Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Church. A place I hadn’t been in a dozen years. A place I probably didn’t belong within ten miles of.
I pulled off the sweatshirt and cursed Dario’s name to hell.
Ten
ROBERT HAWK
Some men, like some women, were designed for cages. They had the mentality that needed the rules and structure, yearned for the simple rewards of food and silence.
He was not that man, and the fact that he was in handcuffs right now was unacceptable. Especially given all of the money he paid to this department. Over a million dollars, last year alone, in discreet white envelopes, cash changing hands as regularly as whore abortions. A million dollars and he was in the back of this disgusting car, on a seat frequented by drug users and losers.
He shifted against the vinyl and contained his temper, swallowing all that he wanted to say. He watched the city move past, still wakening, the tourists not yet out, the worker bees in motion, and clenched his jaw shut.
Some men were designed for cages. He was designed to be the one who put them there, who punished the weak and disciplined their sins.
Gwen’s death was Dario’s sin. Had he not bedded that skank, brought her to The Majestic, flaunted her under Gwen’s nose—Hawk wouldn’t have had to act. He wouldn’t have needed to involve Claudia. And Gwen … Gwen wouldn’t have even been there, no doubt trying to understand Dario’s deceit, trying to save her marriage, trying to—
He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he tasted blood. A waste, that’s what it all was. A waste of bending over backward to give Gwen everything. A waste of training and testing Claudia, only to have her fail in the most unforgivable of ways. A waste of investing time and energy into Dario, a man who had stabbed him in the back after all that he had given him.
He’d kill them all, starting with Bell Hartley. Then Dario. And then, after she’d had a few weeks to crawl back to him on her weak little belly, he’d kill Claudia too.
It was necessary. A cleansing of the scum. And then, with all of them gone, he’d come out of retirement and take his empire back. He wasn’t too old to rule. To inspire. To control.
The police car turned into the station and his shoulders tightened at the crowd that filled the parking lot, a mix of cameras, uniforms, and gawkers, despite the early hour. He couldn’t get a goddamn reporter to cover a bacteria rumor at a competitor’s restaurant, but they could all be guaranteed to show up here, flashbulbs blazing, for this ridiculous circus of an arrest. Bullshit, that’s what it was. Absolute bullshit. A million dollars in bribes to this department and he was dealing with this bullshit.
“Tell me you aren’t going to walk me through that crowd.”
The man behind the wheel nodded. “We’ll get you inside as quickly as we can.”
This was intentional, all of it. They were punishing him, and he couldn’t understand why. He’d just lost his daughter for Christ’s sake. Couldn’t they give him some respect and time to mourn? For them to arrest him now, for bribery of all things… it reeked of interference. Someone was behind all of this, pulling strings.
He’d find that individual and wrap those strings around their neck.
The car door opened, and the sound of the crowd, of questions and shutters, the crunch of steps against gravel—all of it hit Robert Hawk at once. He lifted one Ferragamo shoe out, watching the glossy shine of the leather. Setting it down, he struggled to step out of the car without the use of his arms, the cuffs biting painfully into his wrists as he fought. No one could do this. It didn’t have anything to do with his age. It was a geometry problem that didn’t have a solution. The center of gravity was too far off, and now—as another insult—the officer would have to help him out of the car.
He shouldered off the first uniform, heaving his way from the low car and swaying slightly as he found his footing and straightened. His right elbow was grabbed by the second uniform and pulled forward, toward the crowd, a small path now visible through them and up to the building’s front steps.
Just a day ago, he’d watched with smug glee as Dario had been led through a similar group and to those same doors. He’d crowed with satisfaction and enjoyed the haunted look on Dario’s face, the hunch of his big shoulders as he wore the cuffs, the rough calls of the crowd as he’d moved through and to the station.
Just a day ago, and now he walked the same path, was treated the same way, heard the same taunting calls.
“Murderer!”
The deep voice was so strong that it carried above the others, a few stopping in their chants to look over their shoulder, the crowd disturbing a bit, bodies moving, shifting, making way for someone from the back. Hawk paused, his head slowly turning as he looked over the crowd, searching for the source of the accusation.