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Should I go to him?
I’ve been watching him struggling to sit up for the past five minutes. I’m still mad at him. Really pissing mad for fucking me without caring for my pleasure. That was deliberate. He didn’t even try to make it good for me.
He’s never done anything like this before. He’s always put my pleasure first. Goes to show how little I know him.
I should stalk upstairs to the bathroom, slip out the window the way I came and leave when I’m sure nobody’s around. And then… then I’ll decide what to do.
Decide how I’ll ever be able to ignore everything I’ve seen and heard, everything I found out.
The fact that Hawk is a criminal, and an asshole.
All this should be more than enough to send me running the other way, and still I’m huddled in my hiding place, observing him.
He needs my help.
No, he doesn’t.
He can’t hear me.
Or can he?
I bite my lip and shift. The sweat is drying on my skin, and it’s cold.
Hawk finally sits up, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. One side of his face is swelling up fast, darkening with a spectacular bruise, and I wince in sympathy.
No, Layla. You can’t have sympathy for this prick. Not anymore. He made his choices, and he’s a big boy.
Let go.
Leave him.
I pull myself to my feet, and ow, my legs are cramped. My knees barely hold as I straighten.
Keeping an ear out for the thugs returning, I trudge toward the double door to the stairs and my path to freedom, passing
directly behind Hawk to do so.
He doesn’t turn to look at me.
Fine. I’m not in the mood for a dramatic exit anymore. I’m sick and tired of this mess I should never have gotten myself into.
The door isn’t far.
So it makes perfect sense that I should stumble on the only obstacle on the entire basement floor—a wooden plank—and faceplant.
Ouch.
My purse goes flying, crashing against a metal crate, and it bursts open, spilling my wallet, and coins go rolling.
I’m okay. I’m okay. Only skinned my elbow and my palms a little.
But I stay sitting—not because of the shock of my fall or the pain, no. Not that.
It’s Hawk. He’s got his back to me and hasn’t turned to see what the noise was.
He’s probably ignoring me, I tell myself. He wants me out of here. He doesn’t care if I break my neck, doesn’t give a damn whether I’m okay or not.
“Fucking plan,” he mutters. “You’re so brilliant.”
