42. Hawke
Hawke
I ’m woken by the sound of someone honking outside my house. When I reach for Ivy, she isn’t there. When I open my eyes, I see her standing across the room, still wearing my shirt that hangs past her knees, holding a travel cup.
I rub my hand through my hair. It’s dark in the room, but that’s because I have blackout curtains. I pick up my phone, and my jaw drops when I notice the time. “Why is it so late?” I say, hopping out of bed and grabbing my jeans and the first shirt I can find.
The honking continues, and I curse, knowing it’s Ford and Eli. Fuck, I’m late.
“You clearly needed sleep, so I turned your alarm off,” Ivy replies.
I lean back into my walk-in closet to grab my boots. “Eli’s going to fucking kill me.”
She pops a hand on her hip. “If Eli has a problem with it, you tell him to take it up with me. You tell him I said that,” she says defiantly. I growl, agitated that my cock jumps at her sassy mouth. I loom over her, squeezing her cheeks.
“You’re so lucky I love punishing this smart little mouth of yours.”
“I think you’re the lucky one here,” she bites back before I crush my lips to hers. Because for all I know, it might be the last time I ever see her. Eli is not a patient man. I go to run out the door but come to a halt as she calls me back and hands me the travel cup.
“It’s a protein shake I made for you. Good luck today.”
Fuck me. I could get used to this. I kiss her again before running out the door, still trying to do up my jeans.
“You’re late,” Eli growls from the back seat as I practically throw myself into Ford’s passenger seat.
“Sorry, boss,” I say, licking my lips and glancing around awkwardly, unsure where to put the travel cup. He arches an eyebrow, and I avert my gaze out the window as I try to get my bearings. I yawn, patting down my shirt and pants, making sure I’m wearing both.
It’s a fucking miracle. I slept peacefully all night. Aside from when Ivy woke up and, I eased her back to sleep the most natural way I know how—in every position I can possibly bend her into.
I didn’t plan to open up to her about murdering that woman; a small part of me expected to be judged for it. To be shamed. To be hated. I didn’t realize Ivy’s opinion was the one I cared for the most. But she held me, consoled me. Told me I was heroic.
I don’t know how or why hearing that shifted a weight in me, but it’s as if I’ve been waiting to hear her say that to set me free. To give me something or someone to look forward to when I feel lost.
We arrive at the private landing strip and prepare ourselves for the hour flight to Boston.
The atmosphere in the car is tense, as we’re all most likely thinking the same thing.
We don’t want Waylon to be a part of this underhanded drug distribution in our area.
But if he is… He’ll meet the same fate as anyone else who’s tried to cross Eli Monti.
But to lighten the mood on the plane, I ask them, “Have you guys watched Pretty Woman ?” And then I begin to explain to them why they should watch it.