Chapter 7
Seven
Emma
Hawk’s voice was low and rough, edged with a sharpness that made the tiny hairs along the back of my neck rise.
The question cut through the quiet road like a blade, and for a second, I just stood there, staring at him, my brain scrambling to catch up with everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before any words could escape, another sound rolled through the night. At first, it was faint—a low vibration that seemed to travel through the pavement beneath my feet. Then it grew louder.
Motorcycles.
My entire body went rigid as the rumble echoed across the empty road. The sound was distant but coming closer quickly, and the moment my brain recognized what it was, panic surged through my chest all over again.
My eyes darted down the dark stretch of road behind Hawk and the other bikers. Headlights appeared in the distance. Just a glow at first, then brighter.
The bike—or bikes—were coming toward us.
My stomach dropped. What if it was the man from the bar?
The image of his drunken face flashed through my mind again—the way he’d pinned me against the wall, the way he’d laughed when I told him to stop.
My heart started pounding harder as fear crept up my spine.
I stood frozen for half a second while my brain raced through the possibilities. If it was him, I was completely exposed standing out here in the open.
The rumble of the approaching motorcycle grew louder.
I stiffened but didn’t move.
The men around Hawk noticed immediately.
Before I could react, Hawk’s hand closed firmly around my upper arm and pulled me a step closer to him. The movement was quick, instinctive. At the same time, his body shifted in front of mine, shoulders squaring and stance widening as he placed himself directly between me and the road.
The adjustment was subtle, but suddenly I was almost completely hidden behind him, like he was shielding me.
The rumble of the approaching motorcycle grew louder.
My pulse hammered in my ears. The motorcycle slowed as it approached our group. Gravel crunched under the tires as the rider rolled closer. Then the bike stopped a short distance away.
“You boys good?”
The man’s voice carried easily through the quiet night air.
I held my breath.
One of Hawk’s men answered casually, “Yeah. All good.”
The other biker didn’t move right away. His engine idled, the low vibration filling the space between us.
For a moment, I wondered if he’d ride closer.
If he’d notice me standing behind Hawk. But Hawk didn’t shift.
Didn’t turn. Didn’t give anything away. He simply stood there like a solid wall between me and the road.
Finally, the biker spoke again. “Alright then.”
The engine revved. A second later, the motorcycle rolled away down the road, the sound fading slowly into the distance until the night went quiet again.
My shoulders sagged slightly as some of the tension drained from my body. That voice hadn’t sounded anything like the man from the bar. Not even close.
I stayed where I was for another second, breathing slowly while the adrenaline still rushed through my veins.
Then suddenly Hawk turned. Before I could react, one large hand came up and settled against the back of my head. His palm pressed into my hair, guiding my face toward his chest.
“Don’t move,” he murmured quietly.
The words weren’t harsh, but there was something firm in them—commanding. His hand stayed there, keeping my head turned away from the road like he didn’t want me seeing whatever might be happening behind us.
I didn’t fight it. My eyes slipped closed as my forehead rested lightly against the solid wall of his chest. My good hand fisted instinctively into the front of his cut, gripping the thick leather like it was the only steady thing left in the world.
Hawk didn’t comment on it, but his hand tightened slightly at the back of my head. The contact grounded me instantly.
Hawk was huge. His body was broad and hard beneath the leather of his cut, heat radiating through the fabric and into my skin. Even through the layers of clothing, I could feel how solid he was—strong, unmovable, like leaning against a wall made of stone.
But what surprised me the most was the way he smelled—leather, smoke, something warm and masculine underneath it all. The scent wrapped around me in a strange kind of comfort that made my shoulders slowly relax.
I breathed in slowly. Then again, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Against my cheek, I felt the faint rumble of his chest when he spoke. “Ghost.”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Get on it.”
Ghost didn’t hesitate. “Got it.”
I had absolutely no idea what that meant, but something in Hawk’s tone made it clear whatever he was asking for was already in motion.
Then Hawk spoke again. “Riot. Diesel. Ranger.”
“Yeah?” one of them answered.
“Head back. Check the bar. Round up.”
“You want updates?” another voice asked.
“Call me if anything looks off.”
Boots shifted on the gravel as the men moved toward their bikes.
“I’ll be back later,” Hawk added.
“Got it, Prez.”
Footsteps moved away from us. Then engines roared to life. The sudden explosion of sound made me jump violently. My whole body jerked against Hawk before I could stop myself.
The motorcycles were loud—so loud the vibration seemed to shake the ground beneath my feet. One by one, the bikes peeled away, their headlights disappearing down the road until the night fell quiet again.
Only Hawk’s bike remained. And Hawk.
Slowly, his hand slid from the back of my head. Then two fingers hooked gently beneath my chin, tilting my face upward.
My eyes met his.
Up close, his gaze was intense in a way that made my stomach flip. Dark eyes studied me carefully, like he was trying to read something beneath the surface.
“You better tell me what the fuck happened to you tonight,” he said quietly.
His voice wasn’t loud, but there was a weight behind the words that made my chest tighten.
I swallowed. “A drunk asshole grabbed me outside the bar,” I said hoarsely.
His eyes darkened instantly.
I sniffed and lifted my injured arm slightly. “So I punched him.”
His gaze dropped to my wrist, and I could see the swelling had gotten worse, the joint already starting to puff up.
“I think I broke it, though.”
For a second, Hawk didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His entire body went completely still.
His eyes slowly lifted back to my face. “You dropped him?” he asked.
I wiped at my cheeks with my sleeve. “Yeah.”
Hawk let out a low breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Atta girl.”
The words were rough, but there was unmistakable approval in his voice.
Then his expression hardened again. The brief flicker of amusement vanished as quickly as it appeared. His jaw tightened. “Where is he?”
The question sat heavy in the quiet night air. But exhaustion finally caught up to me.
“I’m not sure. Probably still at the bar. Please…” I whispered. “Take me home.”
For a moment, he just studied my face. Then he gave one small nod. “Alright.”
He grabbed his helmet from the handlebars of his bike and placed it carefully over my head. The helmet was huge—practically swallowing my face. But the gesture felt strangely gentle coming from someone who looked like him.
Hawk swung onto his motorcycle in one smooth movement. The engine rumbled softly beneath him.
I hesitated for a second before climbing on behind him. My injured wrist throbbed the moment I moved it wrong, and a sharp breath escaped me as pain shot up my arm. Carefully, I settled onto the seat behind him, my legs pressing against the sides of his.
Immediately, I noticed something: his body was solid. Not just strong. Like every inch of him was carved from stone. Even through the leather of his cut, I could feel the heat radiating from his back.
I wrapped my good arm carefully around his waist. The engine roared to life beneath us, the vibration traveling through the bike and up my spine. My heart started racing again.
Hawk reached back briefly and grabbed my hand, pulling it tighter around his middle. “Hold on, Trouble.”
The words were low but firm.
Then the motorcycle surged forward into the dark night.