Madeline Sheehan - Unbeloved

And I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and loving friend.

While Deuce might have insisted on purchasing a house for Christopher and me, it had been Eva who’d helped me more than anyone. At her insistence, I’d finally gotten around to getting my GED and afterward, a job at the local florist. Now I was working on obtaining my associate degree, albeit online and with a great deal of my daughter’s assistance.

I might be in my fifties, but in my opinion there was no time limit when it came to bettering yourself. As I often told myself when feeling discouraged, it was better late than never.

Sadly, that same line of thinking wasn’t one my family shared with me. While my sister and I had reunited on well enough terms, my parents and I were still estranged. Even though a part of me would always feel the sting of losing them, I had a new family, one who accepted me despite my faults.

“There he is!”

I wasn’t sure who saw him first or who announced his arrival, and I didn’t care. All I cared about was the sight of the man himself. Still far off in the distance, a figure could be seen coming down the walk. Although I couldn’t yet make out his features, I knew it was Hawk from the distinct limp in his stride. Despite the continued medical attention he’d received in prison, his leg never did heal correctly.

As he grew closer, slowly approaching the main gates, the crowd on the street fell silent. Searching for Christopher among them, I beckoned him to me. Releasing Eva’s hand, I looped my arm through my son’s and waited.

When he was close enough for me to see the gray in his short beard and sideburns, close enough for me to see he was wearing the clothing I’d left for him, close enough to know that he was looking directly—and only—at me, my stomach filled with warmth, exploding quickly throughout the rest of my body.

Still, I wasn’t under the silly notion that readjusting to life together would be an easy transition. Hawk had lived behind bars for nearly eight years, and whether he would admit it or not, living in prison was much like experiencing an ongoing trauma, and with each visit I’d seen the toll it took on him. His only glimpses of the outside world were through the people who took the time to come and visit, to ensure he remained a significant part of their life on the outside, and I’d done my best to see that had happened.

But at the same time, I knew there would be conflict. Voices would be raised, tears would be shed, more likely between his son and him than between him and me. But I was determined to make it work, and ready to take on any additional obstacles that life decided to throw our way. Hawk had waited for me while I’d shut myself away for years, and more than deserved me giving him that same courtesy.

After all, what kind of a life was a life without someone to enjoy it with, someone to grow old with, without someone to love.

It wasn’t a life I ever cared to know again.

Suddenly the lights atop the gates lit up, a bell and a buzzer both sounded, and my breath hitched as Hawk walked through the slowly opening gate. When he was free and clear and the gates began to close behind him, he surveyed the parade on the street with a grin on his face.

“I’m FREE!” he shouted, thrusting his arms up in the air.

With a roaring shout, the boys shot forward across the street, circling and engulfing Hawk. It took several long minutes for the reunion to calm, but when it did, when the men began to disperse and Hawk emerged from the group wearing his cut, still holding Christopher’s arm, I stepped forward into the street.

“Irish!” Ripper yelled. “Go give your old man a fuckin’ hug!”

Hawk’s gaze shot to Ripper. “You gave my boy a nickname?”

“He did!” I called out, smiling. “They all did!”

Ripper shrugged. “Figured Irish was better than Russian, yeah?”

Releasing his arm, I gave Christopher a little shove. “Go say hi,” I said softly.

He looked down at me, then back to Hawk who was just standing there, waiting for Christopher to make the first move.

Despite having seen each other throughout Hawk’s prison sentence, I knew this moment had been a source of anxiety for both of them. They’d both grown so accustomed to their respective places—Hawk parenting as best he could from prison two states away, and Christopher growing up having accepted that this was the extent of his relationship with his father, and used to being the man of the house—that neither of them knew exactly how to act when the moment came that they were thrust back into each other’s lives.

Just as I was beginning to worry that neither of them were going to make the first move, Hawk edged forward. And once Christopher saw that Hawk was walking toward him, he took a step as well. And although it was at a snail’s pace, Hawk with his limp and Christopher full of apprehension, when they finally reached each other, Hawk pulled him into a hug that Christopher instantly returned.

With tears in my eyes, I watched as the two men in my life held each other. I felt so incredibly full, so near to bursting, that I wasn’t sure I could hold out another second without running to them. But as it turned out, I didn’t need to wait much longer.

I could only watch, trembling slightly, as Hawk closed the distance between us. And then he reached for me, pulling me into his arms and against his body. Crying softly, I fell limp against him and let go of all my worries, of my anxiety. Instead of thinking about what was to come, I simply reveled in the gift I’d just been given.

In Hawk.

He was here, not behind those walls, not surrounded by prison guards, but really and truly here. I was touching him and he was touching me, and it had been so long, so agonizingly long since I’d last had him to myself that the people around us, the prison behind us, the entire world seemed to disappear.

“You smell good,” he said softly, dropping his face into my hair and inhaling deeply.

Gripping his back, I closed my eyes.

It was just me. Just him.

Us.

Moments.

And I was never going to let go again.

Until Ripper made me.

“Brought you a ride, brother,” Ripper said, grinning as he shoved in between us. “Irish and I been plannin’ this shit for a while now. Kid even helped build it.”

Both Hawk and I turned to the group and as they parted, they revealed the beautiful custom-made bike that Ripper had ridden up on. Although I knew very little about motorcycles and the mechanics of them, I was aware of the many hours the boys had put into this project, and the end result was beautiful.

But Hawk was no longer looking at the motorcycle, he was looking at me. “You save me that ride, D?”

More tears welled in my eyes. “I saved you everything,” I whispered. “Everything.”

Reaching for me, his thumb brushed several errant tears away from my cheek. “You did good, baby,” he said. “You did real fuckin’ good without me.”

I shook my head. “I was never without you.”

And just like that, as I was staring up into those dark eyes, the gray in his beard was gone, the lines around his eyes disappeared, and in his eyes I saw my own reflection, young and pretty, smiling up at him. Ready to take that ride.

The way it always should have been.

The way it always was and always would be, inside my heart.

“You motherfuckers wanna stand outside a prison all fuckin’ day?” Cox shouted. “That’s on you, but I’m ridin’ my ass outta here. Freakin’ me the fuck out, thinkin’ they’re gonna come chain my ass up or somethin’!”

Shaking my head at Cox, I turned to Hawk and smiled. “Do you even remember how to ride?”

His answering laughter was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

“Woman,” he said, an eyebrow cocked as he looked down at me. “It’s like fuckin’. You don’t ever forget how.”

Zachary “ZZ” Jeffries slipped the padlock onto the door of the last shipping container and slammed it shut with a loud click. After adding a metal shipping seal, he turned to leave, facing the remaining men on the docks. He gave them a nod to signify that everything was ready and they could start loading, then he walked off.

As he headed in the opposite direction, he could hear the muffled whimpers and cries from inside the container grow substantially louder. It was a heady, adrenaline-inducing feeling that powered through him, making his heart race. Unable to stop himself, his fingers curled, balled into tightly clenched fists.

He knew what those women were experiencing, locked up in that dirty, dark container, their futures unknown to them. He knew all too well that raw emotion as your heart pounded and you could barely breathe because your own fear was fucking suffocating you. He’d been running from . . . well, from everyone for a long time now, so yeah, fear was his fucking middle name.

It was also what had kept him alive this long.

He’d turned the fear into rage. Fought his way to the top of the lowest of the low, and took his place on a throne made of garbage and rot.

He didn’t give a fuck if his empire was built on the blood and bones of innocent men and women, didn’t care that more people would have to die so he could continue his reign, continuing surviving. This was his life now, this was what they had made him, the monster they’d forced him to become.

“Boss man.”

ZZ continued his stride across the docks, cutting his eyes to his right as Tommy, one of his men, fell into step beside him.

“What?” he snarled, coming to an abrupt stop.