Hijacked Epilogue
LEXIE
“Hurry up, I don’t have all day,” my brother orders as he unlocks the door to our house.
My house.
Ethan’s been staying with me for the last little while, and I’m oh so ready to rescind the invitation. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t. But oh boy, do I want to.
Walking into the tiny home, I toss my purse onto the small kitchen counter, and reply, “It’s okay, you don’t need to give me a ride tonight.”
His nostrils flare and he pulls his cell away from his ear. He’s been talking to one of his buddies for the last fifteen minutes. “Gotta talk with Gus anyway,” he tells me.
Of course, he does.
“Okay, give me five, so I can change.”
“You have two minutes,” he grunts before disappearing into his room with his phone pressed back to his ear.
What a dick.
The thought flutters across my mind, but I bite my tongue to keep from calling out my big brother, well aware it won’t do me any good.
It’s not that I don’t love Ethan. I do. It’s just, ever since he got out of prison, he’s been…
cold. And a dick. And a bully. And a few more adjectives I’m too tired to name, especially with my impending shift at The Body Shop ahead of me.
“Two minutes, it is,” I mumble under my breath. I walk into my bedroom and close the door behind me. Why? Why do I have to work tonight? Don’t get me wrong. The money’s great, but all I really want is to take a hot shower, warm up a can of soup, and watch a movie. Is that too much to ask?
A hand reaches out, enveloping my wrist, while another covers my mouth. My eyes bulge, and my heart rate skyrockets as I’m shoved against the wall. It happens so fast, my mind feels like it’s been put in a blender.
What the hell is happening?
The air whooshes from my lungs, and my nostrils flare, attempting to extract oxygen from the air surrounding us while my brain races to piece together where I am and who’s in my bedroom with me. Heat licks my front thanks to a hooded figure dressed in black caging me in as I weigh my options.
Here’s the thing about The Drift. Bluntly put?
It’s not a safe place. I know it. My brother knows it.
Anyone who’s crossed into Drift territory knows it.
But growing up here, you learn pretty quickly about certain rules.
One. Always keep your doors and windows locked.
Duh. Two. Never walk alone at night or during the day in the shadier parts of town.
And yes, some parts are shadier than others.
Three. Always carry pepper spray…which is tucked in my purse…
which is sitting on the counter in the kitchen.
Lucky me. And four. Never let your guard down when you’re alone. Never.
Yet, even with these rules, every girl from The Drift finds herself in a less-than-savory situation or two.
Whether it’s a guy leering at you in a parking lot or one who’s extra handsy when you’re at work.
You learn how to deflect or address the situation, or simply pull out the big guns and knee them in the balls before reaching for said pepper spray, which I could really use right now.
Focus, Lexie!
Lifting my knee, I try to hit the stranger in the balls, but he twists his waist, blocking the movement and giving me more of his weight in the process. Between the wall, the guy’s massive body, and the bear paw over my face, I feel like I’m suffocating.
Shit!
I fight against his hold, squirming and whimpering, but the intruder doesn’t budge.
Not one fucking inch. My nails dig into the stranger’s forearms as I grapple with his hand covering my mouth.
One second. All I need is one second to let out a scream so Ethan can hear me fighting someone, then this motherfucker will be in the ground.
Good. I’ll get the damn shovel. One second.
All I need is one second. I jerk my head to the side, but the stranger follows the movement, his palm smothering my protest.
Dammit!
I glare back at the hooded figure, determined to freaking neuter this asshole once I break free. And that’s when I catch a glimpse of his face.
Sharp jaw. Five o’clock shadow. Straight nose. And eyes so piercing and cold, I’d have to be blind not to remember them.
Holy. Shit.
Like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on me, my body freezes in place, and my chest heaves.
What the hell is Hawke Harden doing in my room?
Slowly, his hand on my waist disappears, and he lifts his forefinger, pressing it to his full lips hovering an inch from mine in a “shush” gesture.
He wants me to be quiet? I’ll show him quiet.
Or maybe I won’t. Seriously, what is he doing here?
If Ethan finds out, my brother will kill him.
Like, literally. And why do I care? I shouldn’t care.
Should I? Oxygen. I need oxygen if I have any hope of thinking straight, and the only way to get it is to agree to Hawke’s order to stay quiet.
My head bobs ever so slightly, giving in to his request, no matter how pissed off I feel.
With the same slow movements, he removes his palm from my mouth, and I rest the back of my head against the wall, studying him.
What. The hell. Is he doing here?
Hawke Harden is everything that’s wrong with the world.
Entitlement. Money. And an ego the size of Texas.
Yeah. This guy thinks he knows everything.
Sees everything. Hears everything. Owns everything.
And in a way, I guess he does. His family owns Harden Heights, the rich side of town.
Full of power-hungry snobs and entitled pricks like the man standing in front of me.
He’s been stalking me for months. At work.
When I’m out with my friends. Hell, even sometimes when I’m at home, I swear I can feel him watching me.
Or maybe I’m going crazy? Honestly, ever since he started popping up, it’s felt like it.
Like I'm going crazy. Like my entire world has flipped on its axis, and I don’t know what way is up and what way is down.
Why is he here?
“Lex!” Ethan booms through the door. “You ready?”
Something sparks in Hawke’s eyes as he holds my gaze hostage.
Trust? Fear? A warning? A freaking dare?
It isn’t the first time I’ve seen it. Something in this man’s eyes I can’t place.
Seriously, he’s impossible to read. I’m not used to it.
This feeling. Growing up in The Drift, you learn how to read people.
Their thoughts, their intentions, their actions.
But Hawke? He’s so mercurial and quiet and observant.
Man, is he observant. It’s like he sees everything.
Even the things most miss. And here he is.
In my room. Giving me the same look I’ve seen him give a hundred times over the past few months.
What are you thinking, Hawke Harden?
“Lex!” my brother calls.
My tongue darts out, wetting my lips. Hawke doesn’t try to cover my mouth again.
Doesn’t do anything at all. He simply stares, and I swear I can feel the weight of it from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
It’s more familiar than I care to admit.
The feel of his stare. How many times I’ve felt it or, at the very least, imagined feeling it.
The way I’ve replayed those moments. At the club.
With my friends. At Harden Nights—before my brother banned me from attending them anyway.
Which reminds me… Hawke’s the enemy. And he broke into my room. He shouldn’t be here.
This is it. The moment I can bury Hawke and all of his arrogance once and for all.
Or I can protect him from my brother’s wrath.
“Lex!” Ethan shouts.
“Two more minutes!” I yell, my gaze never wavering from Hawke’s. I don’t know why I say it. It’s not like I actually want to help him out, but I’ve always been impulsive. Always been one to not think things through. Guess this is just another data point proving exactly that. Right?
“It’s already been two—”
“I couldn’t find my outfit!” I argue, cutting off my brother.
“Fucking hell,” Ethan mutters through the closed door. “I’ll be in the car.” The man’s footsteps sound like they belong to a gorilla as he retreats, slamming the front door behind him.
I jerk at the sound, while Hawke’s penetrating stare keeps me hostage.
But what’s worse? It’s the way his gaze feels like it has a direct line to my lady bits.
Why? Why does it seem like every single time I’m in the same room with this man, my panties become a damp mess?
He’s not even that good-looking. Okay, that’s a lie.
He’s insanely good-looking. The whole wounded, brooding hero thing he’s got going?
Yeah, it definitely works, though I refuse to become another victim of the Harden charm, only to be tossed aside as soon as they grow bored.
Snap the hell out of it!
“What are you doing here?” I seethe.
“Better change.”
Glaring up at him, I lift my chin an inch higher. “Not going to answer my question?”
“Sooner you change, sooner you leave, sooner I can get out of here.”
Well, when he puts it that way…
My nostrils flare, and I shove at his chest, forcing him to give me enough room to move. Or at least I try to. The man barely budges from the impact. Tilting his head, he takes a slow, deliberate step back, giving me space while simultaneously proving it was his decision. Not mine.
See what I mean about arrogant?
“Should’ve told him you were hiding in here,” I grit out before snatching an outfit from the foot of my bed.
It’s lacy and white and is almost see-through under the right light, but covers the main bits.
As an added bonus, it makes my boobs look incredible, and is the one I’ve caught Hawke staring at me in more often than not whenever I’m at work, though I’d never admit that last part out loud.
The bastard doesn’t respond as I reach for the hem of my T-shirt. Pausing, I shoot him another glare. “Don’t look.”
Tongue in cheek, he turns on his heel, facing the wall.
Good.
Satisfied, I slip off my shirt and undo my bra, replacing it with the outfit that’s more lingerie than actual attire.
A corset is sewn along the back. I leave it loose, making a mental note to have one of my friends at The Body Shop tighten it for me once I get there.
Slipping off my jeans, I change into a matching pair of booty shorts and thigh-high stockings, clipping them into place once my garter belt is situated.
You might not know it, but the outfit is a hell of a lot more conservative than most of the workers at the club.
Twisting toward the mirror along the back of my bedroom door, I start a quick once-over to make sure I’m not missing anything when I catch Hawke’s stare just beneath the dark hood of his sweatshirt. My breath hitches.
Was he watching the entire time?
“Classy, Robin,” I note, refusing to call him by his real name. Besides. Hawke. Robin. He might as well be a Woodpecker for all I care. He. Doesn’t. Matter.
“Looks like you need help.” His attention flicks to the loose back of my top.
“From you?” I snort. “Hardly.” I reach for the corset despite knowing there’s no way I can actually tighten the thing all by myself. I wasn’t even intending to until Hawke and his stupid face decided I was incapable.
I am woman. Hear me roar.
My fingers fumble with the silk string, and I turn around, using the mirror in hopes that the angle will help me see what I’m actually doing instead of flying blind. Yeah, this is impossible.
Slowly, Hawke moves toward me. No rush. No indecision. It’s like he has all the time in the world despite my brother waiting for me outside. When his fingers finally brush against my bare skin, goosebumps erupt, and I fight the urge to shy away from him.
Why? Why does my body have to respond like this anytime he’s around?
Hell, he doesn’t even need to be around.
All I have to do is think about him, and my body starts buzzing.
It seriously isn’t fair. And I’d like to say it’s the norm, but the truth is a lot more pathetic.
Guys have touched me before. Plenty of them, actually.
To be clear, I’ve never slept with anyone.
Yes, I talk a big game. Yes, I’ve lied out of my ass about it on multiple occasions.
And yes, I know I work at a strip club, but it’s the truth.
As for work, I rarely dance. Usually, I just serve drinks and act as eye candy, but it doesn’t mean none of the patrons have ever stolen a touch or copped a feel before one of the security guards could throw them out.
And none of them—not a single person—has ever made my body respond this way.
I force my lungs to expel the pent-up oxygen as Hawke finds the silky corset tie along my spine. One by one, he tightens the laces, stealing my breath in the process. Why does he have to smell good, too? He’s already attractive and broody and…
The freaking enemy, I remind myself.
His warm breath kisses the top of my head and my bare shoulders, leaving with it a plethora of dirty thoughts I have no right thinking. My body jostles as he tightens the last lace before he ties a knot right above my ass.
I glance over my shoulder, taking him in. His split knuckles. The hole at the edge of the thick sleeve. The way the baggy fabric almost manages to hide his muscular physique, but not quite. The stubbled, square jaw and the mercurial eyes shadowed by the dark hood covering his golden brown hair.
Holding my stare, he reaches behind him, grabs something from the bed, and offers it to me.
A pair of joggers and a baggie hoodie. My usual attire.
The fact that he knows it’s what I wear to cover my work outfit during my commute isn’t surprising.
Neither is his openness about his casual stalking anytime I catch him watching me.
He doesn’t flee. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even flinch.
It’s off-putting and confusing and weirdly arousing in a way I’d also never admit out loud.
“It’s been two minutes,” he murmurs. Stepping back, Hawke lifts his chin toward the closed door. “Run along, Vixen.”
Vixen. My stage name, or at least the nickname people call me at work. Just like that, the moment is shattered, and I shake myself out of whatever strange spell he’s cast on me. Again.
I reach for the door handle but hesitate, glaring at Hawke over my shoulder. “See you at work, stalker.”
Then, I open the door and slam it behind me.
Find out what happens next in
Hawke and Lexie’s book.