10. Aria
Aria
"You good, little sparrow?" Hawk's voice rumbles near my ear as his arm tightens around my waist.
I nod, leaning into his solid warmth.
The tavern buzzes with activity—bikers in monster masks—skeletons, ghouls, devils, zombies—mingling with regular patrons. Music throbs through ancient speakers while beer bottles and glasses clink.
"Aren't you hot in that thing?” Luna motions to my mask. Her Belle mask is pushed up to rest on top of her head. “Take it off for a second.”
It is a bit stifling. But there’s a reason I won’t remove it.
Around us, the other club women periodically lift their masks to drink or wipe sweat from their foreheads. No one's paying particular attention to me.
"Maybe just for a second," I concede, my throat parched.
I lift the mask just enough to bring the bottled water to my lips, tilting my head back to take a long, cool sip. The relief is immediate as the water slides down my throat.
That's when I see him.
Standing near the entrance, deep in conversation with a man I don't recognize, is my uncle Vincent. My whole body tenses. Water spills down my chin as my hand trembles.
His head turns, eyes scanning the crowded room with that calculating gaze I know too well. Our eyes lock for just a fraction of a second before I turn quickly and slam the mask back into place. My heart beats against my ribs so forcefully I'm certain everyone can hear it.
"Aria?" Hawk's concerned voice seems to come from miles away. "What's wrong?"
I can't form words. My fingers dig into his arm as I press myself against his side, trying to make myself smaller, invisible.
"It's him," I finally manage to whisper. "My uncle. By the door."
Hawk's body tenses, his head turning slightly to look. I feel the exact moment he spots Vincent—every muscle in his body coils like a snake readying to strike.
"Did he see you?" His voice drops to a dangerous register.
"I don't know. Maybe." I'm outright shaking now. "I think he looked right at me."
Hawk's arm tightens around me, his body angling to shield me from view. "We're leaving. Now."
He guides me through the crowd, keeping himself between me and the direction of my uncle. Saint notices our sudden movement and intercepts us.
"Problem?" Saint asks, his easy smile not matching the alertness in his eyes.
"Need to roll out," Hawk responds. "Now."
No further explanation needed. Saint nods once and melts into the crowd. Within minutes, the Shadow Reapers are gathering their women and heading for the exit. The synchronized movement is seamless, instinctive.
We exit through the back, avoiding the main entrance where I saw my uncle, and Hawk leads me to his bike.
"Keep the mask on," he instructs, helping me onto the motorcycle.
The rest of the run is a blur. I cling to Hawk's back, terror and adrenaline making my grip tighter than necessary. Every time we stop at a light, I scan the cars around us, half-expecting to see my uncle or Marco. The princess mask becomes suffocating, but I don't dare remove it.
By the time we pull into the clubhouse compound, my nerves are frayed to breaking. The gates close behind the last bike, and only then do I allow myself to breathe.
Hawk helps me off the bike, his golden-amber eyes searching my face as I finally remove the mask. "You okay?"
"I think so." My voice trembles.
He leads me into the clubhouse, where the others are already filing in, everyone in a partying mood. Music plays and bottles clink as brothers and their women gather around the bar.
In any other circumstance, I might find this festive and fun, but I don’t know what happens next. My uncle saw me. I'm sure of it. The way he looked at me—he recognized me. I have no doubt there will be repercussions.
Sure enough, not thirty minutes later, the clubhouse door bursts open. Rash, one of the prospects I met earlier, stands in the doorway, his face grim.
“Pigs at the gate," he announces. “Looking for a chick named Aria Gallo. They got a warrant.”
The music cuts off abruptly. The room goes still for a heartbeat before erupting into coordinated motion. Ghost steps forward, authority radiating from him.
“Sophie, take Hawk’s ol’ lady to the panic room,” he commands. "Rest of you know the drill."
Hawk squeezes my hand before releasing it. "Go with Sophie. We’ll handle this."
Sophie leads me down a hallway and stops at what appears to be a framed photograph of an old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She grasps one side of the frame and it swings open like a small door. Underneath is a button. She presses it, and a section of the wall slides open to reveal a room behind it.
“Come on," she says, stepping inside and waving me in behind her.
The door closes, leaving us alone.
“There’s monitors so we can see what’s going on out there.” She takes a chair in front of a bank of monitors and flicks a switch that brings the screens to life. “I swear Cipher has this whole place under observation.”
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I sit next to her, desperate to know what's happening.
"—warrant to search these premises." Marco's voice comes through the speaker, smug and official.
Ghost stands, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his chest. He looks every bit like what he is—the president of an outlaw biker club.
“You're welcome to search, Detective." Ghost’s tone is cool and unimpressed. "Though I fail to see what business the homicide division has at our private establishment."
"This isn't about a homicide." My uncle steps forward, sounding agitated and impatient. "It's about my niece, Aria Gallo. We have reason to believe you’re harboring her.”
Paper rustles. "I have a court order granting me temporary conservatorship due to her declining mental state. She's been exhibiting paranoid delusions, making up grandiose stories. Her therapist believes she's having a psychotic break."
Rage flows through my veins like lava flowing from an active volcano. Therapist? I've never seen a therapist in my life! And declining mental state? The absolute gall of this man to paint me as crazy when he's the one trying to sell me like cattle!
"Don't know any Aria," Hawk drawls. "But you're welcome to look around."
Heavy footsteps move through the main room. I hold my breath, even though Sophie assures me the room is soundproof.
"We know she's been seen with members of your club," Marco says, his voice getting louder as he approaches the hallway. "A witness placed her on the back of a motorcycle matching yours, Reynolds."
"Lots of Harleys in this town, Detective." Hawk's voice remains casual, but I can hear the underlying disdain.
More footsteps, doors opening and closing. They're searching the clubhouse. My heart threatens to burst from my chest.
"Any of you ladies seen this young woman?" Marco again, presumably showing my photo.
"Never seen her before in my life,” Angel responds smoothly.
“Oh, she’s pretty,” Luna adds, almost making me smile. “But no, I haven’t seen her.”
“Is she the one who’s missing?” Rose asks. “Poor thing."
I can't believe it. These women I've just met are lying to the police for me. Protecting me. My throat tightens with emotion.
The search continues for what feels like hours, but is probably only about twenty minutes.
Finally, Marco, looking furious, announces, "If I find out you're harboring her, there will be consequences. Severe ones."
“Us? Break the law, Detective?” Ghost replies sarcastically. “Not a chance.”
The front door slams, and the clubhouse remains silent for several long moments. Then the door to my hiding place opens, and Hawk stands there. His face, hard with anger, softens the moment our eyes meet.
"They're gone," he says, crossing the room in two strides and pulling me into his arms.
I collapse against his chest, trembling. "I'm so sorry. I'm putting all of you at risk. My uncle—he lied. I've never had mental health issues. I've never even seen a therapist.”
Hawk's hand strokes my hair. "We know, little sparrow. No one believed that bullshit for a second."
"But what they're doing—getting court orders, making up lies—they won't stop."
“You're mine now and no one's taking you from me,” Hawk growls. "The club has weathered worse storms than a corrupt cop and a wannabe gangster."
The fierce possession in his voice wraps around me like armor. He takes my hand. "Come with me. There's somewhere I want to show you."
He leads me upstairs to a part of the clubhouse I haven't seen before, unlocking a door to reveal a moderately sized bedroom.
"This is my room here in the club,” Hawk explains, shutting the door behind us. "We’ll stay here tonight. I don't think we should go back to the apartment."
I look around, taking in the room. It feels rather homey—a large bed with dark blue covers, a comfortable chair in the corner, and an open door that leads to what I think is a private bathroom. There are a couple of motorcycle repair manuals and a sketchbook on the nightstand.
Hawk's eyes darken as he watches me explore his space. When I turn back to him, the mix of admiration and desire in his gaze steals my breath.
It hits me like a ton of bricks. I love this man. I've fallen in love with Hawk.
The realization doesn't shock me all that much. It feels more like simply acknowledging something I've known since the moment I looked into those golden-amber eyes of his. I love this fierce, dangerous man with gentle hands and a protective heart.
Hawk doesn’t seem all that scared, but I am. I’m terrified. I know Uncle Vincent and Marco are just getting started. They won’t stop until they get what they want—me. What if they hurt the club because of me?"
I make my decision. With tomorrow so uncertain, I want tonight to be ours. Completely ours.
I plant my hands on his chest, look up into his eyes, and breathe against his lips, “I want you to make love to me. I want you to be my first. I love you and I want to give you all of me."
He responds immediately, his mouth capturing mine in a searing kiss.
When I slide my hands under his cut, pushing it off his shoulders, he pulls back slightly, his expression fierce and possessive but also vulnerable and raw. "Say it again. Tell me you love me.”
I take a deep breath. "I love you, Hawk." The words come easier this time, feeling right on my tongue.
With a growl, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed. He stands over me, his eyes burning like molten lead as he strips off his shirt, revealing a strongly muscled, tattooed torso.
"You're beautiful," I whisper, reaching for him.
He joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress as his mouth finds mine again. This kiss is different—deeper, hungrier, filled with promise. I open for him, melting beneath his touch as his hands explore my body through my clothes.
“I want my woman naked beneath me,” he mutters against my neck.
My laughter turns to a gasp as he tugs my shirt up and over my head. His gaze drops to my simple cotton bra, and the heat in his eyes makes me feel more beautiful than if I were wearing the finest lingerie.
"Perfect," he murmurs, lowering his head to nip, suck, and kiss along the swell of my breasts.
His calloused hands run over every curve and dip of my body. Each touch fires off new nerve endings and draws from me sounds I’ve never heard myself make.
When he unclasps my bra and bares my breasts to his gaze, I fight the urge to cover myself. The reverence in his expression causes moisture to pool between my thighs.
“God, I love these tits. So goddamn beautiful," he says, his voice gravelly with desire.
He takes his time, worshipping my body with his hands, mouth, and tongue until I'm writhing beneath him, desperate for more. When he finally removes the rest of our clothes, I'm too far gone in pleasure to feel self-conscious about my nakedness.
Hawk positions himself above me, his powerful body caging mine. "This might hurt at first," he warns, his eyes searching mine. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."
“Do it already,” I tease, cradling his face between my palms. "I want this. I want you."
He enters me slowly, carefully, pausing when I wince at the initial discomfort. "Breathe through it, little sparrow," he encourages, kissing away the hint of tears that gather at the corners of my eyes.
The pain gives way to a pleasurable fullness that makes me gasp. We’re connected. Joined. When he begins to move, pleasure builds with each careful thrust until I'm clinging to his shoulders, meeting his movements with my own.
"Look at me," he commands softly.
I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze as our bodies move together. What I see there—tenderness, protectiveness, and devotion—steals my breath.
"I love you, Aria," he confesses, his voice strained with emotion and restraint. "Have since the moment I laid eyes on you."
Elation explodes in my chest as the mounting pleasure builds between my thighs. "I love you too."
"You're mine," he growls, as his movements become faster, more urgent. "Forever. You hear me? Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to love.”
"Yours," I agree, feeling myself approaching what I now recognize as an orgasm.
"Say it again," he demands, his rhythm faltering slightly. “Say it.”
“I love you, Hawk. I’m yours," I gasp. "Forever."
His hand slips between us, finding the bundle of nerves that sends me spiraling into oblivion. I cry out his name as wave after wave of pleasure cascades over me, vaguely aware of him grunting out his own release moments later.
Afterward, he gathers me against his chest, pressing kisses to my hair, my forehead, my lips. We lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath my ear.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder.
I shake my head, smiling against his skin. "No. It was perfect."
" You're perfect," he corrects, tightening his arm around me.
In this moment, basking in the afterglow, I can almost believe everything will be okay. That the love we have will be enough to weather the danger coming for us.
But as I lie in Hawk's arms, a terrible thought occurs to me. What if the only way to truly protect Hawk and the club is for me to surrender myself to the man who wants to hurt me?