Chapter 11 Hawk
HAWK
Fifteen Years Ago…
There is nothing more important than family. Remember that, Hawk.
I swear to God, if my father bludgeons those words into my brain one more time, I’m really going to become unhinged.
But at age twelve, I’ve been trained to say, “Yes, I understand, Dad.”
“It’s important that you always understand”—he clears his throat, hiding his mouth—“that what I did was necessary.”
I nod. “Yes, I understand that.”
Even though I don’t.
Even though what he did lacks all understanding. All compassion. All goodness.
I look around my father’s home office in our sprawling house on Bellamy ranch.
His massive mahogany desk, his leather reclining chair, his four giant computer monitors.
Bookshelves are lined with tomes I’m sure he’s never read but look good.
They smell good too. I inhale the crisp scent of parchment and leather.
It does nothing to soothe me.
What happened wasn’t right.
I don’t like when things aren’t right.
My brother Falcon tells me I need to be more realistic and less idealistic. The world is a complicated, messy place.
But why should I sacrifice my own standards? Why should I just accept injustice in the world?
My father drones on. “It was necessary to protect your mother. She could’ve been violated. Or even killed. Same for your sisters.”
I gulp down the lump in my throat. If that’s truly the case—though I don’t believe it is—then I do understand. My twin sisters are only thirteen, a year older than I am. And my mother…
She and I have a complicated relationship. I love her, and I certainly wouldn’t want to see her raped or murdered. The thought of it makes me want to puke.
Suffice it to say I’m pretty sure I’m her least favorite child of the five of us. Her favorite is my younger brother Eagle, the baby. Followed by Raven, my sister who is the most like her. The other, Robin, prefers to hang out with my brothers and me, doing boy stuff.
“It was necessary to keep you and your brothers from being killed in your sleep,” Dad says.
I nod for the third time. And I repeat myself. “Yes, Dad, I understand.”
My father threads his fingers through his blond hair.
It’s beginning to gray, just a touch of silver around his temples.
Then he looks at me with those blue eyes that are so like my own.
I’m the only one of five who inherited them.
My brothers and sisters all have dark-brown eyes, like our mother.
We all share her darker skin from her Mexican heritage.
So as I stand, looking at my fair-skinned father, I focus on his eyes. The eyes he gave me.
Only me.
And I try to find something in common with him other than the one feature we share.
Something.
Anything.
But I can’t.
How could he do what he did?
Though I’ve repeated the mantra—Yes, Dad, I understand—I don’t understand. No rational person could.
“I’m sorry, Hawk,” he finally says.
My eyes go wide.
Did I truly hear the words?
I’m sorry, Hawk.
I didn’t know Austin Bellamy was ever sorry about anything.
Of course, when you shoot one of your own children, you probably should be fucking sorry.
There’s a dull hum in the air between us, like the world itself is holding its breath.
My father says it again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry, Hawk.”
The words sound strange coming from him. Fragile. Out of place in a mouth built for command, not remorse.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He stares past me, at the oil painting of our ranch hanging above the fireplace. The golden fields, the sprawling fences. A portrait of his father’s legacy.
I shift in the chair, my head hurting. The smell of antiseptic still clings to me. It burns when I breathe.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He glances at me, those clear blue eyes flicking sharp and defensive. “I told you. He was going to hurt us. Hurt your mother.”
I don’t answer. I could tell him I don’t believe him. That Ted was a great guy. That he taught me things—things I never learned from him, my own father. That he was my friend. That I miss him.
But I don’t say any of those things. My father wouldn’t care, anyway.
For a moment, the air between us goes tight. Until—
“Ted made choices,” he says finally. “He betrayed this family. And betrayal—” He pauses, as if he’s weighing his next word. “Betrayal deserves consequence.”
Betrayal?
Ted wouldn’t betray this family. This was a job.
“You didn’t let him explain,” I say.
He exhales through his nose. “Some men don’t need to explain. Their actions speak loud enough.”
I look down at my hands.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” he says, his voice soft again, as if that’s supposed to make it better. “Family first, Hawk. Always.”
I swallow hard. “Even when family’s wrong?”
He looks at me for a long time. Then he smiles—the kind of smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “Family isn’t wrong. It’s blood. And blood keeps us alive.”
He turns back to his desk, dismissing me with the same motion.
I walk out of that office, twelve years old and damned lucky to be alive, and I make myself a silent promise.
If the truth has a cost, I’ll pay it.
If justice hurts, I’ll take the pain.
And I will never be like my father.
* * *
Present Day…
I come back to in pieces, as if a broken glass is repairing itself in slow motion.
Light.
A single bulb swings above me. I squint at the sting behind my eyes. My mouth is dry, as if someone has wiped it with a thick cloth. My shoulders ache, and my neck feels stiff.
A chair. It’s hardbacked and narrow. Metal bites into my calves. My wrists are bound, and the rope is rough against my skin.
And my chest. It’s tight, like I need to fight for my next breath.
But that’s not from the bindings.
It’s from knowing I’m not alone.
I try to lift my head. The room tilts.
When I do look up, I see a smirking grin.
Fuck.
Hernando Reyes.
No worse for the fucking wear from his time as my captive. At least not that I can see, but my vision is still blurry.
“You awake, Bellamy?” He pads into the pool of light as if he’s stepping into his parlor. He smells of expensive cologne and stale smoke. Guess he’s had a shower and a cigar since he escaped my grasp.
I force my jaw to work. “Let me go.”
He laughs, a short sharp thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Rule number one of being a criminal.” He paces in a slow circle. “Never come back to the scene of the crime.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not a philosopher tonight, Reyes. Untie me.”
“Ah.” He stops right in front of me and leans down. “You’re one of those people who believes in what’s right, aren’t you? Justice. Law. The straight line where good men stand on one side and bad men on the other?”
I spit a laugh. I was that guy once.
Now?
I’ve done things I never thought I’d do in a million fucking years.
“See, I know all about you,” Reyes continues. “So you’ll understand why I’m amused. You came here to take what I have. You thought you could walk in and take evidence. Make me small. Save your own skin in the process.”
I pull against my bonds even though I know it’s no use. “You used women,” I say. “Abused them. Bought and sold lives.”
“And you beat an old man and left him tied in a barn.”
The words hit like a slap.
He’s not wrong.
I did what he said.
To him.
Because he hurt Daniela. And I thought he might be the person who’s threatening her now.
Does that make me virtuous?
Or evil?
“You think you’re clean because you dress up your actions in nice words,” Reyes says.
“But men make choices. And, at the end of the day, I make my choices more respectfully. I make them loud and proud. I don’t labor under the delusion that I’m doing something good.
I don’t apologize for my fucking actions. ”
Fuck.
He’s clocked me twice now.
But there is a difference between what we did. I’ll admit, the morality is a little gray, but I’m not as evil as this motherfucker.
He turns away and from the shadow of a shelf pulls a small vial. The liquid inside is a dark and vivid red.
“It was so simple,” he says, twisting the vial between his fingers.
“You gave me the easiest DNA in the world—fist prints on my safe. I thought I’d have to dig for blood, comb through the place looking for where you left yourself, but you pounded it into my safe and left it wet.
I came back and the scent was still sharp. Lucky me.”
The scene snaps into place—the metallic scent when my knuckles split, the pain I didn’t feel because of the rage. I wasn’t thinking about leverage. I was thinking about justice.
Now I’m thinking about saving my own ass.
“You made a mistake,” Reyes says. “You should’ve known better.”
I grit my teeth, pull against the bindings once more.
How did this fucking rapist get the best of me? How did I let this happen?
The answer is in front of me, slapping me in the face.
I let my morals go. I let my anger at this man for what he did to Daniela cloud everything else.
“You let me go,” I say. “Or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” He tilts his head. “You’ll tell the cops?
Call the DA? Show them how you came into my home like a judge and executioner all in one?
Tell them how you left the smart kind of prints?
” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small phone with no brand or case.
A burner. He flips it open and lays it on the table in front of me.
“This is a favor phone,” he says. “You make the calls I want, when I want. You do one thing. One single favor. You owe me for the evidence you left.”
I stare at the phone like it might bite.
“You think a man like you can scare me?” I bite out.
He laughs again. “Scare? You’ve got youth and size on your side, but you seem to be a little tied up at the moment.”
I seethe.
“Still, I can see you’re not truly frightened, so I won’t attempt to scare you. That seems moot at this point anyway because I don’t need your fear. I only need to control you.” He steps closer and taps the vial against the phone. “We both have something to trade.”
“Untie me,” I say. I’m trying to buy seconds to think, but the rope digs into the inside of my wrists. My pulse drums in my ears.
He crouches so his face is level with mine.
“Listen to me, Bellamy. I can make your life very small. I can make your brother Falcon wish he’d never drawn breath.
He has enemies on the inside, and I know all of them.
And your little brother? Eagle? I’ve got even more on him.
” The words are quiet but heavy. “But I would rather have you useful. I would rather have a man like you on his knees when I call.”
Something cold roots itself inside me. This is blackmail, plain and simple. He’s forcing me into a debt.
“You think I don’t know how to get to the Bellamys?
” he murmurs. “You think I haven’t watched how you all hold virtue like a shield?
Give me a little push—just one thing—and watch how quickly your old man will trade integrity for stability.
You’re like all men. You’ll fold when the fire is hot enough. ”
The way he says it—like it’s always been a simple experiment—makes my skin crawl. He’s right. Power bends people. I’ve seen it. I’ve been on the outside watching my family pretend not to see what’s under their boots. But to be the tool? To be the lever? The idea repels me.
He continues, “Funny how easy it is to get a Bellamy to turn his back on his morals with just a little leverage.”
Anger slides up my spine. “What do you want?” I demand.
He grins, and for a second that grin looks almost harmless.
“One call. One favor. You’ll do it when I say.
You won’t question. You won’t hesitate. You will obey.
In exchange, I destroy the vial. I erase any link between you and my home.
I will keep my mouth shut and let you walk. No charges. No prison.”
“You think I’ll be your puppet?” I say, tasting bile. “You think I’ll do your laundry and call you my master?”
He shrugs. “I think you’re a man who hates being boxed into the choice between letting men like me run free and becoming the man you swore you wouldn’t. This way, you get to keep your hands clean—on paper at least. And I get my leverage.”
I try to pull once more against the ropes. I must be na?ve or reckless or both, but I always believed in right and wrong. Black and white. This negotiation is a new color. One I can’t stomach.
“Is the favor violent?” I ask.
He leans back. “I don’t want you to hurt people. Not unless absolutely necessary. You said you won’t become your father. Fine.” He taps the vial. “No one will get hurt, Hawk. Not if you keep your promise. But you do as I say when I call.”
A small part of my brain calculates. Options. Prison. Exposure. Falcon. Eagle. A dozen broken things. The thought of Falcon sitting in a cell because of me is a hot coal. The thought of Eagle dead in an alley is another. And the most important of all.
Daniela.
Reyes is a predator with a long list of sins. Letting him go feels like betrayal of the victims. Making this bargain stains me.
“If I do this,” I say finally, “it’s on the condition that the favor doesn’t involve hurting people. I need your fucking word on that point, Reyes.”
“Agreed,” he says finally. “No one gets hurt.” He eyes me, slow and appraising. “But it has to be immediate. You do it when I call. No hesitation. No questions. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of your damned honeymoon. You get on a plane and take care of business.”
I take the phone with hands that don’t quite feel like mine. It’s warm, like a living thing. The vial glints in the bulb’s light and then Reyes snaps it shut and tucks it into his pocket. He loosens one of the ropes enough so that I’ll be able to free myself.
“You have my word,” I say.
My word—my oath—settles over me like a suffocating plastic bag.
I don’t like that I said it.
I don’t like that I meant it.
Reyes stands, straightens his shirt, and smiles. “Good,” he says. “Now get out of my house, Bellamy. And when the phone rings, you take the fucking call.”