25. Da— Hawk

CHAPTER 25

DA— HAWK

The harsh wind coming at me from the rolled-down window bites at my skin as Isaac and I speed through the Vegas traffic. My heart races, adrenaline pumping through me like a drug, but it's not just from the situation with Jessica. The memory of last night—of things I did to his body and he to mine—still lingers in the forefront of my mind, making my pulse thrum erratically.

Isaac's confession about his time in prison gnaws at my conscience. And I can’t stop thinking of me as a traitor for letting myself be involved with him. It feels like a storm inside me where guilt and desire clash violently and I can’t make it stop anymore.

I say nothing, just glare out at the blurry cityscape zipping by. Even the roar of the engine isn’t enough to distract me from all the madness in my head. At the intersection, Isaac glances at me and I meet his gaze. We look at each other for a several heartbeats while the light is still red. I'm not even sure who reaches out first but the next thing I know is his hand grasping mine, our fingers intertwine like roads on an old paper map, and I find momentarily solace in the warmth of his touch.

We barrel into the hospital parking lot, skidding to a halt outside the entrance. There’s a man in a security guard uniform waving his hands at us, screaming that we can’t park here.

Isaac does what only Isaac can do—a perfectly choreographed scene from a high-stakes mobster movie. He pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to the guy along with the fob. "Park it where it won't get towed," he instructs. "You'll catch another Benjamin if both you and my fob are here when I come back."

The guy says nothing, standing flabbergasted in response.

We rush inside where the sterile environment offers no comfort. Jessica’s in ICU on the third floor and each second the elevator ascends is an eternity steeped in silence and smothered with dread.

It’s only by chance that there is no one else inside but us and our fingers brush while we stand side by side. As soon as the doors swing open, he withdraws his hand.

Isaac Thoreau can't be seen like this. It breaks every unspoken rule for him to be caught in a moment like the one we just shared—touching another man so intimately.

I swallow down my disappointment. I understand.

Jessica is barely recognizable, scars intersecting with bruises sprawling across her skin. She’s unconscious, hooked up to the machine.

Jeremy stands by her side, his eyes red-rimmed and furious when he sees me. "What the fuck is he doing here?" he growls at Isaac, trying to keep his voice low as if that could wake his sister up. We all know it won’t.

Isaac dismisses Jeremy’s question and walks up to the bed where Jessica’s body is resting. She looks detached from reality altogether. He looks at her for a long time while I’m standing in the corner, feeling like an intruder but aware of the fact that I need to be here as Agent Dallas Bradley.

"He shouldn’t be here," Jeremy hisses out at Isaac again, firing off another death glare my way.

"He's here because I want him here," Isaac snaps back, his voice dangerous. "Understand?"

"Are you for fucking real right now?"

Isaac takes a deep breath and steps away from the bed. His jaw is clenched and his face is a mask I can’t read at the moment, a total contrast to the expression of fury on Jeremy’s face.

"Things went downhill after he came," Jeremy spits out hatefully into Isaac’s ear, an accusing finger jabbing at my direction. "Brainless not to see it. He has no business being around my baby sister. Now or ever."

"I’ll wait outside," I say quietly, not wanting to instigate further conflict between the two men.

Isaac glances at me over his shoulder as I move toward the door and something passes between us—a silent understanding perhaps that even if he wants me here, it’s best that I’m not.

I step out of the ward, giving Isaac and Jeremy some space to talk. The weight of the situation presses down on me like heavy fog, suffocating my thoughts. I lean against the wall, trying to regain my composure, but instead overhear Jeremy's rage through the thin hospital walls.

"Fuck, man! I swear, when I find the fuckers who did this to her, they're gonna wish they were never born."

"We'll handle it, J. You know we will. But right now, you need to focus on Jess," Isaac says, attempting to calm him down. But even Isaac's usually unshakable demeanor sounds strained.

"Handle it?" Jeremy scoffs bitterly. "Like you've been handling everything else?"

"Watch it, J. Don't forget who you're talking to."

"Whatever, man."

This anger and frustration and pain—I can feel it, even if they aren’t mine. They shouldn’t bother me in any way, yet they do. Because I imagine both—brother and sister growing up without their parents. I can't claim I know what it's like. I only know how growing up without a father felt. Like a half of me was missing. A half I'm still searching for.

A few minutes later, Isaac emerges from the room. "We're going back to the club," he announces, storming past me toward the exit.

I follow him wordlessly, my own mind a whirlwind of conflict.

The security guard is still there, hanging out by the entrance. He returns Isaac his fob and provides him with instructions on where he's parked the car. Isaac hands him another bill just as he promised.

As we drive back to Purgatory in tense silence, Isaac's grip on the wheel tightens so much, his knuckles turn bone-white. "I'm pretty fucking sure it's Tucci," he growls all of a sudden before taking a sharp right turn, ignoring all traffic laws and narrowly avoiding a collision by mere inches. "All I need is proof, and he's done."

I can’t remember seeing him this unhinged before. At least not while he’s sober.

Something in my chest twists. No, I don’t want to feel fucking things. I don’t want to console him. I shouldn’t care but I do. I gingerly rest my palm over his thigh. Somehow, my worry for Isaac, Jessica, and even Jeremy has become more than just professional concern—it's personal now.

"Try to calm down, okay," I say. "Or you’ll do something reckless."

"Reckless?" he snaps, however his eyes remain on the road, which I’m grateful for. "You think I'm being reckless? Someone hurt my family, Hawk. And I know who that someone is. I don’t need you to tell me to calm down. I’ve got a shitload of people waiting at the club, ready to spit that same phrase right now. Asking me to fucking calm down. What I do need is fucking help. Help to find the assholes who did this to Jessica."

"Okay. I got you," I mutter, uncertain he can even hear me under the rumble of the engine. I’m trying to find more words—right ones—to reach him through his anger. "Losing your cool isn't gonna help Jessica or anyone else," I supply at the next light. "We need to think this through and act carefully."

To that, Isaac responds with a gesture that speaks louder than anything else—he turns up the music and pushes the car through the traffic.

The neon lights of the Strip glance off the polished surface of the bar through the large windows overlooking the busy street. A kaleidoscope of colors dances across my vision as I settle onto a stool and signal for the bartender. He's a familiar face, one I've seen many times before, just not with this shaggy beard and a whole lot of brand new tats.

"Hey," he barks over the music, his tone sharp with disapproval. "What’s it gonna be, buddy?"

I throw out some brand of beer I don’t care about. He’s fully in character as he continues to take more orders, then fulfill them until there’s no one unattended left.

The beer I ordered finally hits the counter too. He leans on one elbow as if chatting me up and hisses out, "You can't just come waltzing in here. You'll blow my fucking cover."

"Relax, Fist," I reply, my own voice low and tense despite the brave face I’m putting on like any Thoreau man would walking into Morelli’s business. "I need some information."

"Jesus, man. It's dangerous enough being this close to you," he mutters, wiping down the counter while maintaining with a rag. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"Someone attacked a civilian—an innocent woman," I explain, my jaw clenching as the memories of Jessica lying in that hospital bed punch their way into the forefront of my mind. "I need a little help before things get really bad."

"Why you’re coming to me?"

"You know why," I whisper, leaning closer. "It’s one of Morelli’s guys."

"Who?" Robbie's eyes narrow, his demeanor shifting from annoyance to concern.

"Tucci. He’s doing some shady business, word is behind Morelli’s back. I’m sure you know it too."

Robbie makes a sound that's neither a confirmation nor a denial.

"Seems like there's heat on Thoreau now, and an innocent woman is on life support because of it."

"Fuck." Robbie's grip tightens on the rag he's holding. He rakes his free hand through his auburn hair. "Alright, I'll see what I can find out." He shakes his head as he moves along the bar, still working it like a pro despite our conversation. When he’s back to my corner a few minutes later, he refills my beer and adds quietly as he places the new glass on the counter, "All I've heard about Tucci is some rumors. Tony’s brother was some kind of father figure to him and he’s been making moves lately. Not sure if he’s aiming for Giovanni’s place. Got his hands in people trading and has some serious group backing him up. Not sure what it means yet."

"Giovanni’s a class act. Tucci is a nasty street rat. He won’t hold up."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Hey. You heard anything about us cleaning up the streets or picking up some underage kids around these parts?"

Robbie shakes his head.

Fuck. Did those passports never make it to where they were supposed to go?

"All is quiet, my man," Robbie adds. "Anyway, I can’t be seen chatting with you too long. Come back in a couple of days."

"Appreciate it, dude." I knock back a dose of my drink, feeling the slight burn as it slides down my throat. In the privacy of my mind, I give myself five minutes to finish the beer and be gone.

Tossing my colleagues into the crossfire isn't exactly my thing but desperation has me cornered.

"Hey there, handsome." A female voice interrupts my thoughts, and I glance over to see a woman in her mid-thirties sidling up to me. Objectively speaking, she’s gorgeous. Smoldering eyes. Hourglass figure. Long blonde hair. "Buy you another one?" She tips her chin to my glass that’s about to become empty.

"I’m good," I tell her, trying to sound as firm but as polite as possible.

She doesn’t get the hint. "In the mood for anything else?" She leans forward, her breasts rubbing against my arm suggestively.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but you don't have what I like," I reply, trying to brush her off without causing a scene.

"Really?" She arches an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What is it that you like? I can get it for you."

I catch Robbie's eye, and he gives me a warning look. Time to shut this down. Leaning in close, I whisper a single word in her ear, "Cock."

Without saying anything else, I throw another twenty on the bar counter, turn on my heel, and walk away.

When I return to the club, it's Ricky I first run into. He’s a shifty picture of agitation, his face a weather-beaten map of exhaustion after what seems like marathon nights spent without sleep.

"You in the loop about Jess?" His voice is no more than a scratchy whisper, restricting its reach to just me and him as we stroll through the dim-lit corridor.

I nod. "She'll pull through." I don’t know that but I know that everyone is on edge and one wrong word can tip the scale and let all hell loose. "She’s in good hands."

"Shit." Ricky shakes his head and runs his large palm over his face. "I’ll kill those motherfuckers, man. I swear…when we find them."

I don’t comment. I can’t condone violence. I’m a fucking federal agent but I’m so deep in this now that I’m not certain if what I’m doing matters.

If Isaac is back in prison, who’ll look after Jeremy and his sister, or Jaheim’s family, or Se?ora Vargas? Who'll buy toys for the children in the church orphanage?

"Did you see the boss?" I ask Ricky.

"Saw him going to his office earlier."

"Thanks." I leave with a supportive pat on his shoulder as a sole goodbye.

This whole thing is starting to feel like a hamster wheel.

This is my thought when I knock on Purgatory’s office door.

"Come in," Isaac’s voice, muffled by the walls between us, echoes from the inside.

My heart stutters, a single hiccup in its rhythm. I'm clueless as to why. It’s like a knee-jerk reaction. Isaac does something and my body responds without checking with me first if I want it. If I want this feeling in my chest, a paradoxical play of light and dark.

A single, dim lamp paints Isaac's form in rippled shadows as he lounges in his office chair when I step inside. His piercing gaze locks onto me the instant I walk in. My body tenses immediately. My stomach tightens. The air between us is electrified all of a sudden. The pulsing current of an unseen tether.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" I say, trying to sound casual. I don’t know why I’m here. Can’t explain it. I should have gone back to the hotel room. Instead, I sought him out.

Sought him out, fully aware that the more I give in, the bigger traitor I become.

Yet, there’s some sick part of me that doesn’t care.

"Come here," Isaac commands, his voice is in that low, seductive register I can’t resist. His face remains harsh and unreadable as I approach. I'm drawn in by some sort of irresistible force.

"Anything you need me to do?" I ask carefully.

I have to remind myself he’s the boss and I’m an employee and we are on the brink of war. But every time I do, images of last night wipe everything out and place themselves into my brain.

"Yes," Isaac says simply, his hand reaching out for me as I stand by the desk. He grabs onto my belt and pulls me to him and for a moment we are frozen in time and space again as I end up between his thighs. His palms slide over and around my waist and he presses them against my back, looking up at me through those insanely thick lashes. His eyes are storm-filled and big and spellbinding. And I forget everything when I look at them. "I need you to make me feel better," he finally murmurs.

"Isaac... I—" My words falter, swallowed by the extremity of his gaze which seems almost innocent. In this moment, I realize that I'm not just playing with fire—I'm already burning. And there’s no going back.

"Please," he whispers. A plea, a command, and a confession all at once.

And that does me in.

Isaac Thoreau begging for something.

My heart clenches, torn between two identities, but my mind is all fog when I drop to my knees in front of him. It's almost instinctual. It's coming from some place within me I had no idea existed. I've never allowed anyone to control me this way before.

Isaac leans forward and down and our lips meet. He tastes like cigarettes and lust. There’s a deep need I feel in his wrenching groan as he grasps the back of my head to hold me in place. I can’t think straight with his hands in my hair, his hands everywhere on me at once. His fingers digging, gripping, tearing at my skin like he needs me as much as I need him.

"I don’t know why you make me feel this way," he mutters raggedly into my cheek when we both come up for air. "I hate it. I hate it so fucking much I want to erase you completely because you keep on distracting me." His clutch on my hair tightens and the needle-like pain shoots through my scalp when he pulls slightly. All my blood is gone south all of a sudden—to my dick—and the only thing on my mind right now is to unravel him. Push him over the edge and then jump right after.

"I hate it too," I whisper back, grabbing his jaw and holding him in place to look him in the eyes again.

The line between agent and lover blurs, and I'm consumed by the heat of this dark, forbidden thing we have going on.

We kiss again. Sloppily. Our tongues dance together, exploring each other's mouths just a little bit more. My hands find their way under his shirt, fingers tracing along his skin, over the uneven scars and the smooth portions untouched by whatever weapons tried to end him in prison. Buttons undone entirely, he’s at my mercy.

"Fucking hell," he moans, flopping back against the chair as I brush my fingers over his nipples.

This heat between us is almost unbearable and my hands tremble when I bring them lower to undo his pants. The mixture of fear, lust, and sick anticipation rages inside me when I slip my hand into his briefs and find his cock. He’s already hard as rock and throbbing. And the thought that he’s hard for me sends a surge of fire through my body.

Isaac's fingers thread through my hair. This time gently.

My mouth waters when I release him from the constraints of his pants and I hesitate only for a split second, wondering if that’s what he wants.

But a single nudge urging me forward tells me I’m reading him correctly.

I lower my head and lick the tip of his cock.

His entire body tenses and he exhales loudly. "Suck it, Hawk," he orders.

I don’t need to be told twice. I’m thirsty for him. My lips tease and suckle at the crown, then take him into my mouth a little more. I can feel the muscles in his thighs tighten and relax under my palm.

His scent, a blend of cigarette smoke and cologne, fills my nose as I burrow closer to him, tilting my head a little so I can take more of him deeper into my throat.

Isaac's hands run through my hair again, gripping harder this time. It's like he knows when to be soft and when to be ruthless. His other hand is resting on my shoulder. He’s spicy and salty with an undercurrent of desire that I'm all too eager to join in on. I suck harder, savoring the heaviness of him against my tongue, the way he fills my mouth completely.

Isaac's response is a loud moan, the sound that drives me mad.

"Fuck, yes! Jesus fucking Christ, Cody…" he hisses between clenched teeth while the chair creaks under his weight.

My own cock is straining against my jeans and I hastily undo the belt and lower the zipper to dip my free hand into my boxers.

"Turns you on, doesn’t it?" Isaac mutters in between his gasps. "My cock in your mouth."

I have no way of confirming this vocally. Instead, I suck him harder. Suck him into a fucking oblivion. Milk his thick, perfect dick dry.

My free hand strokes my own shaft faster, matching the rhythm of his hips thrusting up into my mouth. Our groans meld into each other's as we both lose ourselves in the moment.

The sound of flesh on flesh echoes around us—it seems to fill the room and every inch of me. It's dirty and needy and so fucking hot. His fingers dig into my scalp as he lets out a long, low growl before slamming his hand against the handrest of his office chair in a sharp clap.

"Fuck… don't stop, Hawk," he orders.

My fingers wrapped around my achingly hard, ready-to-spill cock move faster and faster. With each stroke, pleasure grows, building to a crescendo that promises to consume us along with the entire city.

Isaac doesn't hold back anymore—he's unloading into me with ruthless force, plunging into my mouth like his life depends on it. His hips roll in sync with my bobbing head, the tip of his cock brushing the back of my throat, almost triggering the gag reflex.

An invasive presence in me that only enhances this intoxicating experience.

He’s a shuddering mess beneath me, and I know he’s close. I’m close too. I sense we're both rushing to that precipice together.

"Oh fuck, yes," he murmurs. "Fuck, yes…keep going…" And then the words turn into an indecipherable set of garbled words as he climaxes, his cum spilling into my mouth in hot, thick spurts while I shudder uncontrollably from my own orgasm, spilling onto my own hand and onto the floor.

The room spins wildly as I swallow greedily every last drop of him, savoring the taste.

Isaac's labored breathing is the only sound in the room when I surface for air. His every muscle fidgeting in pure ecstasy, voice hoarse.

"You look hot like this," he chokes out, reaching out to brush his thumb over my lower lip. "With my cum on your face. All covered in me..."

"You don’t look too bad yourself," I tell him, capturing his finger between my teeth. "With your dick all empty."

He shuts his eyes and moans quietly, relaxed in the blissful afterglow, his cock soft and resting, and I take it into my hands, giving it a light playful jerk.

In the dimly lit room that smells like forbidden sex laced with guilt, I can make out every line of his expression. There’s no harshness left. Just vulnerability and suddenly he looks his age. He looks young and unbothered and I remember now I’m older and I’m supposed to be the smarter one. Instead, I’m on my knees, worshiping his dick.

And then I imagine how—in another life—he could be someone else. A man I meet at the coffee shop or a bar or strolling along the Strip with his college friends or co-workers.

But here and now, he’s the head of the criminal organization I’m tasked to investigate and ultimately help to bring down and I can’t stop this—I feel dirty. I feel like I’m betraying everything and everyone in my life I knew before him and then—betraying him and his trust as well.

When he opens his eyes and gazes down at me, the space between us crackles with static like it always does.

"If I can have you kneeling for me for the rest of your life, I would," he murmurs, raking his hand through my hair. "But I also can’t have Jeremy or anyone else find us like this."

I nod, understanding his concern. I can’t allow to be seen with his cock in my mouth either. At the same time, his words send me into a tailspin. I don’t bottom often. I prefer to be in charge. But with him it’s different. It’s like he needs this—he needs to feel in control to be able to enjoy the intimacy and I’ll gladly give it to him. Gladly give him what can help him forget about whatever demons he has, lurking in the shadows of his past.

Isaac reaches out to grab a tissue from the box on the desk. He hands me a bunch first, then plucks some more to wipe the splatters of cum from his own pants while I try to clean up my sticky hand and my jeans.

"Never thought I'd be using these for this purpose." He chuckles lightly, wiping himself off.

I join him in this soft laughter, the absurdity of our situation hitting me full force. The sexual tension in the room dissipates, replaced by a strange sense of intimacy I never expected to find with him.

"Neither did I," I whisper, my voice shaky as I discard the used tissues.

With an unspoken agreement, we decide not to dwell on the potential risk of being caught. Instead, Isaac beckons me closer, and I find myself straddling his lap, our bodies pressed together as if seeking solace in one another.

"Sometimes...sometimes I just want to get away from all this," Isaac murmurs a few moments later, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room as his fingers trace tender patterns along my spine. "You ever feel like that?"

"All the time," I confess quietly.

"Where would you go?" he asks, leaning back in the chair and pulling me close so that our chests rise and fall in sync. Another flash of vulnerability in his eyes takes me by surprise, and for a second, I forget where we are entirely.

"I never really thought about it."

"Maybe you should," he says cryptically.

"Maybe I should."

We are quiet for a few heartbeats, just sitting there, embracing.

"I’d go to Thailand," Isaac whispers, his voice distant and wistful. "I've always wanted to see the beaches there, to taste the food and explore the forests. To leave this life behind and start anew."

It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only his words echoing around us. I can see it so clearly–Isaac, free from the weight of his past, walking barefoot on a pristine beach, the sun setting behind him. It's a cruelly beautiful image.

"What’s stopping you?"

"There are too many people counting on me. Jessica, Shonda... I can't abandon them. You too."

His confession tugs at my heartstrings, pulling me deeper into his orbit. The lines between my mission and my emotions blur further, leaving me to wonder which side of myself will ultimately win out. But in this instant, with Isaac's arms wrapped around me and his heart laid bare before me, there's no question which way I'm leaning.

"Maybe one day," I tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Maybe," he replies.

And I choose to believe this, knowing it’s a lie.