Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (Hawke Family #1)(29)

“Shit, indeed. Girl, this guy has it bad for you, but he’s still willing to let you go. The ball is in your court. You won’t be able to hide from it in D.C. any longer. You’re coming home tomorrow and need to put this poor man out of his misery.”

“I know.”

I need to put myself out of my misery, too. This week has been agonizingly painful, and not just because I’m hornier than I’ve ever been in my life. I never thought I’d have to make a decision like this and five days of thinking haven’t gotten me anywhere closer to final judgment.

It can’t go on any longer. It’s not fair to me, and it’s especially not fair to Savage.



“You sent her more flowers?” Gabe quirks his eyebrow at me and his lips twist into a grimace.

“Yes, well, one flower.” Leaning back in my chair, I stretch my arms and twist, trying to loosen up to the tight muscles after this morning’s workout.

“You think that was a good idea?”

“At this point? I don’t think it matters much what I do. What did you come in here for, anyway?”

He drops down into a chair across from me and leans forward, his forearms on his knees. “You aren’t going to like it.”

“Oh good, bad news. My favorite kind.”

Nothing has been going right this week. Ever since I returned from San Diego, anything and everything that could go wrong has gone wrong.

First, my epic crash and burn with Danika. I’m still trying to recover from it but find myself pathetically reviewing our old text conversations and pining like that’s going to change anything about this shit situation.

Then, one of the dancers got chicken pox from her kid and managed to infect three of the other girls, leaving us short-staffed during our peak season. Spring means weddings, and weddings mean bachelor parties.

And, if that wasn’t bad enough, the manager at one of my other bar’s up and disappeared, taking over ten grand out of the safe when he left. So, I got to spend two days with the police and trying to hire another manager. “What is it? Just lay it on me.”

“We are almost out of beer.”

“What do you mean we’re almost out of beer? There should have been a delivery this morning.” I open the supply management program on my computer and scroll through it. “We ordered enough to last two weeks and it was supposed to be delivered before noon today.”

Gabe leans back and shrugs. “Maybe it was supposed to be, but it wasn’t. Byron and I have tried calling the supplier all afternoon, and we can’t seem to get a straight answer from them about where the shipment is or when it’s coming.”

This has to be some kind of fucking joke.

“Jesus, we have four bachelor parties tonight and five tomorrow.”

“I know,” he says, eyeing me speculatively. “You know what you need to do.”

“No. Hell no.” I shake my head and rack my brain for any alternative.

“Savage, come on. You need to call Dom.”

“I said, hell no.” I slam my palms against my desk. “I’m not going to owe that guy any more favors.”

Never again.

“I get it, I do, but he’s also the only one who is going to be able to get us what we need before the tidal wave hits tonight.”

Dom Abello is the last person in the world I want to call for help.

My unfortunate connection with him was forged even before I was born. My mom grew up on the same street, and my dad went to school with him. Then, years later, my father did some “work” for him from time to time.

Growing up, he had always just been Uncle Dom to us. My mother either didn’t know or chose to ignore what he did for a living—the murders, drug dealing, corruption. None of it was ever mentioned or acknowledged in my home. I never really understood who or what he was until I was well into high school. By then, it was hard to untangle myself from him due to the family connection.

I’ve tried my best to steer clear of Uncle Dom and his associates, but when I couldn’t get financing for the first bar after college, he helped me out. The problem is, getting help from Uncle Dom always comes with a price.

Almost a decade later, I’m still paying for his “generosity” with favors I would rather not do.

“Shit.” I drop my head into my hands and groan in frustration. “Why can’t anything go right this week?”

“I don’t know, man. One of us really must have done something to piss off the big guy upstairs.”

No shit.

“Well, given your track record, I’m betting it was you.”

He grins and flips me off.

Unfortunately, Gabe’s right. Dom is the only one with connections to get us what we need fast. I reach for the phone and reluctantly dial. It rings three times before I hear him pick up.

“Well, well, well…Mr. Hawke, to what do I owe the pleasure?” There’s a knowledge and a smugness in his voice, knowing I’m calling him because I need something. The man revels in holding things over people, and it frankly wouldn’t surprise me if he had orchestrated the beer shortage just so I would need his help and would owe him a favor. Of course, I will never call him out on it, even if I knew it to be true. I don’t have a death wish.

“Hey, Dom. I’m hoping you can help me out with something. I am in a bit of a jam.”