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Dangerous, my dad’s voice echoes in my head. Get out of here.
I’ve always been too curious, too reckless for my own good. Just like my mom, who ran from home at sixteen, met my dad at twenty-one and had me, and now divorced him to do her own thing again. She doesn’t regret it, she says. Not me, not the years of marriage to my dad, not the divorce.
“Your hospitality sucks,” Hawk spits, his eyes hooded. “Assholes.”
What is he doing? The guy holding his head tilted back growls and prepares to punch him.
Oh God.
“Release him,” the Boss says, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Crap. I wonder what Mom would think seeing me huddled behind the crates as a scene from a crime drama unfolds in front of my eyes with the man I’ve been sleeping with, in Dad’s warehouse.
Not sure she’d approve. When she advised me to follow my own path, I doubt it included being around mafia thugs beating up a man.
Not any man. Hawk. I know what gives him pleasure, what makes him fist his hand in my hair, what makes him lose control and—
“Is this the old good cop, bad cop routine?” Hawk rasps. “You have them fuck me up so you can rescue me and get in my good graces?”
“I don’t need games,” the Boss says. “And don’t try to pretend you’re clean and innocent, Jamie. Even if your parents weren’t up to their ears in corruption, you’ve made a name for yourself with the Chinese and Russian mafias. Don’t try to pretend you’re not thirsting to take your parents’ place in the Organization.” He leans over Hawk. “To have power. To have control. To move the strings in every deal you want and get your way, no matter what.”
“What makes you think I don’t get my way?” Somehow, even tied up and blindfolded, his lips cracked and caked with blood, Hawk manages to look arrogant and slightly bored. He manages to look in control, strong and sexy, and it makes my heart beat faster, my blood run hot.
He does always get his way—with me.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about this, not right now.
Not when the Boss says, “Don’t fuck with me, Jamie Fleming. I don’t give a damn about what you want or think you can do.” He leans forward. “You think you’re someone important, don’t you, boy? I bet the girls like it. You’re young and filthy rich, and they fall at your feet. Well, that won’t work here. Everyone in the Organization is powerful, and you’re a newcomer. You should’ve let your daddy handle this. You think we beat you up to convince you of something? Wrong. That was for betraying a member of the Organization, a member who happened to be your goddamn father.”
Hawk’s back stiffens. “You brought me here because you need me, so let’s drop the pretenses, all right? I just need some guarantee that—”
The Boss drops something to the ground and crunches the heel of his shoe over it. “Hear that?” He leans in closer. “Or maybe you didn’t. What do you think I just shattered under my shoe, Jamie Fleming? You’re stranded here, at my mercy, until you agree to all my terms, and the next time I walk inside, you’d better be ready to dance to my tune, or I’ll start breaking parts of your body.”
Holy crap!
“Tell me the truth, Jamie. Why did you betray your parents?”
Hawk grunts, tugs on his bonds, broad s
houlders rolling under his stained shirt. “Fuck you. I need to piss.”
Shit, what is the idiot doing? Cold sweat sluices down my back, soaking my borrowed blouse.
A hush has fallen.
Then the Boss laughs. “You.” He points at the big guy, then at something I can’t see. “Help him piss. Grab that bottle.”
Saying the guy doesn’t look happy with his task would be an understatement. He hesitates just enough to show his displeasure, then lumbers over to the indicated spot and returns with an empty beer bottle.
Never thought about this before, but it feels strangely degrading and vaguely abusive, seeing this thug handling Hawk’s dick. It makes my hands clench.
Suddenly Hawk twists in his bonds, and an arc of urine splashes on the guy.
Oh dear Lord. I’m torn between horror and laughter, then horror wins out when the guy launches himself at Hawk and starts beating him.
“Enough.” The Boss strokes his moustache. “I said enough!”
Breathing hard, the thug steps back. His knuckles are painted with blood.
