Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 35

They all look at Eve. She shrinks just a little into her chair, her eyes wide. When Eve gets mad, her eyes go wide and she tucks her bottom lip under her teeth. She does that now, and her hands go white as she grips the arms of her chair. Whiter, anyway. She's furious.

Good.

"The details are in the papers I've provided. Bottom line is this. I want thirty percent of the common stock, for which I am prepared to pay generously."

"With what?" Evelyn snaps. "What do they pay you in prison, a dollar a day to stamp license plates?"

"Miss Ross," Thorpe says, a hint of warning in his voice.

All the color, such as it is, drains from Evelyn's face. It's been a long time since anyone but her father has taken that kind of tone with her. I can read it plain as day in her face.

"I've provided all the necessary information for your due diligence. My plan is a more hands off approach than Eve's. I'm not here to eat your company alive, I'm here to keep it afloat. The union and your creditors will get what they want. In addition to market price for the stock, the group I represent will extend an interest-free line of credit to cover Thorpe's liabilities for the next two years."

"This is absurdly generous," another of them says. "What's in it for you?"

"It'll pay off when I triple the price of your stock, and I will."

"How?"

"I'd rather not say in front of the compet.i.tion, but look at the terms. If the stock price does not in fact triple by the one year anniversary of the day you sign the papers, all the stock I purchase reverts back to you. I'm going to bet with my money that we can turn this around."

"Who's we?" the old man says. "Ross has a point. Did you dig out of your prison cell with a spoon and find a treasure chest?"

I smile at him where Eve would wither him with a look.

"No, but my father's name used to mean something in the financial world and I want it to mean something again. I called a lot of friends, all of whom have been burned by what used to be my father's company. Again, all the information you need to make an informed decision is in the packet I pa.s.sed out. Look, I know I'm asking you to do homework on a Friday..."

Four of them chuckle softly.

Gotcha.

"...but it's me or her. Do I need to tell you what happens if you hand over the reins to her? My plan involves bringing in consultants. Her plan involves removing your entire management staff and replacing them with her cronies. She'll increase your efficiency, alright. She'll fire the union workers, close down the plant and hire scabs somewhere else. She'll cancel contracts with your suppliers and start using substandard product from suppliers she controls. She'll stick knives in your backs from a dozen directions and squeeze out as much profit from the company as she can until the reputation of the brand is ruined, and when it's not making money anymore she'll exercise her rights to tear it all apart and sell everything off to pay off the company's creditors, which if you research the matter, you will find all belong to her. She's already got you in her jaws. When you sign her papers she'll shake you and snap your neck. My plan is a way out. If we fail, you'll be no worse off than if you sign on with her and go under the Amsel umbrella. If you say no she'll start the wheels on a hostile takeover. She probably already has."

Evelyn is staring daggers into me.

"This is a lot to consider," Thorpe says.

Evelyn looks at him, then at me. She rises abruptly from her seat and leaves her a.s.sistant to frantically gather their materials. I look around the room.

"Questions?"

"We'll reach a decision soon, I think," says Thorpe.

"I'll be waiting."

I give them a winning smile, grab my attache and stride out.

Evelyn is in the hallway.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h," she hisses. "How dare you-"

Before I can think, before I can plan, my hand lashes out and I seize the collar of her blouse. Her feet barely touch the floor as I drag her out of the hall into another conference room. She rakes her nails over the back of my first and I let go. She looks at me, looks at the door, and goes for it. She doesn't make it halfway before I drag her back by the arm and yank the door shut and twist the lock. She rounds on me with a savage backhand that actually flashes my lights. I taste blood in my mouth from a split lip.

"f.u.c.king let go of me," she snaps. "I'll scream."

"You promise?"

"Let go!"

"Eve, listen to me."

"I don't want to hear your lies. Get your hands off me, Victor. I loved your mother. That's the only reason I'm not going to have you back in prison today. Only if you let go of my arm."

I give her a little shake. Her eyes burn into me, and as my throat clenches with fury I feel my c.o.c.k stiffen. G.o.d, she's beautiful.

"Let. Go," she repeats.

"No."

"Get off of-"

Before she finishes the sentence I have her up against the wall, my lips crushed against hers. It's been so G.o.dd.a.m.n long, almost five years since I've touched a woman. h.e.l.l, for five years I didn't even smell a woman. If you told me maybe ten years ago I'd go five years without a good lay I'd tell you I'd be f.u.c.king everything that moves when I was done.

All I want is her.

There's not even a moment of resistance. She kisses me back hard, hungrily, so hot. It's like swallowing a warm spoonful of honey. Whoever called her the ice queen was dead wrong. Her skin burns under my hands. I slip my arms under her jacket, feel her heat under her silk blouse. The feeling reminds me of slipping under a blanket with her, feeling her warmth against me as we lay intertwined.

One hand moves up her stomach and I squeeze her breast through blouse and bra, and she moans softly in to my mouth. Her hands stop pulling at my blazer and instead start hiking up her skirt, up over her hips. Jesus, there's already a wet spot on her underwear. She starts pus.h.i.+ng them down, I pull them down, rip them to her knees and slide my hand between her legs. Her arousal is slick on my fingers, but I just hold her, cup my hand against her s.e.x. A soft sound escapes her lips and she bucks and rolls her hips, grinding on my hand. I push her into the wall and slip my arm around her as her arms wrap around my neck.

My c.o.c.k is raging, iron hard. I want to f.u.c.k her so bad. I could f.u.c.k her right here on the floor, I don't care. I want to explode inside her, feel her quiver around me as I make her c.u.m. My finger slides inside her and it comes back to me, like muscle memory. I know exactly where and how to touch her to get the reaction I want, sliding my finger against just the right spot while I move my palm against her c.l.i.t. She hugs me tighter and pushes her chin in to my shoulder, trembling. Her leg lifts up. All I have to do is get these pants down and get inside her. I have never been this hard.

I want to f.u.c.k her but I want to taste her more. I drop to my knees and she knots her fingers in my hair, pushes me forward as her hips cant towards me, and I suck on her c.l.i.t as I slip a second finger into her body and start pumping, finger f.u.c.king her while I eat her p.u.s.s.y. She never makes a sound, no louder than a squeak or a sharp inhalation, but she's so f.u.c.king wet I think I might need to roll up my sleeve, a silly thought in the absurd joy of her taste. She tastes and smells just like I remember and I pull my hand away to clamp down on her hips with both hands and bury my face in her hot, sopping wet c.u.n.t. I want to get my tongue inside her. She's shaking now, barely in control of herself, and claps one hand over her mouth. Her other is twisting my hair so hard it hurts.

Just like old times. She used to pull my hair, scratch my back until I bed and beg me more, more. A few times she even bit me.

"Please," she pleads in a breathy voice, before pressing her hand to her mouth.

Her eyes are wide open.

I ease off. No, not yet. She's not allowed to c.u.m until I want her to. My fingers enter her again as I stand up, yank her hand away and she kisses me as I pin her to the wall and very, very slowly slide my fingers forward and back, curling them just a little to make her knees shake. I swallow her moans as my tongue invades her mouth. I make her taste her p.u.s.s.y while I pleasure her. Her legs are shaking like leaves now, her stomach trembles, and her nails dig into my arms.

c.u.m. c.u.m for me you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.

Her p.u.s.s.y squeezes my fingers. I just hold them there, feeling the heat and pulses and wetness. She never makes a peep, but her body goes rigid, softens a little, goes rigid again in spasms as her eyes unfocus, look past me. I hold her against me.

It's not f.u.c.king fair. Just let me love you, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. Why can't I? Why did this have to happen?

"Vic," she purrs, trying to side her arms around me. "Victor..."

"I didn't do it," I bark at her, my voice strained. Christ, I'm a grown man on the verge of tears. "Eve, please believe me..."

She gives me a hard shove and I step away from her as she struggles to keep her feet, skirt hike dup over her a.s.s, her sodden underwear quivering between her bowed knees.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h, why did you bring it up?"

"Eve-"

"Beg my forgiveness," she snaps, standing to her full height, such as it is. "Beg me to forgive you, Victor."

My hand falls to my side.

"You're the one that should be begging my forgiveness," I snarl. "I never touched that girl. I never did any of it. All I ever wanted..."

"Liar," she says, coldly. "You're a filthy f.u.c.king liar, and I hate you. Don't ever touch me again."

She stumbles away, and suddenly I feel embarra.s.sed to see her like this as she yanks her underwear up and pulls her skirt down.

"I hate you," she says, as I open the door.

Chapter Four.

Evelyn "I hate you," I snarl as he steps out.

The door slams behind him and I choke out the words in a tiny voice.

"Don't leave me."

Victor, come back. Victor please, I'm sorry, I'll forgive you, just come back.

Ten minutes later Alicia finds me sitting on the floor in a strange conference room, hugging my legs to my chest and sobbing.

"Ma'am..."

"Go away," I choke out. "Leave me alone."

"I can't. We need to leave. They're talking about calling security to remove you."

I stare at her. She's all blurry and I don't know why. Maybe it has to do with the hot burning on my cheeks. Water, there's water. Oh G.o.d, I'm crying. If Father saw me he'd... he'd...

I surge to my feet and stumble. My body is still shaking through the aftershocks. I haven't c.u.m so hard since... since the last time Victor f.u.c.ked me. I want him inside me.

Please come back.

I meant it, dam him. If he just told me the truth and asked me to forgive him, I would. I'd forgive him for the money, for Brittany, for all of it. I don't want any of this. I want him.

Yet I still hate him. I gave him everything and he crushed it in his hand and threw it away for the next piece of a.s.s.

You stupid, immature, idiotic little girl. How dare you let yourself crack like this. Get up.

Alicia offers me a tissue. I s.n.a.t.c.h it and wipe down my face. I take a minute to smooth my hair and stride out of the conference room. There's building security approaching, rent-a-cops in cheap uniforms, but one look and they get out of my way as I almost dive into the elevator, tempted to tell Alicia to take the f.u.c.king stairs and just get away from me. All I can see is their eyes on me. Victor is right, d.a.m.n him. They all hate me. Alicia despises me, the staff hates me. No one in the whole world wants me. I just want to curl up in a ball and disappear.

We were so happy once.

Head down, suppressing sobs, I rush back to the car, yank the door open and throw myself inside. Alicia follows, closes the door. No one says a word on the way back to the airport. When we arrive I trudge up the stairs and back to my seat, sink into it and close my eyes, but sleep won't come. I grip the armrests tightly during the ascent, calming only when the plane levels out. Sleep, dreamless or not, flees from me. My body still pulses with need. Victor, Victor, Victor. The way he held me while he... it was like he used to. He would hold me so tight, shelter me in those big arms of his. In the dark the tattooed feathers running up and down his arms would seem to s.h.i.+mmer, like some kind of dark secret gold. They ran from just above his wrist to his shoulders, spread over his back on the shape of wings. On his chest the screaming visage of a black bird stared out. I remember touching every line, every st.i.tch of shading.

I hate myself.

The flight feels nine hours long, even though the ascent and descent are longer than the flight time, almost. A short hop. It's dark when the plane turns and tips back to descend into Philadelphia. As dark as it gets. Lights flood the world below, a galaxy on the ground drowning out the one in the sky. None of it means anything to me. I watch the ground swell up to meet us and some part of me wishes it would just crush the plane and end this misery. A taste, a touch, is worse than nothing at all. Victor's infuriating presence, the hate in his voice. If he only hated me I could survive it, but the touched me so tenderly, kissed me so fiercely. It was like he forgot he hated me. I forgot how much I hate him. I have to remember. Her name is Brittany. She was the next notch on his bedpost, and that's all I ever was. It was all lies, the whispered declarations, the promises. He turned around and mouthed the same words to someone else.

By the time I walk to the car I feel the venom of my hatred coming back, swelling cold and acid in my chest. He'll trick me. He tricked me before. I will never let anyone do that to me again. No one will ever get under my skin again. My skin is ice, harder than steel, and beneath it is only more ice. The cold settles in me during the ride and I feel almost composed when we returned to the house. I glance over and see the police outside the garage and it hits me, and the ice cracks.

It was him. d.a.m.n it, it was him, he was here. He took the car. Fine, let him. I hate the d.a.m.ned thing. Sitting there reminding me of what used to be. He can go to h.e.l.l and take the car with him.

Weariness has settled into my bones by the time I emerge from the car. I stink of acidic sweat and other things and I feel like I've been stretched out, like taffy. I need a shower and I need a full night's sleep. I glance at Alicia, who has been silent since we left the offices.

"I'm taking tomorrow off."

She nods curtly, makes a note and veers away from me as I head upstairs, leaning on the bannister. I yawn as I reach the top of the stairs, scrub my hands through my hair and half stumble through the door into my room.

There I freeze.

My father is waiting for me. He stands in the room like a statue, frozen still. Like me he's pale all over but for blue eyes, like he's been carved from stone. He wears dark slacks and a white s.h.i.+rt. His tie is loosened. A withering look sends me a step back, but I swallow and step into the room, force myself to stand straight up.

"Did you f.u.c.k Victor Amsel?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Evelyn."

"I didn't have s.e.x with him." I leave off the today. It's implied.

It's a technicality. There's a subtle twitch around his left eye. He knows.

"The show you put on today was quite a spectacle, apparently. It was on all the news sites. They were talking about you on television."

I swallow.

"I'm told it was tweeted," he says, with a sneering disdain.

I swallow again. "I'm sorry..."

"He played you like a tin fiddle. What do you have to say for yourself?"