Hector stormed out of the parlour with a hand over his nose and a scowling face. A minute later his bike roared to life and zoomed away. The other two men just lingered in the background, staring at Hawke like he was Jesus resurrected. He stared back at them evenly, growling out, “She’s staying. Anybody else got a problem with that?” They shook their heads. The goatee man muttered, “No, Hawke. It’s…good to have you back.” “I’m not back,” Hawke replied. “I’m just stepping in for a while. When she’s here, I’m the boss, and nobody better fucking look at her. She’s Borden’s property, and you better pass that message along when we get to the clubhouse.” They nodded adamantly, and I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I was used to Hawke taking orders, not giving them. “Good,” he said, grabbing a bottle of unopened beer on the counter. “Now give me the fucking key to the place.”
