Page 79 of Misted
Hawk
No one fucks with what’s mine but me.
Everythingin me screams to find the scum and twist his heart and break his head.
However, the woman lying on the pavement with a pained expression written all over her face halts me in my tracks.
I pull Mist up by the shoulder, baring my teeth in a snarl. “What the fuck were you thinking? I told you you’re stuffed with a tracker. You can’t run away from me, dammit!”
“I wasn’t running.” She motions at the phone on the pavement and clutches her side. “Ugh…”
My teeth grind as if her pain is fucking mine. I pull her up and throw her over my shoulder. She yelps, but I’m already running in the direction of the arsehole.
“Hawk, what are you doing?” She draws in a gasp.
I tighten my hand around the back of her naked thighs, ignoring the looks and yelps from the onlookers.
“Stop it,” she hisses, hitting my back.
“Stay still,” I growl and spank her arse.
She breathes a shaky breath against my back before she clutches my T-shirt with both hands.
“You’re a mule,” she huffs, amusement lacing her tone.
“And you’re freaking stubborn. What would’ve happened in he had a knife, huh?”
“I would’ve stopped him.”
“As if that would be possible with all the withdrawal.”
“And whose fault is that?” Her head bumps against my back as I sprint through the narrow streets until I spot the slim thug who punched Mist.
I lower her to her feet near an old house’s steps and bore my eyes into her tired hazel ones. “Don’t move.”
She flops down, blowing a breath. “I’m a druggie on withdrawal. Obviously, I can’t move. Thanks for nothing.”
I narrow my eyes on her sass but decide to drop it for now. I take a shortcut to the left, continuing to spot the wanker’s silhouette. He slowed his pace, obviously thinking that he got away.
He stops near an alley with cats fighting and hissing at each other.
Once the man opens the bag and realises it’s empty, he curses in a long stream of French before he throws it away, causing the cats to disperse. He runs a hand through his greasy blond hair that falls to his nape.
He retrieves a cigarette, puts it between his thumb and forefinger and lights it.
That’s when I charge towards him. He doesn’t see it coming. He can’t.
One moment he’s on the ground and the next I’m holding him by the neck against the brick wall. His face reddens as my arm chokes the breath out of him.
I’m going to squeeze him to death so slowly, he’ll beg to be put out of his misery.
He croaks and wheezes, his suspended legs thrashing everywhere.
A soft hand covers my free one. I’m too lost in my killing daze that I almost rear back and hit her.
She stares up at me with determined hazel eyes, the green and brown softening. “He’s just a thief, Hawk. Let him go.”
“He touched you.” I shove my arm into his throat until his face turns blue. “He dared fucking hit you.”