Hawk's Property:Insurgents Motorcycle Club(5)

By: Chiah Wilder

“Not tonight, thanks,” she said.

“Why the fuck not? I bet you have some real good pussy.” He leaned in again. Cara tried pushing away, but his damn arm was like a rope around her. He leaned in closer as his hand moved down.

“I can fuck you good.” Rot nibbled her ear.

“Back off. Now!” Cara yelled.

Taken aback for a moment, Rot stared at her. Leaning close to her face, he snarled, “Listen, bitch. You don’t tell me shit. You’re not being too nice, considering I bought you a drink.”

“I didn’t tell you to buy me anything. I told you to back off, and I meant it.” She tried pushing him away.

“You heard the lady. Back the fuck off,” Hawk growled.

Rot turned around. “Butt out. You may be VP of the Insurgents, but to me, you’re nothing.”

The tension in the bar was suffocating. Several people moved to the back of the room as the anger between Rot and Hawk escalated.

“I’m not asking you again. Leave the lady alone and get the fuck outta here.” Hawk’s eyes darkened dangerously.

Rot, sizing up Hawk’s six-foot-three stature, sneered, “This bitch ain’t worth shit. Fuck you, Hawk.” Rot placed his hand on Cara’s thigh and squeezed it. Outraged, Cara shoved it away.

“You fuckin’ slut!” he yelled as he grabbed her arm.

The moment his hand reached her, Hawk jerked Rot away from Cara in a single movement.

“I said to fuckin’ leave her alone.”

“You sonofabitch!” Rot threw a punch. With an ease which caught Cara’s breath, Hawk grabbed the biker’s fist and bent Rot’s wrist back until he yelled out in pain.

“Back off, asshole, or I’ll break it.”

Rot threw a vicious look at Hawk, but retreated. “You better watch your motherfuckin’ ass, ’cause I’m not forgetting this shit.”

Hawk sneered. “That better be a promise. Now, get the fuck outta here if you wanna keep breathing.”

Rot yanked a befuddled Beaver off his bar stool and stormed out. Cara noticed the back of their leather jackets read Deadly Demons on the top and Nomads on the bottom. She shuddered. I never want to bump into them again.

“You okay?” a low, smooth voice asked.

She turned and looked into the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. It took her breath away for a moment. “Yeah, thanks. Those guys were creeps.”

He smiled and took a deep drink from his beer bottle. “Most of the guys in here are creeps.”

“Are you?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Known to speak her mind, she chided herself for her lack of sense. Even though this biker was damn handsome, he dripped badass, and Cara didn’t know him, or how he would react to her sharp tongue. She held her breath, her muscles tightening, but her facial expression remained defiant.

Hawk’s eyes caught and held hers. “That’s something you’re gonna have to find out, babe.”

His voice was like dark, melted chocolate, and the scent of beer, leather, and cloves emanated from him. The buttery softness of his black leather jacket rubbed against Cara’s arms, and an uneasy desire to snuggle against it coursed through her, making her stomach somersault. Grabbing a cocktail napkin on the bar, she tore at it, willing herself to stop acting as if she were in junior high and meeting a boy for the first time. What the hell is the matter with me?

“What’s your name?”


“I’m Hawk.”

“That’s unusual.”

“So I’ve been told. Damn, woman, you’re so outta place here. Did you stumble into this bar thinking it was a neighborhood pub?” He was talking in her ear, his warm breath tickling with each word. She almost felt his tongue on her earlobe.

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