Hawk's Revenge Read online

  “What’s your name?” the bartender asks as he finally picks up my cash.

  I swirl the Jack Daniels around the glass. “Hawk.”

  “Hawk, huh?” He gets my change and places it down next to the glass. “Well, Hawk, if you’re looking for some work, let me know. I have a feeling you’d be a good addition. I’m Bo.”

  He’s either as stupid as the one at the door, inviting an outsider into their operation, or he’s setting me up believing I’m an asshole, or a narc.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” I empty the contents of the glass in a long swallow, then slide it toward him. He refills it and pushes it back to me. I pick it up as I notice his tattoo, it’s the same word, Enforcer. “What kind of work are we talking about?”

  He gives me a sly smirk. “Depends on your talents,” he replies, eyeing me. “That would be for the boss to decide.”

  The boss again.

  “That be Joe?” I ask.

  He laughs. “You’re a funny guy.”

  Who knew? I’ve been called a lot of things, however, funny was never one of them. Apparently Joe’s not the boss, that checks one thing off my list.

  “I’m not much of a talker,” I tilt my chin up at him, “don’t think I’d be good back there,”.

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re a riot.”

  Yeah, a real fucking hoot.

  “You think you could break away from your girlfriend and do your job,” the female bartender comments snidely as she approaches us.

  I shift my eyes to her. She’s either really pissed off, or she does not like her co-worker. Probably both. Can’t say that I blame her. Beefy here has been chatting it up like he’s got all the time in the world, leaving her to take care of everyone at the bar, the cocktail waitresses serving all the tables, and all the other customers by herself.

  He gives her a hard glare but doesn’t move.

  “Get out of my bar,” she snaps looking like she’s two seconds away from shoving the barrel of that shot gun up his ass.

  Her bar?

  “Careful,” his tone is cold as his eyes drop to slits.

  “Screw you,” she spits out. “you don’t do anything, and it’s costing me money.”

  “Thought you were smarter than that, Jo,” he sneers. He grabs her arm and pulls her close with an expression that shows how pathetic he thinks she is.

  I’m usually not the kind of guy who gets involved unless it’s part of the mission. Hell, it’s best to keep yourself as uninvolved as possible. A fly on the wall, all eyes and ears, and unnoticeable. But something about this girl, and this asshole, is fingering my crazy switch. This, all of the things unsaid in the exchanged looks, hits me in a place I thought was long dead. My grip tightens around the glass and my muscles tense, readying to smash the glass into his face. I can visualize the shards puncturing his flesh and the blood pouring from every wound. I may be a killer, but I can’t stand a man roughing up a woman. With his face close to hers, he sneers, “Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you when the bar closes, baby. Let you take out all of your frustrations on me. You’re sexy as hell when you’re mad, Jo, anybody ever tell you that before?”

  This is Jo?

  She brings her face closer to his with a coy smile playing on her lips. “Only if I was dead, and not even then. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  If that’s an act, she’s good.

  His expression turns into a mask of fury. I can see his hold tighten, squeezing into her flesh, but she doesn’t flinch or back down. The woman’s got a huge set of balls.

  “The only reason your still here is your pretty to look at. That can change.” He lifts his free hand and snaps his fingers. “Just. Like. That.”

  What the fuck?

  Memories from another life whisper through my mind, their ghosts never dying.

  Dude just made the top ten on my elimination list.

  “It’s my fault,” I comment dryly, cutting into their stare off. What the hell am I doing? They both turn to look at me. “I had some questions he was answering.” Bo grins. The woman, Jo, stares. “I’m Hawk.” I keep talking, and it beats the hell out of me why.

  Ignoring me, Jo looks at where his hand is still clutching her arm, then yanks it free. He drops it as his pompous grin returns. “Hawk might be coming to work.”

  She finally gives me her full attention. Then grimaces like she’s smelling and tasting something foul.

  The woman’s a knock out, she’s got the kind of body with curves and dips a man wants to get lost in, and long, straight black hair that accentuates her pale skin and vivid tawny eyes, cat eyes. Her temper only adds to her beauty, strong and fierce. Like a wild stallion you want to ride, but don’t want to tame. She’s intriguing and stirs my blood. That’s not a good sign. It’s a distraction, and distractions are messy. And possibly fatal. I hate distractions. By the expression on her face, she already hates me because of the assumed association I have with her bartender.

  “Nice place,” I try to make conversation, a situation I don’t normally find myself in.

  What the hell are you doing, Hawk?

  “So you’re a liar too,” she snorts.

  I straighten a finger in her direction. “I said the place was nice, I didn’t say anything about the people.” Because fuck that, I don’t lie.

  And I don’t do talking.

  I can see her nostrils flare as she considers my remark, her eyes doing a once over on me before they lock with mine, contemplating whether I’m full of shit. Inside I smirk. She’s tough, I’ll give her that, but something tells me there’s a reason for that. A woman like her taking shit from a piece of work like him, that doesn’t make sense. It appears there are a lot of things about Joe’s Place that are unusual. Maybe I am going to have some fun, after all. Someone calls her from the other end of the bar, a male, and breaks our stare-off. A douchebag who needs a crash course in manners.

  “Jo, can I get a drink over here?” he barks at her like she’s a dog as he raps his knuckles on the shellacked top. The psycho in me envisions smashing his hand with a hammer.

  She rolls her eyes before turning to take care of him.

  “Bo,” another bouncer comes up behind me. It seems this corner of the bar is the popular spot. Our eyes meet in the reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “They want you in the office.”

  Everybody wants to have a look at the new kid.

  “Yeah, coming,” Bo makes his way from behind the bar. The other guy hasn’t budged from behind my back, his eyes still fixed on mine in the mirror, his expression stone.

  “I’m glad he’s gone, but someone needs to get me some beer from the stock room,” Jo yells from her end to the man trying to intimidate me.

  His gaze flicks to her, then back to me, before he leaves. I follow him with my eyes as he pushes through the door off to the side.

  Interesting place, I sip my drink slowly, not turning, not moving, but taking everything in from my seat. I can virtually see the entire room through the mirror in front of me. I watch Bo move through the room until one of the bouncers stop him. They both turn to look at me, Bo’s talking, the other guy nods, then Bo keeps walking. Five minutes tops and the whole place will know my name. I watch as Bo disappears behind a door at the side of the stage where one bouncer is parked outside and two others are standing just inside the doorway. That must be the office. That’s a total of ten men on security. That I see. The other bouncer comes back with three cases of beer and fills up the refrigerator, his eyes going from me to around the room.

  He comes up to me when he’s finished. “Another one?” he shrugs his chin in my direction, his expression hard.

  I set the glass on the bar and push it toward him. “Jack Daniels. Straight.”

  He looks down at it but doesn’t take it. I wait, my gaze fixed on him, his on my glass. Finally, he says, “We don’t get many people just passing through here.” His eyes meet mine. “Someone might mistake them for trouble.”

  I
dip my chin. “Thanks for the warning.” Because that’s exactly what it was.

  He stares at me. I wait him out. I’ve got all the time in the world, and I’ll sit here all night, it doesn’t mean dick to me. He finally picks up my glass, pours some booze in it, slams it on the bar, and walks away.

  I grunt. Nice guy.

  I nurse the drink, watching, listening, observing. The bouncer who’d filled up the beer case stays and helps out, although he doesn’t seem too happy about it. Jo works her end of the bar, her gaze flicks to me now and again, maybe she’s curious and wonders what I’m doing here, just like everyone else probably is. Her bar? Didn’t sound that way. As I sit in my chair, I watch everything. Including Jo. She’s professional, but doesn’t get overly friendly with anyone, and only speaks to the bouncer who’d joined her when she has to. No one else gets thrown out, and for all these people and alcohol, things are quiet. Like good little sheep. I keep an eye on the door Bo disappeared behind waiting to see something that might tell me what’s back there, or who’s back there, possibly the mysterious boss. It apparently isn’t Jo. There is no traffic, no one coming or going through the door, and the bouncer doesn’t move.

  I don’t get any more visitors, which is just the way I like it. The bar is full of a very interesting blend of people, and it’s even more interesting how they all associate. They move from group to group, bikers talking with the suits, truckers talking with bikers, and all of them make the rounds with different business men. It appears the women are here for show, and probably entertainment. They glide from man to man, smiling, running a hand down an arm, some are even asked to take a seat on a lap. Some of them dance with men, others dance together. Looks like Joe’s Place offers whatever you’d like for Happy Hour. All but Jo, she doesn’t talk about anything except your drink order. When I leave an hour later, I haven’t been asked if I’d like anything else. Which is fine, I’ve had two more than I usually would.

  As I straddle my motorcycle, I think about Jo and her bar. About the whole cesspool that is this place, and about the one wildflower floating amongst the shit. I can’t help wonder what her part in this is, and exactly why I’m here.

  I might just have to talk to Bo about a day job.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jo

  It’s late. It’s always late. I’m exhausted, another night of busting my ass with nothing to show for it. For what? Certainly not for me, because the bar sure didn’t bring in enough money for how busy it was. It never does. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

  Every night it’s the same thing, a room full of people, booze flowing, music playing, everyone having a good time. And I foot the bill.

  “Why do I even do it?” I hang my head, wrung dry, frustrated, and completely disgusted.

  I let out a heavy sigh. I know exactly why I do it. I do it for him. I do it because he’d do it for me. I’m in this mess because he did do it for me, he just didn’t expect it to turn out this way. At least that’s what I hope. Every. Single. Day.

  Nothing ever turns out the way we expect it to when you’re dealing with the devil.

  I let out another sigh and get back to rechecking the figures and the inventory that was ‘sold’. I started keeping my own tally when it came time to figuring the status of the nightly totals. I knew I was getting cheated, but I couldn’t prove it. So I began counting every damn empty bottle at the end of the night, comparing it to the night’s sales. In the beginning, it was a fight when I argued they were wrong. Then I dragged out all the garbage bags full of the empties and made him sit after I’d pulled each one of them out and slammed my calculations on the table in front of him.

  He was furious, but he couldn’t deny that I was right.

  “Jo, we can make this all go away,” he’d told me with a sweep of his hand. It’d made my skin crawl.

  Me in exchange for my father’s debt. He’d forgive the hundred and fifty thousand dollars my father owed him, the debt that had passed to me along with the bar when my dad died, all it would cost was me.

  “I’ll even let you keep the place. But you would belong to me,” the bosses’ cold dead eyes stared into mine. “Completely.”

  I was alone in the bar the day I’d buried my father, the only family I ever had, when he came in with his two bodyguards. Frank Castillo, illegal business man, drug lord, and no doubt killer. The king. My father’s will had been read earlier that day, and it was just me in the lawyer’s office to hear it. Frank Castillo came into the bar later that evening with a different contract, one my father had signed five years earlier, one that belonged to Castillo. It was the loan my father had taken out with him after the recession when the business had gone to hell. I remembered the time, we’d practically lived in the bar, I grew up here. I also remembered how business had magically turned around practically overnight. I finally knew why.

  Frank had expressed his condolences and assured me that everything would stay the same. That was initially. Gradually, things began to change. It had happened so slowly, I barely noticed, maybe because I was still grieving and Frank had never discussed the details. He’d told me that he’d get some help in the bar so I wouldn’t have to do it alone, he’d said he’d meet friends here to bring in more business. He said he wanted to help me. Something had told me not to trust him, but things seemed to have been okay before my father’s death, so I believed him and agreed. Before I knew it, I was the outsider. I was a little fish in a tank full of sharks.

  His people had taken over the operations, Frank said it was to help manage the business, and to monitor the debt repayment.

  He was robbing me blind, and when I realized I’d sat back and let him, I lost my shit.

  “Jo, I’ve been very generous with you. Don’t tempt me to take what rightfully belongs to me.” He’d sat back in his chair like it was a throne as his eyes raked over my body. The look had made me feel filthy. “Everything in here is mine. It would serve you well to remember that. Or I’ll have to remind you.” His tone and threating promise sent a chill up my spine. Unfortunately, I was too pissed off to notice.

  I was furious. How dare he? How dare he come into my place, the place my father had built, the only thing I had left of him, and claim it was his? Wasn’t I paying him off? What the hell did he want with a rundown old bar anyway?

  I’d gotten in his face, “This is my bar, Mr. Castillo. Mine.” I was furious, the words came out as a long, quiet hiss, our faces inches from each other’s.

  A grin spread across his face. I should’ve known then I was in trouble. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, it seems you need a lesson, Jo. Something I’ve been waiting to do for a long time.” He pushed himself from his chair, grabbed me by the throat, and smashed the back of my head into the wall. “Pay attention, or we’ll have to do this again,” he whispered against my ear as he choked me, robbing me of my ability to breathe or scream. “On second thought, don’t. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.” My eyeballs felt like they were exploding from the pressure, my vision was splatters of dots and blackness, and my head roared from the impact. He threw me down on the desk in the office. “Hold her,” I heard him say through the throbbing in my skull. The two men who were always with him, his guards, grabbed my arms and pinned me down. I rasped out an inaudible scream and kicked and fought him. Until his fist collided with my face.

  “A lesson, Jo, one that you won’t soon forget,” his grip was back on my throat as he whispered the words in my face. He held his free hand out, “Give me a knife.”

  I froze.

  God, I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d spat in his evil face. I wish I’d kicked him in the balls. Because maybe if I had fought back, he might have killed me instead of what he did.

  The sun was up by the time he’d finished with me. After they’d left, I dragged myself upstairs to my apartment. The memory of that night is burned into my flesh, a reminder every day of my hate for Frank Castillo, and how one day I’m going to kill him.

  That’s what gives me the
strength to fight, to not turn my back on any of them, because they’re all the enemy. Everyone that comes in here feeds on anyone that is stupid enough to trust them. Knowing this is what they’ve turned my father’s place into breaks my heart. And I let it happen.

  It’s these moments in the middle of the night that I allow myself to feel all of the pain, to drop the mask and the false strength, to let the hate take over so I don’t give up.

  I should burn the whole damn place down. It’s not the first time the fantasy has tempted me. The only reason why I probably haven’t is, I haven’t been able to figure out a way to do it with all of them trapped inside.

  Sucks being me.

  I’m just about finished figuring the night’s totals when the door that leads to the dressing rooms, the rooms now used for Franks meetings, opens.

  Shit! I thought they were already gone. My entire body tenses as I slowly pick up the shotgun.

  That’s where it happened, and I haven’t been back there since.

  “Jo,” Frank walks out flanked by his two guards, the same ones that were with him that night. I hate my name on his tongue, it sounds contaminated. “I was hoping I’d find you still awake. Have a drink with me, it’s been a long night.”

  It used to shock me, his psychotic flippant behavior. I’ve come to realize that he has no emotion, no sense of right or wrong, no inkling of apathy. The man is dead inside, he has no soul.

  “No, thank you.” I have not forgotten the lesson he taught me. I’ll never forget it.

  His gaze dips to the weapon I’m holding. “Cute,” he sounds amused.

  My fingers curl tighter around the barrel and handle. “I never know when I might need it.” My words are quiet. However, I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s better that way. With lunatics like him, anything could set them off.

  He smirks. “You’re well protected. I’ve made sure of it.”

  Yeah, all the bad guys are here, and you’re the worst. I fight the sneer that wants to curl my lips.