Chapter 82

"Sweet Pea -" he started but I cut him off, still shrieking.

"Don't call me that you fucking asshole!"

Then I whirled on my foot and raced to and up the stairs.

Hawk followed and he didn't do it slowly but by the time he made it to the bed platform, I was pulling up my jeans.

"Sam, listen to me," he demanded.

"Fuck you," I spat, zipping my jeans.

His fingers wrapped around my upper arm and he gently turned me to him but I twisted my arm out of grip, put both hands to his chest and pushed.

He caught my forearms and shook them between us.

"Sam, look at me."

I looked at him and hissed, "You orchestrated this. You worked for it. Then I gave you me and you didn't have it a day before you threw it away."

"Listen to me, babe, and you'll -" I yanked at my forearms and snapped, "Go to hell, Hawk."

"Babe, listen," he growled, shaking my arms again, I yanked again, one of his hands slid down to the bruises and cuts on my wrist, a small, sharp, involuntary cry of pain escaped me and he released me instantly.

I took advantage and dashed around him toward my suitcases. I bent over them but was pulled up and in with an arm around my waist, my back hitting Hawk's front, his other arm wrapped around me and his mouth came to my ear.

"Baby, listen to me," he whispered.

Something about that shredded me, everything inside me, all that was me instantly in tatters. I tore violently from his arms, whirled and advanced into his space, finger out, up and pointed in his face.

"Don't call me baby. In the five minutes we have left together, Cabe Delgado, don't even fucking think about calling me baby."

And I knew what it was. I knew why that destroyed me. I knew I loved that. I knew the first time he called me baby in my kitchen the hope I wasn't allowing myself to feel for a year and a half was not only real but what I hoped for was possible.

And just like with Scott, exactly like with Scott, I was wrong, way, way, way, way wrong.

He opened his mouth to say something then he stopped, his tense body went statue-still then he muttered an enraged, "Fuck."

That was when I heard it. Pipes. The roar of Harley pipes. And it wasn't one bike. It wasn't two. It was a lot of them.

Hawk turned, bent and tagged his tee off the floor. He'd yanked it over his head and was pulling it down his abs when he lifted one finger toward me and ordered, "Stay here."

I didn't respond but there was no way I was staying there. As far as I was concerned, the cavalry had arrived and I was getting the fuck out of Dodge.

I bent to my suitcase pulled on socks, my boots then grabbed panties, a bra, a tee and then raced to the bathroom, snatching up shit I needed then I raced down the stairs, shoved it all in my purse, I hitched it over my shoulder and I raced out.