15. Hawke
Hawke
I ’m in a bad mood. Not only did the deal between Eli and one of his distributors go well, but he’s also advised that Ford and I can finish early for the night.
This calm shit is starting to make me restless.
I thought I’d be able to carve at least one person up tonight, but everyone seems to be falling into line. It’s fucking weird.
“Pearl?” I suggest to Ford as he drives. He side-eyes me. We’ve just dropped Eli off at his mansion, and I already know the answer. “You’re boring now that you have a girlfriend,” I say sulkily.
He sighs. “You know, I never enjoyed going to those clubs anyway. I always went to make sure you didn’t get into trouble.”
I smile. “Aren’t you worried I’ll get into trouble now?”
“Always. Maybe you should pick up another hobby besides drinking and fucking.”
My jaw drops. “Blasphemy!” I exclaim as I open my phone and begin scrolling.
I’m looking to see what everyone else is up to, and that’s when I come across a recent story from the one and only Ivy Walker.
My eyebrow raises. I can see now why she couldn’t answer my call.
She’s too busy getting cozied up with some dickhead.
Ivy never posts images of guys. And, okay, it might just be his hand holding a drink, but I already want to fucking break it.
More so because I know without seeing the body attached to the said hand that, I’m a lot more fun.
That’s all I’m looking for tonight— some fun.
And I have a roadmap directly to that location.
The moment we arrive at Ford’s, I’m out of his car and into mine. He looks at me like I’ve grown a third head. “You’re not coming in tonight?” he asks.
The truth is, I know he and Billie want their own time together. Everyone jokes that I can’t read a room, and although Ford and Billie don’t treat me any differently, I know I need to create space for them that’s independent of me.
“Not tonight, brother. One of us has to have some fun.” I wink and put the car into drive. I blast my music as I tap my thumb against the steering wheel.
It seems my little lover thinks she can go on a date without me. But it’s like she wants me to find her with the tag of her location.
She posted the story over an hour ago, but I’m gambling on the chance that she’s still here. If not, I’ll track her down in my own way.
I park my car at the curb, and before I’ve even opened the door, a bouncer approaches with his hand outstretched. “You can’t park there.”
I step out, coming to my full height, and square him up. I make a point to lock my car as I step up and loom over him. The dickhead actually pales as I calmly ask him, “You sure about that?”
He gulps. Part of me hopes he says it twice. I wasn’t able to entertain myself tonight, and if he’s the only fucker coming between me and fixing my boredom, then it’ll be his downfall.
“M-maybe just once is okay,” he stammers, and I give him a bright smile as I pat his shoulder.
“Make sure no one scratches my car, or I’ll make you personally accountable for it,” I say as I head for the restaurant’s entrance. I fucking love my car.
The moment I step inside, my ears are assaulted by loud chatter and even louder music. Drunk women are laughing and dancing in groups scattered throughout the space. Trays of alcohol are being distributed, and I sift through the bodies, looking for the curves I’ve memorized by heart.
My gaze catches on the hand of some guy at the bar, and I change course to head in that fucker’s direction.
He has the same tattoo on his hand as the guy in Ivy’s photo; however, he currently has that hand around another woman.
Honestly, the ugly-ass tattoo looks like it was done by a two-year-old.
Without hesitation, I walk straight up to him.
The woman he’s with turns and spots me first, her lips curve seductively as she scans me from head to toe, like she just found a new snack.
When he turns around and catches sight of me, he pales.
I don’t blame him. I plan to cut that hand off him.
“You here with Ivy?” I ask him. His eyes go wide, and the woman he’s with laughs.
“I know you. I’ve seen you out before,” she slurs. “I’m Makayla.” I really don’t care. “And this is my boyfriend. We made a joke and posted a picture on Ivy’s stories to see which guys would fall for the bait. Did you see it?”
I don’t care what the reason behind it was; it’s all the same to me.
“So you didn’t touch her?” I say to him, ignoring her obvious smugness. She can lump me in with whatever men she wants to. Any man would be fucking lucky to lay eyes on Ivy.
“No,” he says a little too quickly.
“Hmm.” I size him up, unsure if I should still kick his ass. I break out into a bright smile. “I guess you can live tonight.” He tries to laugh it off, but I don’t share the humor with him.
“Where is she?” I ask her friend.
She waves to her left. “She’s probably over there, sleeping on the table. Needed some fresh air or something.”
Sleeping? Ivy is a night owl through and through, and I’ve never seen her drink more than she can handle.
I walk in the direction she indicated. There’s a small outside area where a few people have congregated.
My stomach twists as I spot her. She’s sitting at a table with her head propped in her hands.
A guy is sitting beside her, his hand gliding up and down her leg, getting too fucking close to the hem of her dress for my liking.
Something’s not right. This isn’t the bright, flirtatious Ivy I know.
And she’d certainly never give a douchebag like this the time of day.
“Ivy.” The man jumps as I call out her name, his hand immediately pulling away as if he knows he’s in the wrong.
Not going to fucking happen, motherfucker. I grab the collar of his shirt, and he immediately raises his hands defensively. “I-I don’t w-want any trouble.”
“What did you do?” I growl, aware that the couple sitting closest to us are quick to head back inside.
I can feel eyes on me, but I don’t fucking care.
Never have and never will. I’ve never had any restraint, and I certainly don’t have a tether when it comes to her or anyone willing to fuck with her shining light.
“Nothing, she wants me, man,” he tries to say confidently.
“She doesn’t. Of that, I’m sure.”
“Look, I was told she was easy. You know how it is—” I grab the back of his head and slam it into the table.
I hear the satisfying crunch of his nose.
Then I throw him around like a ragdoll. He falls to the floor in a heap, and I kick him hard between his legs, ensuring he won’t be using that area anytime soon.
He’s choking on sobs and shock as blood pours out of his nose, but I’m far from done.
I bend down and raise his arm, the one he was touching her with.
I smile, the buzz of murderous intent coursing through my veins.
An old friend, a lover, the part of me that has always gone unchecked and kept me alive.
His eyes go wide in horror as if knowing what I’m about to do.
He tries to tug his hand back, but it’s too late, and I’m double his size.
I snap his wrist, and he screams. I stand to my full height, watching him whimper and pale as he stares at his limp wrist before I kick him in the head.
Hard. He immediately goes still and quiet.
I couldn’t care less if he’s dead or not.
Ivy mumbles something. It’s incoherent but enough to draw me back to her. I want to pummel this guy into nothing but a fleshy puddle, but my focus lies elsewhere. I crouch beside her, trying to see her face, but she’s barely able to hold her head up.
Fuck. She’s not okay.
I scoop her into my arms, holding her close to my chest, and her body goes limp as a noodle, and her eyes are a sliver open.
People stare and make way for me as I stride back through the party.
No one tries to stop me, but if they did, I’ll kick their fucking heads in as well.
I hear her friend calling out, but I ignore her.
Shit fucking friend she is. If I were a woman, I’d kick her head in as well.
When I walk out of the restaurant, I head straight for my car. I shift her weight so I can open the door and place her in the passenger seat. I buckle her seat belt, then wipe the smudged makeup under her eyes. This isn’t the Ivy I know. How much has she had to drink?
“Ivy, baby, how much did you have to drink?” I ask her, lightly tapping her cheek.
Her head rolls to the side, and she mumbles something incoherent, but then she holds up three, then four, then two fingers before her head rolls to the other side, and she passes out cold, lightly snoring.
“Fucking hell,” I curse. My fear is confirmed. She’s not drunk. She’s been drugged.