Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(41)

“Last chance for a drink.”
“Yes. Water would be great,” I said.
I just wanted him to leave. Once Hawk changed into a white T-shirt and boxers, he left the room. I leaned forward and glanced at my wrists. The cords were thin, and I couldn’t tell if the material was plastic or metal, but he must have bought it at a hardware store because it didn’t look familiar to me. The cords were secured to the bedposts and wrapped around several times. I tugged, but they only tightened around my wrists and bit into my flesh. I didn’t want to lose circulation, but my shoulders were beginning to cramp. I twisted to the left and then to the right, turning my arms and trying to stretch out some of the soreness.
Hawk returned and unscrewed the cap from a plastic bottle. He moved around to my right side and lifted my head, holding the rim to my mouth. I took a few deep swallows and water dribbled down my cheek. He wiped it with his hand and placed the bottle on a stereo shelf to the right. It was one of those old systems with the turntable on top and massive speakers on either side.
“See, I’m not such a bad guy,” he said in a velvety voice. But I could see right through him. He enjoyed having me bound and at his mercy—it empowered him.
“Can you untie me?”
“No can do. Stretching the arms and binding them will keep your animal from shifting.”
“Hawk, you can tie my wrists together, but this position really hurts. I’m losing circulation in my arms. I don’t know what your endgame is here, but I don’t think you want to injure me to the point where you’ve done irreparable damage.”
He rubbed his jaw and gave it consideration. “No, you’re still too pissed off. I can see it in your eyes.”
“My black eye?”
His expression darkened with annoyance. “We’ll talk in the morning, Izzy. It’s late.”
I stretched my right shoulder and lifted my head to look at him. “Hawk, can you cover me up?”
He flipped the thin blanket over my legs and switched out the light. To my relief, he left the room and closed the door behind him. I released a breath, thankful my situation wasn’t going to get more desperate than it already was. Any feelings I once had for him were now dead, so nothing he initiated sexually would be consensual. That left me with the primal fear of being violated by a man who felt like he owned me and had rights to my body like I was property. Men who treated women as livestock and abused them received no mercy when caught. Shifters had zero tolerance for abuse against women, and I’d heard stories about what had happened to some of them who were turned over to the packs. I hoped that Hawk wasn’t that kind of man, but as the cord pinched my skin, I had my doubts.
***
After Isabelle dashed out of Howlers, Jericho had been left with adrenaline pumping in his veins. He wanted to finish off Hawk and give him a nasty dose of his own medicine, but Hawk predictably ran out after her. Jericho knew about men like him. They liked to push women around to feel superior in their inferior lives.
Afterward, he got in his truck and drove aimlessly. The sun winked at him from the treetops in the distance as he coasted down a busy street. Dawn swallowed up the dark night and replaced the stars with splashes of apricot, yellow, and a pale azure.
Jericho swung by a diner and ordered a plate of Belgian waffles. He mostly stared out the window, smoking his cigarette, wondering why he couldn’t just walk away from Isabelle. Why did she have to pick a loser like Hawk to settle down with? Just imagining that guy pushing her around made his wolf thirst for blood. She might have been tall and sassy, but Isabelle wouldn’t be able to fight off someone his size. No pack would allow one of their women to be treated with such disrespect. He knew how rough she’d had it growing up, and that’s why he’d promised years ago to look out for her.
Maybe that’s what made it harder for him to turn a blind eye.
After finishing his coffee, Jericho headed home. He wished he had been the one to run out after her, but now the two of them were probably curled up in bed together, so he put it out of his mind.
When he pulled up the driveway, Lexi stalked toward his truck with her hands on her hips. She had on a pair of cutoff jeans and a brown T-shirt with a logo on the front promoting barbecue.
“Austin’s going to kill you,” she announced, tucking her straight brown hair behind her ears. “You were supposed to be home with the truck two hours ago. He needed it to haul dirt for Mom’s garden so she could do some work before it got too hot.”
Jericho rolled up the window and popped open the door. She continued to lecture him as he pulled his guitar out from behind the seat. A sick feeling gnawed at his stomach that he couldn’t shake, as if he were in the middle of a waking nightmare. It’s something that had begun not long after Isabelle ran out of Howlers, and it had progressively gotten worse.