Page 130 of Restless Hawke

I grit my jaw and nod. “And I was right about today. He’s made a demand of me that I’m not sure I can ignore.”

“Sir?” One of the security personnel turns back toward us and motions me over. “You gave us this photo, asked us to keep an eye out for her.” He flashes me the picture of Allegra we handed out to everyone, and my blood runs cold again. He points to the screen and taps the main casino floor. “She just walked in.”

Fuck.

I turn from the counter and stalk toward the doors, Gabe and Savage on my heels. “We’re going to have to talk as we go. We don’t have much time.”

Gabe steps through the sliding doors first, then looks back at me. “Before what?”

“Before it all goes to shit.”

* * *

ALLEGRA

Maybe this was a bad idea.

The moment I made the decision to get on that plane and come to New Orleans, I started second-guessing my sanity. It only got worse on the ride here. And now that I stand in the middle of the Hawke Hotel casino, the nagging feeling that this is going to backfire—badly—is suddenly even stronger.

I scan the casino, searching for that familiar mop of thick, dark hair that I spent so many hours running my fingers through and tugging on while he was fucking me or had his head buried between my legs.

They itch to do that even now. My body refusing to accept what my brain already knows—that he’s gone forever—no matter how badly I may want to make things right.

Today is one step toward that, though I don’t expect it to make a dent in what I owe Coen Hawke. At least, I know I’m finally doing therightthing. For the first time in a long time, I feel good about that.

I meander slowly down the main walkway of the casino, looking for Coen, but I also know that he’ll be looking for me.

Without a shadow of a doubt, they have me on a list and have alerted everyone to be on the lookout for me today—of all days.

It’s only a matter of time before he or someone else spots me and tries to throw me out on my ass.

If he had done that all those weeks ago when I came, things would have been so different. I wouldn’t have ever had Coen Hawke, known what absolute pleasure feels like, but I wouldn’t have broken his heart and my own in the process.

I’ve been both living for and haunted by those moments of happiness he showed me, but I’d give them all up to go back and prevent this tidal wave of pain from crashing down on him.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

A door opens along one of the walls to my left, a bank of slot machines separating me from it.

Coen steps out, his uncles, Gabe and Savage, with him, and his hard, flinty eyes find mine almost immediately.

He was definitely looking for me.

And this was definitely a mistake.

He made it very clear he doesn’t want to see me again, that if I tried, there would be consequences to pay. I’ll pay them, starting with the way my heart seizes in my chest just seeing him.

The hatred that simmers in his gaze brings tears to mine.

I knew what to expect after seeing it that morning in Vegas, but the past two weeks have apparently diminished it somehow in my mind.

This is going to hurt.

Coen stalks toward me through the crowd, jaw set hard, shoulders tense, perfectly tailored suit moving over that hard, muscled body I know so well.

I stand in place, waiting for him.

Showing him I’m not afraid and I’m not going to run.