7. Hawk
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.
“Haven't seen her.” I don’t bother looking at the phone screen.
His eyes drift past me to where Aria's backpack rests, half-hidden behind the counter.
Fuck. It’s just a backpack , I tell myself. Could belong to anyone.
But Russo’s expression changes subtly—like a predator catching a scent. He takes a step forward, but I shift to block his path.
“Unless you came with a warrant, I think it’s time you leave."
Russo's eyes meet mine, cold and calculating. "You know, Reynolds, I've always thought you Shadow Reapers were nothing but trouble. Dangerous elements in our community."
"And I've always thought you were a corrupt piece of shit with a badge." I smile tightly. “Guess we're both entitled to our opinions."
His jaw tightens, but he forces a chuckle. "Always the comedian. Well, if you see her, you be sure to call it in."
"Sure thing." My lips curl into a mocking sneer. "I’ll do my civic duty like any good, law-abiding citizen."
As soon as he's outside, I lock the door behind him and flip the sign to CLOSED. Through the glass, I watch him get in his cruiser. He sits there a beat too long before finally pulling away.
Something stinks worse than week-old roadkill, and I need to figure out what the hell is really going on. I need some goddamn answers.
My fingers fly across my phone screen as I fire off a text to Cipher.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I head to the back room, prepared to question Aria.
She’s exactly where I left her. Her hands are twisting together nervously, and her face is drained of color. My heart melts.
When she meets my gaze, her huge brown eyes brim with tears, and I decide the interrogation can wait.
Who the fuck are you? What happened to the soulless, hardcore, outlaw biker who can slit a man’s throat and watch him bleed out with no remorse?
I run a hand through my mohawk.
He’s been brought to his knees by a five-foot-nothing hundred-pound wisp of a woman.
“How'd you like to go for a ride?"
"A ride?" She blinks, confused by the sudden change in topic. "On your motorcycle?"
"Yeah. I'm thinking we can get out of here for a while. Clear our heads."
I pull my cut from the hook on the wall, shrugging it on before gathering a blanket, some bottled water, and snacks from my stash in the mini-fridge to stuff into my saddlebags.
From the storage closet, I retrieve a spare leather jacket.
"Here, put this on." I hold it up as Aria slides her arms into the sleeves. "It's chillier once we're on the road."
I place a finger under her chin, tipping her head up. Remembering our heated kisses, her plump, delicious lips and her warm, welcoming mouth, my cock starts to harden, but this isn’t the time. Not yet. “You good?" I ask.
Her smile is hesitant but genuine. "I'm good."
We slip out the back entrance to my Harley. I fill my saddlebags and hold out my hand to help Aria climb on behind me. The moment her arms wrap around my waist, I breathe easier.
"Hold tight," I tell her over my shoulder as the engine roars to life.
In minutes, we’re out of the city. The wind whips past us as we cruise back roads, the countryside opening up before us—it's freedom in its purest form.
I take the scenic route, weaving around slow-moving tractors on country lanes lined with cornfields, pumpkin patches, and apple orchards.
Aria keeps her body pressed firmly against mine. Every curve in the road pushes her more snugly against my back, and I don’t know if anything in my life has ever felt more perfect than this—me, my bike, my woman, and the open road.
We stop at a secluded spot I discovered years ago. Ducks swim lazily on a small pond nestled among trees ablaze with fall colors. Reds, oranges, and golds from the maples and oaks create a canopy above us as I park the bike.
"It's beautiful," Aria breathes, her eyes wide with wonder.
I spread the blanket on a grassy spot beneath a particularly vibrant maple tree. The air is crisp with the scent of earth, fallen leaves, and the distant smell of woodsmoke.
"Come here." I pat the blanket beside me, and she settles close enough that our shoulders touch.
For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, watching the ripples on the pond surface as ducks glide across the water. The autumn breeze rustles through the vibrant leaves above us, occasionally sending a red or gold one spiraling down.
"Thank you for bringing me here," she says softly, turning those soulful eyes toward me. "It's perfect."
Without thinking, I respond, “You’re perfect.” And she is.
This woman—broken, battered, yet undefeated—has crawled under my skin in a way no one ever has with her dark curls that dance in the breeze, and her eyes that hold hidden depths.
When I reach out to trace the delicate curve of her jaw, she leans into my touch like a flower seeking sunlight.
She bites her lower lip, looking up at me through those thick lashes, and something inside me snaps. I cup the back of her neck, pulling her to me, and claiming her mouth with mine. She responds immediately, her lips parting on a gasp that I swallow eagerly.
It starts slow—a languid exploration, my tongue stroking against hers as I savor the taste of her. My free hand finds her waist, drawing her closer until she's half in my lap, her body angled toward mine.
Christ, I want her so badly I can barely form coherent thoughts. Her fingers dig into my biceps, telling me she wants this as much as I do.
That's all the encouragement I need. I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup her breast. She arches into my palm, silently begging for more.
She moans into my mouth, the sound shooting straight to my cock, which is already straining painfully against my zipper.
"You're so goddamn beautiful," I growl, trailing kisses down her neck as my thumb brushes across her nipple, feeling it harden beneath the fabric of the t-shirt. "Been wanting to fuck you since I first saw you."
Her breathing quickens as I gently ease her onto her back on the blanket, following her down to hover above her. Fallen leaves create a halo of autumn fire around her dark hair on the blanket. I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
I tug at the knotted hem of her shirt. "Can I see you, little sparrow?"
She nods, eyes wide with trust and desire as I untie the knot and slide my hand beneath the fabric. Her skin is warm silk under my calloused fingers. I push the shirt up slowly as she watches me with those huge eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
When I expose her simple cotton bra, I have to bite back a groan. Even this practical, modest garment looks sexy as hell on my woman. I press my lips to the swell of her breast above the cotton, feeling her shiver beneath me.
"Hawk," she sighs, her hands finding their way into my hair, threading through my mohawk.
I reach behind her, unclasping her bra with practiced ease, then draw both shirt and bra up to expose her perfect breasts. Her nipples pucker from the slight chill.
"God, look at you," I breathe, reverence in my voice. She blushes but doesn't try to cover herself, her trust in me sending a surge of protective possessiveness through my veins. "So fucking perfect."
I lower my head, taking one dusky peak into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight bud. Her back arches off the blanket, a startled moan escaping her lips.
"Oh!" she gasps, the sound so innocently surprised it nearly undoes me.
I lavish attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle suction and flicks of my tongue until her hips wiggle under me and she’s making little whimpering sounds that drive me wild.
When I slip my hand down to unbutton her jeans, I pause, my eyes drawn to her torso.
The mottled bruises there almost make me lose it.
And I have to take several deep breaths to calm myself.
Her eyes flutter open, glazed with desire. “Please,” she whispers. "Please, Hawk, I want more.”
I slide my hand inside her jeans, beneath her panties, finding her juicy pussy wet and ready for me. The discovery makes me groan with pure male satisfaction. My finger slides through her slick folds, and her hips buck against my hand.
“Hawk,” my name slides from her lips on a whisper. “I…I… This is my first time.”
I pause for a moment as I try to make sense of her words. She can’t be serious. Can she?
“You ain’t never been fucked before?” I ask.
She shakes her head, biting her lip.
Holy fucking shit. She’s a virgin.
“Please don’t stop, though,” she begs. “I want this.”
"You ever been touched like this before, baby?" I ask, as my finger circles her clit.
Her eyes close, and she moans. It takes several seconds before she answers. “I’ve never done anything. This morning, with you, that was my first kiss.”
Fuck. My mind struggles to process that. How has this gorgeous, talented, amazing woman remained completely untainted?
The knowledge that I'm the first to touch her, to make her feel this way, sends a surge of possessive pride through me. I slip one finger inside her pussy, feeling her tightness, watching her face as I slowly work it in and out.
"You're so tight, so wet for me," I murmur, adding a second finger as my thumb continues to stroke her clit. She gasps as I massage her g-spot, working her toward her peak, watching in awe as pleasure transforms her face.
But I want more.
Withdrawing my fingers, I shift my position, moving down her body and settling between her thighs.
Her eyes widen. A blush spreads across her cheeks. "You... You’re…”
"I need to taste your sweet pussy.” I press kisses along her inner thigh, watching her face. “Just lie back and let me make you feel good."
She nods, biting her lip nervously. The trusting excitement in her eyes nearly undoes me.
I lower my head, dragging my tongue through her slick folds, savoring her sweetness.
Christ, she tastes delicious. The sound she makes—a shocked, pleasure-filled gasp—sends another surge of heat straight to my already rock-hard cock.
I circle her clit with my tongue before sucking gently, watching as she falls apart beneath me.
"Oh god, Hawk," she cries out, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I slide my hands beneath her ass, lifting her slightly to give me better access as I devour her. I alternate between long, slow licks and focused attention on her clit, learning what makes her moan loudly and what makes her thighs tremble against my head.
Her breathing becomes erratic. Her hips gyrate. I slip my tongue inside her, then return to her clit, working her toward her peak, watching in awe as pleasure transforms her face. She's fucking magnificent—eyes closed, lips parted, completely abandoned to the sensations I'm creating.
"That's it, little sparrow,” I mumble against her gleaming pussy lips as I continue feasting on her. “Let go for me."
At my words, her thighs clench around my head.
“Hawk," she cries out as her climax washes over her. I work her through it, prolonging her pleasure until the very last pulsing tremor.
She collapses back onto the blanket, quivery and spent.
I press one final kiss to the sweetest pussy ever created before moving up her body, gathering her against my chest and pressing kisses to her temple as she catches her breath.
The scent of autumn around us mingles with the taste of her juices on my lips, creating a heady perfume.
"You okay?" I murmur against her hair.
She nods against my chest, then tilts her face up to mine. Her expression makes my heart constrict.
"That was..." she trails off, seeming unable to find words.
I press a gentle kiss to her lips. "That was just the beginning, little sparrow. Just the beginning."
After helping her re-dress, we sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching ducks glide across the pond's surface until my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text.
I read Cipher's message twice, my jaw clenching tighter with each word.
Per birth certificate Det. Mark Russo DOB: 12/10/1974 given name: Marco Antonio Russo.
“Little sparrow.” I take Aria’s small hand in mine, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. "It's time. I need you to tell me everything about you and Detective Marco Russo.”