Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Hawk (Burnout #3) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Dahlia West |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
Hawk Red Cloud lives by his own set of rules: Don't let them share the saddle, don't bring them home, and never spend the night. So far, he's managed to avoid commitment like the plague. Tildy Fletcher's parents set rules for her. She would never think of breaking them; she knows all too well what would happen if she did. Hawk and Tildy are from two different worlds, but there's no denying the attraction between them. The rules are designed to keep them apart. Will they be willing to break them for a chance at true love? | |
| Books in Series: | Burnout Series by Dahlia West |
| Books by Author: | Dahlia West Books |
Chapter 1
Hawk Red Cloud’s large 6’3” frame filled the mirror in front of him as he scrubbed the engine grease out from underneath his fingernails. It was a never-ending job, but it was one he didn’t mind. In a past life, the engine grease was other men’s blood and though that had never seriously bothered Hawk, he had never enjoyed it either. He much preferred taking apart engines and putting them back together in perfect, working order.
Once he was satisfied, he shut off the tap and turned on the shower beside him, letting the water heat up. He stripped out of his black t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy, steel toed boots. The last thing to go was the rubber band that held back his hair at the nape of his neck. As he tossed the accessory onto the sink ledge, his shiny black hair fell down until it was just touching his shoulders.
It wasn’t nearly as long as it had been in his other past life, before the Army had made him chop it off per regs. The uniform, the brutal, punishing torture that had been disguised as training and the food, which had been, unbelievably, worse, had not bothered him nearly as much as the loss of his hair. Losing it had put him in a very bad mood for a very long time.
His perpetually bad mood had at least ensured that no one in Basic fucked with him. He had always known that, deep down, even his Drill Sergeant had been just a little afraid of him. This had the unfortunate side effect of Hawk always being given more laps, more push-ups, and more KP duty than anyone else. But at age 18, when he’d enlisted, Hawk was already used to being the target of other men’s ire. He had always been large, well-muscled, and tall. Occasionally other men’s initial fear of him morphed into jealousy, which often manifested as anger. As a younger man, Hawk had escalated these conflicts as often as he could. Now that he was older, he took it more in stride.
The water was hot and felt good against his sore muscles. Hours underneath custom cars and trucks could make you wonder if pretzels had it easier. He washed his hair and toweled it dry. When it was just barely damp, he combed it back into his usual short ponytail and secured it again with the band.
The early July night was hot but there was a nice, steady breeze. Hawk swung his leg, clad in black cargo pants, over his black and chrome Harley and settled into the seat. His large, black boot started the engine, and his black t-shirt stretched over his well-defined chest as he turned the bike toward the street.
He never really stopped to wonder if his trademark, all-black attire was a bit of comical overkill. The truth was black hid stains of all kinds: grease, dirt, and blood, the last of which Hawk had seen less of since discharging from the Army. But, hey, Friday nights at Maria’s bar on the edge of town were unpredictable. Plus Hawk was good at a lot of things, but laundry wasn’t really one of them. If people mistook his practicality for attempting to exude a menacing persona, well, that was their problem.
Maria’s bar was named for a tough-talking, no-nonsense, platinum-haired blonde. What Maria’s razor-sharp tongue couldn’t take care of, her shotgun usually did, not that Hawk and the boys let her have much use of it these days.
Since coming back home to Rapid City and settling down, the boys from Hawk’s old unit had adopted Maria’s place as a second home. And although Maria was about as tough and independent as a woman, hell anyone, could possibly be, she wasn’t stupid by any means. She knew it didn’t hurt to have five ex-Special Forces acting as unofficial bouncers for the bar.
Even on nights the men didn’t make an appearance, the mere threat of being hunted down by a Sioux tracker, a world class sniper, a demolitions expert, a medic-turned-cop who looked like he knew more about dishing out damage than fixing it, and a pain in the ass cowboy was often enough of a deterrent. If it wasn’t, the offender was usually very drunk or from out of town.
Hawk entered the bar and scanned it. He veered left where a wisp of a girl was balancing a tray full of drinks with one arm and resting her hip against the table.
“This is your last round,” the girl told two bleary eyed men, both of whom looked like they’d misplaced their razors.
“Aw, come on now, darlin’,” one argued. “Still early.”
“And you’re already drunk,” the girl replied, shaking her head.
She set down a beer, and the man who had spoken took hold of her wrist.
“Not so drunk we can’t keep ‘em hard,” he informed her. “Whaddaya say? Little threesome? Play nice and we’ll give you a big tip.”