.”

I kept my lips sealed. If they had any idea what me and Jack had between us, if we had anything and I was sure that we did, they’d use me to get to him. I should have known that was the case—now that I was here it seemed so obvious. Jesus, what was I thinking?

“So I’ll ask again,” Valentino said slowly, politely, “before I go to some length to put a stop to this rudeness that so greatly offends my sensibilities: how do you know Jack Hawke, and when did you see him last?”

“I’m an EMT,” I lied. “I saw him when we picked him up, after your thugs beat him half to death.” It was close enough. I could sell it.

Some of the men around the table were clearly those ‘thugs’ because they put hands to their chests, wounded at the epithet, and shook their heads.

Valentino looked around at them, then clucked his tongue and shook his head. “See, there you go again with that rudeness. I bet I know what Jack sees in you; he’s rude, too. See how that worked out for him?”

“Jack doesn’t see anything in me, I barely know him he just told me about this place and I thought I’d check it out and—”

Valentino held up a hand to stop me rambling. He didn’t seem quite as polite, now. That mask of his was slipping, giving the monster underneath it a chance to peek out. “Now you’re changing your story. Naomi—can I call you ‘Naomi’? ‘Course I can, you’re at my table—let me tell you a little about this Jack Hawke guy that, I’m guessing, you probably think you know because hell, why else would you be here looking for him?

“Jack Hawke cares about exactly one thing, and that’s Jack Hawke. You know how he got started? Workin’ for my old man. Yeah, he was a heavy. That’s what we call the guys that go around and make sure the boss gets paid, see? He’d show up, loom a little, look intimidating—you know what I mean, right? You seen the guy—and then, like magic, money would appear in his pockets and he’d bring it here.

“Well, one time,” Valentino said, telling a story about an old friend that from his expression promised to be amusing, “one time, he… he and this other heavy get into it a little, right? About which one had a bigger dick or something—I don’t know, it was a long time ago, it was some disagreement—and lo and behold but Jack goes absolutely ape-shit on this other heavy who’s like, twice Jack’s size and just lays him out cold. It was a thing of beauty, seein’ that man lose his cool.”

Valentino swigged his drink, and gestured at one of his ‘heavies’. “Quincy here had to see the doc and everything, make sure his head was on straight still. After that, Jack got a taste for it. He’d get a little more physical with my organizations’… clients. And after a while he liked it so much, he jumped in the cage. Instant success. The crowd went wild for him.

“But see, every horse goes to pasture eventually. Don’t nobody spend too long in the cage or people get… bored with it. Gotta get new blood in there.” He shrugged—it was just a fact of life, apparently. “Except Jack… well Jack’s primary sin is pride. One of the big ones! Seven deadlies and all that. The same sin as Lucifer himself, if you believe all that, and I do.”

He paused, considered, looked almost… righteous. “The prideful have to be put in their place, see? God cast Lucifer into the lake of fire. I cast Jack down into a hospital bed. Only because the cops showed up. I can’t have that kind of defiance here. And lady,” Valentino leaned forward, craning his neck, a snarl on his suddenly twisted face, “if you think he’s worth dyin’ for, by all means be my guest. But he ain’t. So you tell me everything you know about Jack, or Tatya here is goin’ to show you everything she learned in Mother Russia ‘bout gettin’ people to be nice and polite, and honest, startin’ with those pretty fingers of yours.”

Tatya grabbed my wrist. She was fast. I barely saw her move before her iron fingers had my hand pinned, and those brass knuckles were poised above my pinkie finger. She looked entirely unconcerned about the prospect of breaking it—not eager, not unwilling. I struggled against her out of instinct but quickly subsided.

I bit my lip, and tried to keep from crying. That’s what he wanted, right? So fuck him. I set my jaw, and braced myself for the pain.

Valentino gave Tatya a barely discernible nod. Do it.

I closed my eyes tight.

“Valentino!”

The voice bellowed through the warehouse. It was Jack. My heart leapt, then twisted, and then fell. No, no, no… He’d come looking for me. It was the only reason. I couldn’t see him from where I sat, but I guess he could see me.

“Let her go. I’m here.”

Valentino smiled. It was a vicious, almost inhuman rictus of excitement and rage. “So you are! I’m glad you could come. Kill ‘em both.”