The door closes behind them, leaving Hawk and me alone in the suddenly quiet shop. He busies himself cleaning his station while I linger nearby, still processing everything that's happened. Friends. I have friends now! And tomorrow, I'll do something fun with them and Hawk.
What exactly is a charity bike run? I'm not entirely sure, but the prospect of riding on the back of Hawk’s motorcycle again sends a thrill through me. The memory of being pressed against his back as we rode through the rain last night makes me warm all over.
A soft laugh escapes me as I try to process this new reality—hanging out with bikers, learning to tattoo, finding a place I might belong.
It takes several seconds before I realize the room is completely silent. I look up to find Hawk frozen, his lips slightly parted, his eyes staring intently at me. Watching me.
The heat in his gaze nearly takes my breath away.
"Goddamn, you're beautiful, little sparrow,” he rasps out in a low growl. He takes a step closer, and then another, closing the distance between us.
Before I can respond, his large hands frame my face, careful of my bruises as he tilts my head up. His lips crash over mine with none of the tentative exploration of our earlier kiss. This is hunger, pure, raw, and demanding.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft moan that seems to ignite a flame in him.
He backs me against the wall, one hand sliding down to grip my hip while the other tangles in my hair, pulling slightly to angle my head for deeper access. His body presses against mine, hard planes against my softer curves.
"Hawk," I gasp when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along my jaw, down my neck.
“Should I stop?” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me if this isn't what you want."
"Don't stop," I breathe, shocking myself with my boldness. "Please don't stop."
A groan rumbles through his chest as his mouth finds mine again, kissing me until my knees weaken. His hand slides under the borrowed t-shirt, calloused fingers on my bare skin.
Each brush of his fingers awakens nerve endings I didn't know existed. When his thumb grazes the underside of my breast, I arch into him, seeking more.
Suddenly, he freezes. His entire body goes rigid against mine, and he pulls back slightly, his head turning toward the front of the shop.
"Hawk?" I whisper, confused by the abrupt change.
His expression transforms before my eyes—the tender desire replaced by something cold, hard, and dangerous. He looks like a warrior preparing for battle, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.
Fear clutches at my heart. "Did I...um, did I do something wrong?"
"Hell no, beautiful.” He touches my cheek gently, the contrast between his fierce expression and gentle touch jarring. "You're perfect. Better than perfect. We got company is all."
He steps back. "Hold tight, little sparrow. Do not come out front. Stay put, you got me?"
"I got you," I promise, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Hawk strides toward the front of the shop, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight.
Chapter 7
Hawk
Detective Mark Russo’s arrogant ass stands in the middle of my shop like he fucking owns the world. He positions himself so his jacket is open slightly, revealing the badge clipped on his belt. The fucker’s smug expression makes my trigger finger itch.
I level a death glare at him and cross my arms, making my biceps bulge. "What do you want, Russo?"
“Canvassing the area.” He pulls out his phone, flashing Aria's picture. “You sure you haven’t seen her?"
Canvassing the area?
Something doesn't add up. Homicide detectives don't personally canvas neighborhoods unless there's a dead body involved. My eyes narrow as I study him more carefully.
There's a small bandage at his temple, poorly concealed by his hair. His knuckles bear faint bruising, and when he shifts, I catch sight of what looks like a scratch across the back of his hand.
