Page 42 of Hawk
And framed like a fucking trophy.
Something inside me shattered.
I didn’t even register crossing the room. One second, I was frozen—shocked and hollowed out by the image of her. The next, I was across the floor, fists buried in Darren’s face, blood flying like flecks of rust across white walls.
Storm didn’t interfere. Not at first.
I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t quiet. Snarling sounds tore from my chest, and I felt the pressure leave me every time my knuckles cracked bone. Darren’s head whipped back and forth under the barrage, blood splattering onto the armrest, the floor, and the sleeves of my shirt. He wasn’t fighting back. Couldn’t.
I kept going, and the beast was finally free to rain down hell. A bone snapped, and Darren screamed through broken teeth.
Storm finally stepped forward, voice calm but edged with warning. “Brother.”
I kept going, kneeing the chair, rocking it back so Darren flailed, wheezing through a broken nose and split, swollen lips.
Storm let me continue until Darren barely breathed.
Then he caught my wrist. “Enough.”
It wasn’t a request.
“Not yet,” I growled.
Storm didn’t blink. “Need his face at least partially intact. For now.”
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered my hand.
Darren was barely conscious as he slumped to the floor. His face looked like raw meat—eyes swollen shut, lip shredded open, blood soaking the front of his shirt. He moaned in short, shallow bursts. Pitiful and weak.
Storm pulled him upright with one hand and shoved him back in the chair.
At that moment, the door creaked open again.
Maverick walked in, took one look at the scene, and exhaled a slow sigh. “Couldn’t have leftonecheek untouched,” he muttered, glancing at Darren’s obliterated face. “Gonna take a day or two before he can form words again.”
I shrugged, flexing my blood-slick fingers. “Doesn’t need words. Needs to remember pain.”
Maverick met my eyes across the room, but there was no judgment. Only approval.
“We’ll get what we need out of him once Blade takes care of the swelling. He’ll talk. Eventually.”
“Gonna make fucking sure of it,” I said, low and brutal.
Maverick nodded. “Backup is arriving now. Storm, you and Racer move the victims to a bedroom upstairs. Find them some clothes. Wrecker and I locked the customers in the viewing area.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Told ’em we were putting them up for auction as bitches to the nearest prison.”
Storm snorted, and Racer coughed a laugh. Any other time, I’d have appreciated the levity in a destructive situation like this. But the only thing on my mind was Gemma. I needed her in my arms. Needed to be inside her. To remind myself that she was real. Safe.Mine.
“Hawk,” Maverick said, his voice dipping. “You good?”
“No,” I replied honestly. “But I will be. I’m going home.”
Mav’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying me. “To Gemma?”
“Where the fuck else?” I snapped.
“Just makin’ sure you weren’t planning to camp out in The Room until your punching bag arrives.”
I grunted. “Not worth being away from my woman.”
