Steele Resolve: A Hawke Family Story Read online

  A HAWKE FAMILY STORY

  * * *

  GWYN MCNAMEE

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  SNEAK PEEK AT SQUALL LINE

  About the Author

  OTHER WORKS BY GWYN MCNAMEE

  STEELE RESOLVE

  by

  Gwyn McNamee © 2019

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing: Stephie Walls

  Cover Design: Michelle Johnson at Blue Sky Designs

  Created with Vellum

  Love is love.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who helped with Luca and Byron’s story, I owe you a HUGE thank you. I’ve been waiting five books to finally be able to give Byron a story, and it’s exactly what I always pictured.

  To my betas, thank you for providing invaluable feedback about the story, as always.

  And to my husband and daughter for always supporting my writing.

  Prologue

  The damn lighting in the bar has me squinting at the menu in my hand to try to read the words. They blur together into black blobs on the cream paper, and a dull ache forms in my temples.

  Fuck. I give up.

  I hold the menu out to the bartender and wave my hand. “Just give me a burger and whatever IPA you have on tap.”

  The bottles behind the bar glow from the backlighting—green, red, brown, clear—and they actually have a really good liquor selection, but if I start hitting the hard stuff now, I’ll have a rough morning tomorrow. I need to be at the club early to accept deliveries and get ready for the hustle that always is Saturday night, so I can’t afford to be hungover as hell in the a.m.

  This is my first Friday off in a long time, and I want to enjoy it.

  Just…not too much.

  A few beers and hopefully a good fuck will be just what I need to unwind from everything that’s been going on.

  The bartender nods before turning his back to put my order in at the register.

  I spin around on my stool to examine the place. The only other time I’ve been here, I was pretty lit, so I don’t remember much, but I like the vibe of the place.

  It’s my kind of bar. Pool table in the corner. Dart boards along the far wall. High-top tables with stools and a line of dark booths wrapped in red leather. Low-key, almost a dive even though it’s relatively new.

  It was definitely designed to feel like a local neighborhood place, totally unlike so many of the other gay bars and clubs here. I get enough of the pumping bass music and flashing lights at the Hawkeye Club. When I’m off the clock, I don’t want to deal with that. I just want to relax and unwind and maybe get off.

  Is that really so much to ask?

  Sure seems like it lately.

  Ever since Ben and Caleb were killed, things have been tense at the club.

  Understandably so.

  Though Dom is dead, it doesn’t feel like this is over. Stone’s revelation and all the truths exposed were too much to take. And the decision to rebuild THREE at all, let alone at the same location, is agonizing for everyone. But since determining to move ahead, Savage and Gabe are once again swamped with construction on top of dealing with the loss of Ben—their best friend and Storm’s husband. Everyone is struggling.

  I pick up the slack where I can to help, and so does Vance over at TWO, but I needed this night off badly. A night where I don’t need to think about schedules and staffing, paychecks and deliveries, customers and complaints. A few hours just about me.

  When was the last time I even got laid?

  Faces. Names. Dicks.

  They float through my head in a haze, none of them particularly memorable or anything I’d want to repeat. Fun is fun, but it rarely leads to anything more permanent. Not that I’m looking for that tonight. Really, fun is about all I can handle right now.

  Good times and bad decisions.

  But eventually, down the road, settling down isn’t out of the question.

  If I can ever find anyone I connect with the way the Hawkes have, someone who looks at me with the same love and admiration they all do with their significant others, that will be the day these bars lose their appeal. But that day is not today.

  The door to the bar swings open, bringing in a gust of warm evening air and my biggest dream and worst nightmare all wrapped up in one package.

  Tall. Dark. Broody.

  Devilishly handsome in gray jeans, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a black blazer perfectly cut to show off his defined chest, shoulders, and arms.

  My fucking kryptonite.

  Who is this guy?

  Despite the size of New Orleans, the gay community always feels painfully small. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone’s done everyone or knows someone else who has. And this isn’t the type of bar tourists looking to have a good time flock to. Which makes the mystery man even more intriguing.

  He’s different. Shadowy and a bad decision waiting to happen.

  A black, stormy gaze meets mine from across the room, and he zeroes in on me like an eagle circling his prey. Goosebumps break out across my exposed arms, and the corner of my mouth curls up.

  “Here you go, man.”

  I jerk my head back to the bartender as he slides a cold pint of beer across the bar.

  He flashes me a knowing grin. “Your burger will be up soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Totally busted.

  But I’m sure it’s not anything new for him. Despite the low-key vibe in this place, pick-ups happen everywhere. It’s just part of the life.

  The stool next to me squeals against the worn planks of the wood floor as it’s dragged out. My shoulders tense, and I curl my hand around the frosty glass. I take a drink, letting the crisp, hoppy liquid douse the heat his look sparked.

  Don’t look over. Stay cool.

  Throwing yourself at him and asking him to suck your dick would be a bit of overkill. Not very gentlemanly, either. And if nothing else, I’m respectful even with my cock straining painfully against the zipper of my jeans.

  He settles next to me and nods to the bartender. The scent of leather and rich, spicy aftershave washes over me. “Ardbeg single malt, please.”

  Damn.

  The man smells incredible and knows good Scotch. Two more marks in the perfect for me, so probably a bad idea column.

  I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and a sly grin tilts his perfect lips. A grin that says he can read my mind and is arrogant enough to expect my attraction.

  He nods towar
d my beer. “You just starting tonight or just ending?”

  I force myself to fully meet his gaze. “Just starting.”

  The bartender pours the stranger’s drink in front of us and pushes the tumbler toward him.

  Long fingers curl around the glass. He turns on his stool and offers a smirk that has my cock twitching. “Me too.”

  He raises his drink to me. Dark eyes I could drown in twinkle in amusement, and he arches a brow at me. “To new beginnings.”

  I return his smile and struggle not to use my free hand to reach down to adjust my cock. “To new beginnings.”

  Our glasses clink together.

  My evening just got a lot more interesting.

  I never thought I’d be back in New Orleans. I never thought there would be any reason to be here. But here I am, in the city I swore I’d never return to, taking over a business that killed my sperm donor, at a bar that could expose the biggest secret in my life and put my life at risk—again.

  Shit.

  I should have learned my lesson in Philly. This isn’t something I can be openly. Not in this life. Not in this job. Not in this city where I’m making my new home.

  But I’m greedy and selfish, and I couldn’t stop myself from coming out tonight, from seeking companionship, release, connection. Even bad guys deserve that. This will be the last time I’m going to get to indulge in a little fun if I want any chance at still maintaining my anonymity. It’s only a matter of time before people realize who I am and what I’m doing back here. People who could cause a lot of trouble for me.

  I barely got out of Jersey alive, and I’m not about to start another war here. The vultures have already circled and moved in to feast on the carcass of the Abello empire, and if I don’t step up and act soon, there will be nothing left to save.

  Lying low has permitted me the opportunity to observe the lay of the land and to find out how my old friends, the Hawkes have been dealing with the fallout of dear ol’ Dad’s actions, but I can only remain concealed for so long.

  Tonight, I’m not thinking about that. Tonight, in this place, is about enjoying the little bit of time I do have and finding an outlet for the stress and tension coiled in my body. Months of watching my back. Meetings I wasn’t sure I would walk out of alive. Very real threats being hurled at me. Barrels of guns pointed at my face. It starts to weigh on you.

  This is a new city. A new day. A new life.

  And the second I walked through that door, I knew the big, broad-shouldered man, now sitting next to me at the bar, with his tattoos and muscles bulging under his t-shirt, was going to be my entertainment for the night.

  I take a sip of Scotch. The smoky peat warms my chest. “Are you a local?”

  The guy lifts his tattooed arm to bring his glass to his lips and takes a sip of his beer before turning to face me. “I am. You?” A dark eyebrow quirks up as he waits for my response.

  I chuckle and swirl the amber liquid in my glass. “I am now, but I’m from the East Coast.”

  He gives me a lopsided grin and chuckles. “Figured. The accent gives you away.”

  I tip my head back and laugh. “I never really considered myself as having much of an accent.”

  One of his broad shoulders rises and falls. “Maybe that’s because you were up there, not down here.”

  “I was actually born here, but it’s been a couple decades since I’ve been back.” And I probably never would have come this far south again if Gabe hadn’t taken out the man I once called Dad and if I hadn’t been outed to the crew in Jersey.

  New Orleans has never been home. It’s just the place I was born, a place where the only good memories stem from the Hawkes. Our house was in a constant state of turmoil—Mom and Dad arguing about one thing or another. His work. His mistresses. Him not wanting the embarrassment of a gay son.

  The Hawkes were more a family to me than my own, and when we left, it was both a huge relief to be getting away from the man who sired me and agonizing to know I would probably never see them again. And now, after what he did, the chances of them welcoming me back into the fold with open arms is almost nil.

  So, I’ll look for other arms. Even if it’s just for one night.

  My companion raises his eyebrows and nods as he takes another drink. “So, what brings you back? Business or pleasure?”

  Hopefully both.

  “Work and some personal business.”

  Which are inextricably intertwined.

  They are also the last things I want to discuss right now.

  I’ve always hated small talk. Why can’t we just cut the pretense and get down to business instead of pretending we care? These formalities, the games played to try to eliminate feeling shady about yourself in the morning, they are pointless in the end.

  An escort would be much easier. No risk of a personal connection. But that’s never been an option. There’s too much of a chance of blackmail if anyone ever discovers who I am. People who will take money for sex will demand money for silence. And while I don’t lack money, I do lack patience for idiots who think they can get away with trying to out me.

  So, anonymous bars and sort-of fake names have always been the way to go. And it worked for a long time, until Philly.

  I hold out my hand to him. “Steele Clemenza.”

  Not a name anyone will know or connect to Luca Abello—the man about to revive his father’s criminal empire from the ashes.

  He takes it with a firm grip and shakes. A spark of electricity rolls up my arm, down through my torso, and straight to my dick.

  Christ.

  The corner of his mouth tilts up. He felt it, too.

  “Byron Harris. It’s nice to meet you.”

  I give him the grin that’s always worked so well for me in the past. It’s one of my best assets and something I’m sure to pull from my arsenal whenever it’s needed. “You too.”

  The bartender reappears with a plate containing a burger and fries and sets it in front of Byron. “Here’s your burger. Can I get you anything else?”

  My stomach rumbles, and I nod toward his plate. “Can I get one of those, too?”

  I hadn’t even realized how hungry I am, but suddenly, looking at Byron and his rippling tattooed muscles, plump lips, and dark eyes, I’m positively ravenous.

  1

  ONE MONTH LATER

  The doors of the Hawkeye Club swing open, and I lean against the bar to brace myself for the hurricane about to blow in. One with the last name Abello.

  But the one who walks in wrapped in a suit, perfectly tailored to show off his muscular form and to tell anyone who sees it he means business—deadly business—isn’t Luca Abello. It’s Steele.

  What the hell?

  Landon freezes where he sits in front of me at the bar and clenches his jaw.

  Why would he react to Steele like that?

  My chest tightens. My throat constricts. My vision blurs.

  All the pieces click together. What Steele told me that night at the bar…

  “I was actually born here, but it’s been a couple decades since I’ve been back…”

  “Work and some personal business.”

  Jesus, what have I done?

  Steele is Luca.

  The man flashes me a sly smile—one that freezes my blood. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me.

  He knew. He fucking knew.

  He wanders over to the bar and sidles up next to Landon. “Landon, I didn’t know you were going to be at the meeting.”

  Landon shakes his head. “I didn’t even know about it. I just came for a drink.” He tilts his bottle toward the man whose bed I was in only weeks ago.

  Luca nods and scans the club. “Where are they?”

  Shit.

  If I don’t pull myself together, Landon is going to know something’s going on.

  I shake my head, clear my throat, and nod toward the elevator. “Upstairs. Savage’s office. Take the elevator. First door on the left. I’ll call up to let them know
you’re here.”

  With all the cameras covering this place, they already know, but I’ll call anyway. It will give me something to do to avoid looking at Luca any longer than necessary.

  Luca nods and taps the top of the bar. “Thanks.”

  He throws me a wink before he casually pushes away from the bar and saunters over to the elevator. The doors open, and he steps inside. He turns and flashes me a knowing grin before the doors slide closed in front of him.

  I grab the phone with a shaky hand and press the button for Savage’s office.

  Savage grunts a greeting. “That him?”

  “Yeah, he’s here.”

  The man whose father killed Ben and Caleb. The man who has been stalking Storm. The man who is the new head of the damn mob in New Orleans. The man who is evil incarnate. The man I’ve slept with.

  Savage growls. “Fucking asshole. Tell Landon to come join us if he would like to be involved in the meeting.”

  My eyes flick over to Landon’s. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” I drop the phone back to the receiver. “Savage says if you want to join them, go ahead.”

  Landon considers the offer for a minute while my heart thunders.

  How could I have been so stupid? Literally sleeping with the fucking enemy.

  Sweat beads on my brow, and I reach up and wipe it away.

  I have to get out of here.

  Landon shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay here and have another beer.”

  I nod and pop the top off another IPA for him. “That may be the wisest choice, man. You don’t want to be in the middle of anything involving that many Hawkes in one room.” Especially when they’re all pissed off and have a viper in there with them. “I need to go check on something.”