Page 28 of Cryptic Curse (Bellamy Brothers #7)

HAWK

F uck.

Kick to my stomach.

She never had to worry about me.

That’s what Mom always said, like it was praise. Like being the one who didn’t get caught drinking or ditching class, who held his breath during every argument just to keep the peace—like that made me easy to forget.

I was the good one. The reliable one. The one who didn’t make waves.

So she didn’t look at me the way she looked at the others.

Not with pride, not with concern—just…not at all.

Falcon did everything first and got noticed.

Eagle did everything last and got noticed.

I followed the rules. I got straight A’s.

I tucked in my shirt and said thank you and never once raised my voice.

And it never felt like enough.

She’d brag about the others. One’s a fighter, she’d say. The other’s sensitive. She called them passionate. Complicated. And me?

“He’s always fine.”

I was always fine. Even when I wasn’t.

I remember winning an award in high school—statewide, a big deal. She clapped politely and then left early to pick up Eagle from soccer practice.

Sometimes I wonder if I had messed up more, if I’d been harder to love, would she have tried harder to see me?

But I didn’t. I never gave her a reason to worry.

And I guess that’s the problem.

“She’s a good mom,” I say.

It’s not a lie.

She is a good mother.

But she sees only what she wants to see.

Which doesn’t include me, apparently.

“So…my place?” she asks.

Her place. Just Daniela and me. Alone. Waiting for my clothes to dry.

Not the best idea.

“Sure,” I say.

Or rather, my cock says.

She smiles as we walk to the laundry room, grab my damp clothes out of the washer, and then walk to the door that leads to her mini apartment.

She takes the clothes from me and heads to a tiny alcove behind a closet door. She opens it, puts my clothes in the dryer, and starts the machine. She turns, and her dark eyes are heavy-lidded and her full lips slightly parted.

“You keep looking at me like that,” I say, leaning back against the couch, “and I’m going to forget how patient I promised I’d be.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. Just folds her arms and stares at the floor.

“I’m not trying to tease,” she says finally. “I’m trying not to mess this up.”

I tilt my head. “You think touching me would mess this up?”

She lifts her gaze to mine. There’s heat there, yeah—but it’s tangled up in guilt and fear and something…quieter. Sadder.

She sighs. “I think if I let myself want this too much right now, I won’t think clearly. And I need to think clearly.”

I nod, even though it hurts. Even though I’ve memorized the way she looks when her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me but doesn’t. “Because of the divorce.”

She nods. “Because I’m still technically married. Because of my past, I want to at least do marriage right.”

“You know Vinnie isn’t being faithful to you, right?” I say to her once more. “As much as I don’t like to think about it, I’m sure he and my sister are fucking like bunnies.”

“Yeah, I know. And I don’t care. This is something I need to do for me. Not because I want to. Because I have to. For now. Just until the marriage is dissolved.”

I reach out, not to pull her closer, just to brush my fingers against hers—light, careful. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She swallows. “You say that now,” she says, her voice cracking a little.

“And I’ll keep saying it tomorrow.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you.”

“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what makes this the hardest.”

She lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how to be with someone like you, anyway.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

She frowns. “Someone who isn’t forcing me to do things. Or making me lie there while he does things. Or?—”

Her words pierce me like a knife.

“Stop.” I gesture.

I can’t stand the thought of her ever being in those situations.

Yet still I want her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Part of me needs a release,” she says. “Needs to feel close to someone in that way. In a way I never have before with physical intimacy.”

“You’re frightened.”

She shakes her head, crosses her arms. “Not exactly. I learned to accept my life for what it was. Yeah, it was against my will. And yeah, sometimes there was pain. But I knew no permanent damage would be done. At least not by those men. My father would have had them killed.”

“I don’t get it.” I shake my head. “He whored you out, but he drew the line at having you killed. His morals were totally fucked up.”

She scoffs. “You think?”

“He is—or was—an enigma, for sure,” I say. “And by enigma, I mean ruthless degenerate.”

She smiles a little. “I do want to be with you, Hawk.”

I sear my gaze into hers. “I want to be with you, too. Your age should frighten me. I mean, there are eleven years between us, and you’re barely an adult.”

“The age of consent in Colombia is fourteen,” she says.

I shake my head again. “That’s fucked up.”

“It’s what I know. Though I never actually consented to any of it.”

“Damn, Daniela.”

“But the thing is, Hawk.” She sighs. “I need…something.”

I smile at her, take her hand, and rub circles into her palm with my thumb. “What if I told you I could make you come without touching you?”