14. HAWK
HAWK
The air’s cold up here, but I barely feel it. She’s still curled against me, skin soft, cheeks flushed from everything we just did. And fuck, everything feels different now.
I run a hand through my hair, trying to get my head straight, but it’s useless. I can still taste her, feel her. Every part of me is humming like I just touched a live wire.
“Can I ask you something?” Marcy’s voice breaks the quiet.
I glance down at her, heart already kicking up because I know that tone. “Yeah, sweetheart… anything.”
She bites her lip, then looks me dead in the eye. “Are the raids… because of me?”
I freeze.
Shit.
The way she says it—there’s no room to dodge, no play left in me. I could lie. Hell, maybe I should. But after what just happened between us, I can’t.
I sigh, running a hand down my face. “We’ll talk… later, alright?” My voice is rough, almost pleading. “This… this ain’t how I thought tonight would go.”
She stiffens, pulling back just enough to look at me. “What? You didn’t think you’d end up fucking me?”
“Marcy—”
“Because that’s what they think, you know,” she snaps, bitterness coating every word. “The women down there. They think I’m up here screwing my way through the club. And I just proved them right. What’s wrong with me?”
My stomach twists. I hate that she’s saying it like that, like what just happened between us was cheap. Like it didn’t mean a goddamn thing.
“What are you talkin’ about, Marcy?” I mutter, sitting up, raking both hands through my hair. "That’s not how this went down.”
She scoffs, looking away, blinking fast like she’s trying not to cry.
“Hey—” I catch her chin, force her to look at me. “Look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine—red-rimmed, angry, scared.
“This wasn’t just… ‘fucking’,” I say it low, but every word carries weight. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening between us, Marcy… but don’t stand there and talk like it’s nothing. ’Cause it sure as fuck wasn’t nothin’ for me.”
She swallows hard but doesn’t answer.
“Don’t lie to me, Hawk. Not after… that.” She gestures between us, her cheeks flushing. “I deserve the truth.”
I rub a hand down my face, the weight of it settling heavy on my chest. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah… it started rampin’ up after you showed up. Cops pokin’ around, inspections, bullshit permits… all of it. But we’ve dealt with this shit before. This is just another storm we need to get through.”
She lets out a shaky breath, folding her arms like she’s holding herself together. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“What the hell were we supposed to say?” I bite out. “‘Hey, Marcy, by the way, your dad’s got his boot on our neck. But hey, enjoy the mashed potatoes?’”
I bite my tongue. CJ is right, I really need to tone down my sass. Her face crumbles for a second before she steels herself. “I didn’t know. I swear to you, Hawk, I didn’t know he was doing that.”
I stare at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie. There isn’t one.
“I believe you,” I finally say. “Doesn’t change the mess, though.”
She laughs bitterly, tears welling. “No. Of course it doesn’t.” She takes a shuddering breath. “That’s what the women think, you know. That I’m just here… fucking my way through the club while my father burns it down.”
“Marcy,” I growl, but she keeps going.
“They asked me if my dad sent me,” she spits, voice breaking.
“Well, they’re wrong,” I say firmly. “I know it. Ryder knows it. Heck, even CJ knows it.”
“I don’t understand why he’s doing it,” she whispers. “Why my dad’s trying so hard to ruin my life.”
My gut twists. I should tell her. She deserves to know. After everything we just did—after what we shared—lying feels worse than anything.
But the words won’t come.
Because Project Blackthorne… that’s a line I can’t cross. Not yet.
I clear my throat, trying to sound steady. “It’s just what men like your father do, Marcy. They break things when they lose control.”
I notice it then—she’s shivering. Her bare shoulders trembling under the thin blanket, her skin flushed from the cold and everything we just did. Guilt punches me square in the chest.
“C’mere,” I mutter, tugging her gently upright. She doesn’t fight me, but her eyes stay locked on mine, still searching for answers I’m not ready to give.
I help her into her clothes—slow, careful—my hands lingering longer than they should on her bare skin. Once she’s dressed, I wrap the blanket tighter around her shoulders and press a soft kiss to her temple.
“We’ll talk,” I say quietly. “But not up here. You’re gonna catch a damn cold.”
She nods, biting her lip, but the questions don’t stop. Not even as we head back down the stairs.
“So… the raids,” she whispers, keeping close to me. “Is it really that bad?”
I exhale slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah… It’s bad, Marcy. Your father’s got a real hard-on for the 12 Devils. Been breathing down CJ’s neck for weeks. They’re bleeding us dry.”
She flinches at that, eyes dropping. I regret it immediately, but before I can say anything else, the side door bursts open.
“Hawk!”
It’s Sam—out of breath, grinning—with a pack of kids behind him, bundled up in jackets and scarves. They’re charging out into the snow.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” I ask, frowning as I glance from them back to Marcy.
“Tug-of-war!” Sam yells. “We’re settin’ it up out back!”
I glance at Marcy, who offers a tired shrug, and look back at the door where the kids are already disappearing into the cold.
Something tightens in my gut. They’re too damn excited, and it’s getting dark fast. “Stay here,” I mutter to Marcy. “I’m gonna check what the hell they’re doin’.”
I follow them out, breath fogging in the air, boots crunching over the snow.
The kids have already split into teams, laughing and hollering, rope stretched tight between them. Sam’s in the middle, bossing the younger ones around.
I hear the soft crunch of boots behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, there she is—Marcy. She followed me out, the blanket still wrapped around her, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Couldn’t let you freeze out here alone,” she shrugs.
Before I can say anything, Sam spots us. “Hawk! Marcy! We need more people! You’re on my team!”
I snort. “Oh, yeah? That right?”
Sam nods, grinning wide. “We’re gonna win.”
Marcy looks at me, brow raised. “You scared?”
I let out a laugh—a real one. “You’re about to find out what scared looks like, sweetheart.”
And just like that, we’re pulled in. I drop the blanket off her shoulders, and without hesitation, she steps right into the snow, boots sinking down, grabbing the rope like she was born for this. No hesitation.
Damn… there’s a spark in her eyes I haven’t seen before.
“You ready?” I grin, grabbing the rope behind her.
“Always,” she smirks.
The kids scream, “GO!” and we’re off—pulling, laughing, feet sliding in the snow. Sam’s yelling orders, the other side groaning and fighting back.
Marcy’s laughing, cheeks flushed, hair a mess around her face as she digs her boots in and pulls with everything she’s got. I can’t stop looking at her—how she throws herself right into the chaos, not caring how stupid she looks, not worried about breaking a nail.
She’s as good as any prospect for the 12 Devils, I think with a low laugh. Hell, if my old man saw this, he’d say she was halfway patched already.
I pull harder, leaning back, and Marcy yelps, laughing as we nearly fall. “Don’t you dare let go!” she shouts over her shoulder.
“Never, darlin’,” I grin. “Not a chance.”
For a minute—just a minute—it’s like none of the other shit exists. Not the raids, not Jake Hollingbow, none of that shit.
And fuck… I wonder, just wonder, if she’ll stay long enough to see how good this life could really be.
All this time, I’ve been torn between my loyalty to the club, to CJ, to the brothers who built this place with me. To the idea of what the 12 Devils are supposed to be, and who we’re supposed to trust.
And then there’s her.
Marcy Hollingbow—Jake’s daughter. And yet…
Watching her now, laughing like that, pulling her weight like she’s one of us —for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It just feels… right.