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21

SADIE

On the ride back to the penthouse, Sergio and Matteo speak in Italian among themselves. I sat quietly staring out the window, images of Hawk’s new look flashing through my mind. He looks hot with his long hair, fit shirts, and thigh hugging jeans any old day. But tonight, he looked like he just walked off the cover of a magazine.

His dirty blond hair was cut short on the sides with just enough length on top to run his fingers through and give him that sexy disheveled look, but it was the black-rimmed glasses and the sharp black suit for me. He only wears his glasses when he’s working late at night and his contacts irritate him. It’s rare for anyone to see him wearing them outside of his room, but I’ve seen them. Many times. I always thought it meant I was special because he only shared that part of himself with me.

His Clark Kent alter ego.

Too bad instead of Superman, he turned into Asshatman.

And what the hell was he doing with that agent?

I watched the two of them from our table in the corner. She was hanging all over him, rubbing her hands on his body. I wanted to break both her hands off and beat her with them. But he didn’t seem to mind. From where I was sitting, she looked perfectly content having her boobs on his arm and her hands in his hair.

“What’s put that sullen look on your face this evening, Dolcezza? Did you not enjoy the gala?” Matteo asks, placing his hand on my knee. I jump at his touch. He frowns. All this time we’ve been training and spending time together, getting me used to his touch and here I am pulling back.

“I’m sorry.” The shakiness of my voice has Matteo’s eyes softening.

“Tell me why you are upset? Did someone say something to you?” He probes.

“Yes and no.”

“The biker from Oakridge was here with a guest.” Sergio supplies.

Tattletale.

“Which biker?” Matteo looks to me, but I don’t answer. I’m not sure io can say his name without the crying, and then I would never get Matteo off my ass. He’s nosier that the ladies in the club.

“The one who’s always on a laptop.” I glare at Sergio, urging him to shut up. But the jackass simply shrugs.

“Hawk?” Matteo turns to look at me. I keep my eyes focused on the moving scenery not wanting to talk about this. “Did something happen between you two? Did he upset you?”

I don’t answer.

“They spoke momentarily, but I believe she’s more upset about the woman he had on his arm. She was very beautiful, and she seemed quite enamored with the biker. Perhaps Miss Jenkins is jealous of the lady?” Sergio doesn’t jump but scowls when the small knife lands between his opened legs and sticks out of the seat between his relaxed knees. He squints his eyes, but instead of the anger I expect, he says, “If you’d have been less in your emotions and more concentrated on your target, you might’ve hit your mark.”

You just threw a weapon at his right-hand man.

Oh shit.

To my surprise and utter shock, Matteo’s shoulders shake, his laughter is loud.

“And you, my friend, should know not to taunt a woman when she’s full of rage. Especially one you’ve trained yourself.” Matteo teases.

“Clearly, not enough since she missed.” Sergio grumbles, removing the knife from the seat and handing it back to me handle first. “I am pleased however to see you were able to dislodge and strike without either of us seeing you lift your dress, so kudos for that.”

My lips turn up at the corner with a satisfied smirk. “I’s sorry for losing my temper. And I did hit my mark. I wasn’t aiming to injure, I only wanted to shut you up.”

“Well, in that case, you still failed.” Sergio smirks.

Asshole.

“I didn’t see them. My date left for the restroom, and I was left to deal with mundane conversations and idiots who thought they should flex their status and importance.” Matteo says with an annoyed sigh.

“Anyone of interest?” Sergio leans on his knees, his brow furrowed. “Anyone we need to have a chat with?”

“You mean is there anyone you need to rough up because they offended your boss?” I tease. Sergio’s eyes snap to mine. I shrug. “You forget who my family is? My grandfather founded the club, my uncle is the President, and the man who raised me is the Enforcer of the club. I know what it means when you want to have a chat with someone.”

It’s Matteo’s turn to smirk. “No, Sergio. There was nothing pressing. I handled everything myself.” Sergio leans back, relaxing a bit with this knowledge. “Do you know who the woman Hawk brought to the gala?” Matteo asks.

“She’s an FBI agent.” My stomach is still turning, thinking about them together. She was beautiful, but she’s also a backstabbing bitch.

“How can you be sure?” I cast Matteo a tired glare. He knows better than to ask stupid questions. He leans back with his arm braced over the seat. “What else have you discovered in your little digging expedition?”

The car pulls into the penthouse garage, and we all get out and head for the elevator. Sergio scans his palm, and the elevator begins to ascend.

“I found a lot of interesting information.” Matteo glares at me, not satisfied with my response. “I know she’s a dirty agent. I don’t know who she’s working for yet, but I know she tried to frame Hawk. My guess is she blackmailed him into coming with her tonight. Maybe she knows about the parties and the traffickers. But there’s no way Hawk would be working with the Feds unless he had no other choice. He doesn’t trust nay form of law enforcement.”

“Hmm.” Matteo and Sergio share a look, but neither one elaborates, which tells me I need to keep looking because they obviously know something I don’t and aren’t sharing.

We enter the penthouse, and I excuse myself to change out of my dress and tell them both I’m exhausted so I can go to my room and not be disturbed. Once I reach my room, I strip out of the dress, change into my yoga pants and an old t-shirt of Hawk’s I stole from his room years ago and grab my laptop from under the bed. Sometimes it’s easier to be nosy from your bedroom than from an office you know has cameras.

I hacked into Matteo’s security system the first chance I got so I would know where everything was and what rooms were safe. The only room that I didn’t see cameras in was the bedrooms that were currently occupied and Matteo’s office. Everything else is being monitored, including the office they set up for me.

I knew Matteo would want to know what I was doing, and I’m not stupid enough to think he wouldn’t have cameras on me or someone else hacking into my shit keeping him informed. I already figured Tate would be monitoring me for Kayce. They know my loyalty is to the Kings first and foremost. Too bad for him, I’m two steps ahead since I’ve been in his system this whole time too thanks to Hawk. I can go anywhere he’s been thanks to the remote access program he mistakenly installed off the thumb drive he stole from my house.

Once my computer comes to life, I pull up the files I have on Agent Galina and begin cross referencing her name with everyone on the invite list for the gala. Several pictures pop up of her in a pantsuit with an earpiece in her ear at various high-profile people at similar events, but she is always on duty, never a guest.

So why was she a guest at this event? And why with Hawk?

Hawk knows she was trying to frame him. I sent him all the same files for the homicide case. Maybe she blackmailed him into going—using him to get her in undercover. But why?

All her current case files are about the Devil’s Order and their links to sex trafficking, drug shipments, and their suspected rivalry and connection to the Kings. So why would she have asked Hawk to take her to the gala? The Devils’ involvement is transport and storage. They aren’t allowed anywhere near the auctions or the buyers. Probably better since most people can be intimidated by bikers.

Deciding I won’t find what I’m looking for here, I navigate myself into Hawk’s computer planning to rifle through his files but instead find him up doing the same thing I am … digging.

Figuring this would be easier, I decide to mirror his screen to mine and watch what he’s doing. It’s kind of like cheating off someone else’s test only they don’t know you’re peeking over their shoulder. It’s a risky move. If he’s found my remote access program he could be alerted to my presence, but if he notices me, I’ll cut power to my laptop.

Hawk’s running facial recognition on everyone on the guest list and cross-referencing with the security camera footage from the actual party on one set of screens. The other he’s doing research on his sister, Shea.

I lock onto that screen and start reading everything he’s found. I’ve seen some of this already in my own research, but Hawk knows more about Nate’s habits. Looking at this, it’s obvious Hawk has been keeping close tabs on his father’s business. Apparently not close enough if he didn’t know he had a sister, but then I guess that’s expected if he didn’t know who Nate was fucking around with. His name wasn’t even listed on Shea’s birth certificate. In fact, Nate’s name doesn’t show up as being related to Shea until she was ten years old, and a paternity test was done at Nate’s request. Shortly after the results were in, Nate took Shirley, the girl’s mother, to court and was awarded shared custody. That explains why he had full custody after her mother overdosed.

He must’ve seen the downward spiral coming.

Shea went to public school and had high marks. She didn’t do any kind of sports but has several years of music lessons paid for by Nate. That doesn’t make sense. If he wasn’t sure he was the father, why was he paying for her to have lessons three times a week since she was four years old? In fact, the lessons are still paid up through Christmas this year, but her last day of attendance was several months ago. About the time Nate said she was taken from him.

She even got a scholarship to some fancy college of music in Boston where she was expected to start this fall but never finalized the acceptance of her scholarship, so it was revoked.

Hawk sifts through form after form. I watch, waiting to see what it is he’s looking for. A few minutes later, he finds it. Pictures of Shea from kindergarten until her last year of high school and a few sporadic photos of her at parties at what I assume is the Devils’ clubhouse, taken with a telephoto lens.

Someone was keeping tabs on her.

Hawk must realize the same thing because his screen focus changes to the federal files, and he starts searching Shea’s name in the databank. When her name comes up with a long list of history and the same photos come up along with several others at intermittent times. The most recent photo is of her curled up on an old mattress, wearing a dirty dress and covered in bruises.

Hawk locks onto that picture and seems to be trying to find a location, but there’s nothing mentioned in the notes of the file. Location in each group of photos is listed as unknown.

But someone has to have known in order to take the pictures. So who was it, and why didn’t they tell the Feds where the girl was if she was in this kind of condition? That’s the whole reason for this investigation is to find these women who are being abused and sentenced to slavery against their will. Why would the Feds have photos and no known location? Something’s off.

Hawk’s computer stills. Nothing is moving. Not the curser, the photos, the letters in the search bar. It’s like he’s walked away from his desk, but I know he hasn’t. I can’t explain it, but I can feel his eyes are still locked on the screen. I can feel him. His pain. His frustration. His need to make things right.

I pick up the cloned phone and send a text from Hawk to himself.

ME: We’ll find her. When we do, you’ll get your revenge. She will have the love of her family to help her heal. She will know peace. S.

I press send and power down both my laptop and the phone before crawling into bed to stare at the ceiling and wait for sleep to come.