23. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
I'm ushered inside their house, Hawk heading in first. I quickly take after him, grabbing his hand.
"Wait!"
He didn't answer my questions in the car, and now that we're somewhere more private, I'm hoping to figure it out.
Hawk pauses in the hallway, turning around to face me. "What?"
I lift his hand up, examining the dried blood. "Is it yours?" I ask, concerned.
He snickers. "No, Tempest. It's not mine."
My eyes snap up to meet his. "What happened?"
There's no judgment in my tone, just concern and curiosity. If anything, I'm relieved that he's here with me safely. Hawk scans my expression, slowly softening as his barrier comes back down.
He reaches up, fingers tracing a spot on my neck. "You're bruising," he murmurs, anger flashing in his eyes.
I clasp my hand over my neck, feeling the tender skin. "It's okay," I tell him.
"It's not fucking okay," he answers angrily. "I can see his finger marks on your skin. I can see his hand on your face. Your lips are swollen and red from his disgusting mouth. Nothing about this is okay."
I nod, cupping his cheek. "I know," I say gently. "I know. But I'm here now. I'm safe."
Hawk covers my hand with his. "I removed every single finger that dared to leave a mark on you," he murmurs darkly.
"What?" I gasp.
His lips tug into a smirk. "He'll never do it again. He's lucky I left him alive."
"Hawk," I sputter. "You're going to get in so much trouble. We need to call Dad."
"He won't speak," Hawk replies, referring to Elijah. "I've made sure of it. I don't think you'll be seeing him again."
My eyes look over his, in disbelief. "Hawk…"
"Don't give me a lecture, Tempest," he shoots back. "I'm not a good person, remember?"
I feel a ping of hurt at his words, my own thoughts coming back to haunt me. I briskly grab his face in my hands. "That's bullshit," I whisper.
Hawk stares back at me. "I hurt people. I'm dangerous."
"You won't hurt me," I tell him confidently. "I'm not in danger."
He pushes me gently against the hallway wall, resting his forehead against mine. "You're making stupid decisions again."
I frown in confusion. "How so?"
"You're trusting me."
"I am," I murmur. "Because I know you'll always save me when I need it."
Hawk leans down, brushing his lips against mine. "Why is that?"
I kiss him back breathlessly. "I think it's because you love me."
He pulls back, face void of emotion. "You're only just figuring that out now?"
"You haven't made it easy," I taunt playfully. "But I also think you love to hate me too."
A smile breaks across his face, a small laugh getting caught in his throat. "Come on," he says, pushing back. "Let's get you cleaned up while Jett cooks dinner."
I glance around the hallway, realizing that we're alone. Jett must have slipped past us at some point. When I listen closely, I can hear movement in the kitchen, but it fades away when we climb the stairs.
Hawk's bedroom is exactly like it was this morning when I said goodbye to him. It doesn't slip past me that after I left with Jett, he followed us, standing outside my building.
How long was he waiting there?
We head into his bathroom and Hawk turns on the shower faucet before standing in front of me. He starts unbuttoning the shirt, chucking it and my bra into the corner of the room. I lean back against the wash basin as he drops to his knees, hands pulling down my torn skirt. When I'm naked in front of him, I'm surprised that he doesn't touch me.
My confusion must register because he looks up, a serious expression on his face. "I'm not going to touch you until you're ready," he tells me. "You've been through a lot today."
"Oh," I mumble, unsure how to feel. "Thanks."
Hawk drops his gaze to my pussy, humming to himself. "This is still ours though."
I laugh a little at his words. "Really? I'm surprised you haven't marked it," I muse, remembering my conversation with Jenna about men wanting to mark their territory.
Hawk looks up at me, a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm going to."
Reaching into his back pocket, I gasp as he pulls out a pocket knife. I'm not sure what's more confronting—the knife itself, or the dried blood, confirming his earlier story.
He stands up, turning the tap on behind me. He rinses the knife thoroughly, the water turning pale pink as the blood washes off. I watch as he rubs some soap over it, his finger running along the blade before he flicks the tap back off.
Dropping back to his knees, he pushes my legs apart with his hand, lifting my left one onto his shoulder.
"Stay still," he orders, pushing a hand flat against my inner thigh.
I stare, entranced as he brings the tip of the blade to my skin, a few inches down from my pussy. When he decides on a spot, he presses more firmly onto my thigh with his hand, before digging the tip into my skin. I let out a little hiss, but don't move as he draws into my pale skin.
It burns, the pain making me want to jolt and flinch away, but I stay completely still. My hands dig into the basin, and less than a minute later, he sits back, a look of amusement on his face.
"There," he says, running his fingers over the bloodied wound.
I look down, spotting a 'H' smeared under the blood.
"You carved your initial into my thigh," I mumble.
Hawk smirks. "Now it's mine. Seems only fair since you scarred me."
"What?" I ask bewildered.
He tilts his neck to the side, revealing little red lines down his jawline and neck. I don't know how I didn't notice them before and my mouth falls open in shock.
"The elevator yesterday?" I mumble, but I already know the answer.
Hawk leans forward, pressing a kiss over his mark, tongue rolling up my leg. My head falls back as I wait for him to go further up, but he stops, pulling back.
Glancing down, I stare mesmerized at his red lips, a small trace of blood over them. I cup his face, leaning over to kiss him.
"If fairness and equality is what you're after, seems only right that Jett gets a turn," I tell him between kisses.
He nods, standing up, and swiftly picking me up. I let out a tiny squeal in surprise, wrapping my arms and legs around him as he carries me out of the room.
"I can walk," I say nervously as we approach the top of the stairs.
"I prefer to carry you," he answers, easily descending.
When we enter the kitchen, Jett turns around, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"You're naked," he points out, stirring something in a pot.
Hawk walks us over to the kitchen island, laying me down next to some food packages. "We need you before she showers."
Jett heads over intrigued. Pushing my thighs apart, I watch as he immediately finds the carving in my skin, a smile appearing.
"I see," he says simply, reaching for the knife block.
I watch them both closely, Jett running his hand up on right leg as he holds a kitchen knife up. Giving me a quick grin, he turns his attention to my thigh, picking a spot parallel to Hawk's marking and pushing the tip of the blade into my skin.
The familiar burning sensation returns, but this time, I'm at ease. I lay still, relaxed—much like when I get a tattoo.
I can feel the curve of the 'J' as the blade travels down, before Jett pulls back to inspect his handiwork.
"You're perfect, Tempest," he remarks, gazing at me with astonishment.
"I want to see," I say, sitting up. Spreading my legs in front of them—because let's be honest, they've seen it all—I look down, surveying the initials from upside down.
Blood trickles down my thighs, little droplets landing on the kitchen island. Jett wipes it with his finger, plopping it into his mouth as he locks eyes with me.
"Go get showered," he mutters. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes."
I swallow, nodding as I slide off the bench to my feet. Turning to Hawk, I smile up at him. "Are you coming?"
Hawk shakes his head. "We'll let you have some privacy. I'll stay here with Jett and set the table."
"Okay," I murmur, walking off to the staircase. I'm not used to this softer side of them—my body wondering if it's always been there. I'm sure it has—I've always seen their sweeter side with our parents. Still, it's nice to see the different sides. It makes them appear… human.
I take a quick shower, my eyes zoning off at the tiled wall as I process what happened in the office. A small part of me worries for Elijah, and I hate myself for it. He tried to force himself onto me, so I shouldn't care at all. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm guilt-ridden once again, questioning my actions over the past few weeks. I try to tell myself that it doesn't matter. Even if I came off overly friendly, no means no. I shouldn't have had to specify a reason—or several of them—to get him to stop.
And suddenly, everything else comes into perspective. This entire ridiculous relationship I have with Hawk and Jett—I stop and question it. The times when I said no and they kept going. Was it different?
I think back to the night of the key party, how much I absolutely hated them. I had told myself so many times I should have just tried harder to leave. But the flashbacks come in and I recognize a difference.
It was crossing lines, for sure. But on a level, I wanted it. And slowly, that level grew. Also I kissed them first—even if it was because of a promise.
I think it's because in the back of my mind, I always knew they wouldn't hurt me. If I had begged them to stop, they would have. But they were right… I loved the thrill.
Tomorrow is going to be a horrible day. I have no idea what it will bring or if I should even go to work.
Will I be fired? Will Elijah be there? Will he be fired?
Part of me wonders if I should email Jason. I know his cell is always with him and he has his emails set up on it.
Maybe they already know. If Elijah was hurt, surely he would have contacted someone about it. Fuck—what about the night cleaners? Hawk was covered in blood. Someone would see that in the office for sure.
I realize I've been in the shower for too long, my skin numb from the hot water. I quickly turn off the taps, reaching for a towel.
I dry myself off, searching through Hawk's drawers for clothes. I settle on an oversized shirt, leaving the bottom half. The shirt is so big on my frame that it hides everything anyway, and I head downstairs. The smell of food is welcoming and I find the guys at the table, waiting patiently.
Bowls of pasta are in front of them, one in my place too. Neither of them have touched their own food as they wait for me.
"That was longer than ten minutes," Jett points out playfully.
"Sorry," I sigh, sitting down. "I got distracted."
Hawk looks at me in concern. "Are you okay?"
I shrug. "Not really," I admit honestly. "I don't know how to feel. I think I feel too much… all at once."
"That's okay," Jett says softly. "No one expects you to be fine."
"Did I do something wrong?" I ask them, my own thoughts sending me on a tangent again. "What's going to happen tomorrow?"
They stay quiet, watching me closely as I pick up my fork and play with my food.
"You did nothing wrong," Hawk answers finally. "As for tomorrow—we'll take care of it."
I just nod, popping some pasta into my mouth. It's cheesy and delicious, but for some reason, I can barely focus on the taste. "I think I just need a good sleep. In the morning once my head is clear, I might have a better idea of what to do moving forward."
"Well eat up," Jett responds. "Then you can go to sleep and rest. It will be alright. Promise."
I gaze up at him, giving him a sad smile. "I hope so."