Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

And now it was too late.

Then I’d kissed him. Cupped the sides of his face, dug my fingers through his scruffy beard and into his skin, then up into his hair and while raking my nails across his scalp, I kissed him hard. A ferocious, tear-drenched kiss, full of my anger and pain, pouring it all into his mouth, into him. Because I had to do something or I would scream and scream, and I’d feared that if I started screaming, I’d never stop.

We made love again, this time without my insecurities and without Hawk’s restraint. Despite his limited range of movement, he was aggressive, demanding, and equally as passionate as I was needful. I wasn’t gentle; I couldn’t be. I didn’t have time for gentleness, didn’t have time to take things slow, to get to know each other all over again, discovering what he loved best and I what I enjoyed most.

All I had was right now and I didn’t want to waste it. Him. Us. Our moments.

These moments that I would remember for the rest of my life.

Him, so deep inside me that I could feel him, large and heavy with need, the blood pumping through his body, beating in time with my own heart.

And me, so full, so utterly satiated, surrounded and infused by him, both too much and not enough, and ultimately heartbreakingly satisfying to levels of gratification only known by a woman who has experienced what true love is.

Moments.

I cried again when I came. Breathless and still quivering from my release, with Hawk still inside me, I collapsed onto his chest. His arms wound around me, squeezing me tightly, his face buried into my hair while my eyes overflowed, wetting both of us, and neither of us spoke.

When my tears had run dry, when I was finally able to release him, he refused to let me go.

“You’re my woman, Dorothy Kelley,” he said, his deep voice soft. “Always have been, always will be. I’ve waited a long-ass time for this, for you, so havin’ to wait a little longer ain’t gonna kill me.”

I raised my head to meet his eyes. Eyes that were surprisingly moist. Hawk really had changed. Finally being free of his past, his secrets, no longer in hiding, had brought out the man he always should have been, a man I loved even more because of it.

“I’ll wait forever.” I whispered the words, willing myself to stay strong, at least for this moment. “I will wait for fucking ever,” I repeated, this time with more force, every fiber of my being afire with the truth of those words. I could feel it, breathe it, that I would undoubtedly wait forever for this man to come back to me.

Hawk’s lips split into a smile so big, so bright, that even his beard couldn’t hide the intensity of it.

I couldn’t help but grin in return.

Hawk didn’t grin. There were those rare occasions that one of the boys at the club would say something juvenile, causing him to laugh, but a grin, a cat-that-ate-the-canary sort of grin? Never.

A hand came down hard on my backside, a sharp slap that echoed throughout the room, making me jump.

“Woman,” he said, barking out a laugh. “I fuckin’ love it when you curse.”

Meredith Jamison was a powerhouse in heels if Hawk had ever seen one.

In her white button-down shirt hidden behind a silky-looking black pants suit that hugged her barely there curves, her shiny black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her hard and all-knowing brown eyes, and an expression as unyielding as her tone, she was a woman who gave the impression that she could take on the world, bring it to its knees, and make it her bitch.

Which was great.

Fucking perfect.

She was the kind of lawyer Hawk needed if he wanted to avoid spending his golden years behind bars.

Out of all the club’s affiliations with lawyers over the years, she was by far the best. She worked as hard as she looked and had gone to bat for them many times before, getting a couple of the boys’ sentences drastically reduced, as well as seeing that a few of them served no jail time at all.

That wouldn’t be the case here. Hawk knew he’d be serving jail time, but how long remained to be seen.

“Mr. Polachev,” she said, moving away from the wall to lean against the edge of Deuce’s desk. “You may only be wanted in connection to your father’s crimes, but as you know, most of the members of the Polachev cartel are wanted internationally for quite an extensive list of illegal activity, the least of which was drug running or weapons smuggling. The FBI has tracked them as the suppliers of several explosives used in bombing incidents across the country. Let’s not forget human trafficking. If we walk into FBI headquarters announcing that you’re the long-lost son of Avgust Polachev, and your only knowledge of the cartel is nearly twenty years old, they’re not going to be offering you any deals. You’re going to be locked up in a maximum security prison and left to rot.”

Hawk already knew that, and if the plan Deuce and Preacher had concocted fell through, that was exactly what he would end up doing. Rotting.

“What if I can give them Yevgeniy Polachev?” he asked quietly.

Meredith’s gaze flickered from him to Deuce, who gave her a single nod in response.

“Just like that?” she asked, surprised. “You’d become a rat?”

Deuce shrugged. “He started it,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ Russian motherfucker blackmailin’ me with one of my own boys.”

“How very mature of you all,” Meredith responded, folding her arms across her chest.

“Mature or not,” Hawk said, “it could work. We can fill in the FBI on the details of the Horsemen’s next pickup, and the Feds can storm the place, taking everyone down. Horsemen too.”

“Yeah,” Deuce interjected. “But let’s not forget I want it in writing that this is all for fuckin’ show, and ain’t none of my boys are actually gonna get charged with anything. The Feds get Yenny and his men, the cartel can keep its business with the clubs I got lined up for them, and everyone lives happily ever fuckin’ after. You feel me?”

Meredith smirked, her first semblance of a smile since she’d arrived at the club. “I do indeed feel you, Mr. West. If you’re handing Yevgeniy Polachev over on a silver platter, I’m sure I can work out a deal where none of your boys will be actually charged . . . except Mr. Polachev, of course.” She looked to Hawk.

“Of course,” Hawk muttered, annoyed by her continued use of a last name he no longer cared to remember.

“As for sentencing,” she continued, “with your help in your uncle’s arrest, I’m 85% sure I could plead your charges down to aiding and abetting, resulting in a reduced sentence of five to ten years behind bars. But that’s only if the federal attorney agrees, and from what I’ve heard, he’s the least agreeable man on the planet.”

It was Hawk’s turn to smirk. “Really?” he asked. “Have you met my prez?”

“Touché,” she said, straightening. Her heels clicked against the cement floor as she crossed the room. Grabbing both her purse and briefcase, she headed toward the doors.

“I’ll be in touch soon,” she said without looking back.

As she opened the doors, the sounds of the party going on outside Deuce’s office filled the air, a good-bye party for Hawk that the boys had decided to throw in his honor. As the doors closed behind her, cutting off the sounds of music and laughter, Hawk envisioned a prison cell door slamming shut, cutting him off from the world entirely.

And to think he’d once thought he didn’t have shit in this world. In reality, he’d had so much. More than most.

“I ain’t never served any real time, just a few short stints here and there, nothin’ more than a few months,” Deuce said as he got up out of his chair and rounded his desk. Coming to sit beside Hawk on the couch, he sighed heavily. “Thanks to Mick,” he finished, rolling his eyes.

“But you’ll do okay. Just keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and if you have to, if someone’s got a beef with you, fall in line with a crew that’ll have your back. And you run into any real problems, you let me know. Preacher’s got eyes all over the damn place. Whatever joint you end up in, I’m sure Preacher knows someone who knows someone who knows someone, and I’ll take care of that shit real quick.”

Hawk couldn’t tell if it was him that Deuce was trying to convince that everything was going to be all right, or himself. But he didn’t doubt the man for a minute. After all, it was Deuce who had his own father put down while in the joint. Had him shanked in the showers.

And wasn’t Hawk happy he’d done just that. Without the fortunate death of Reaper West, who knew what the hell would have happened to him, Cox, Ripper, or Dirty? Reaper certainly wouldn’t have done a couple of homeless teenagers any favors.

While killing your own father might seem to others the actions of a cruel, coldhearted man, it had been Reaper who’d been cruel and Deuce anything but. He was just a man who did what he had to do to keep surviving. He made his own rules, lived his own way, and anyone who fucked with him or what was his . . .

Somehow, someday, Deuce would serve them their punishment.

“Speaking of takin’ care of shit,” Hawk said. “What are you gonna do about the Vegas boys, or . . .” He hesitated, not wanting to bring up the biggest traitor of them all, but it didn’t matter. Deuce knew exactly who he was talking about.

“They’ve all been stripped,” Deuce said. “Can’t do much else while they’re in bed with the cartel, but you know the Russians, they never like to keep outsiders on the inside for too long. Liabilities. One way or another, they’ll all be goin’ to ground.