Hawk wouldn’t be triggered into acting like his own father. Like a monster.

They walked out the deck door and down the stairs. Summer solstice was a little over a week away, and the sun was hours from setting. The grass in the courtyard was a vivid green and getting tall. He’d have to mow it tomorrow. Maybe do some weeding in the garden since it was one of Aric’s happy places. The chickens would appreciate the greens.

As they crossed to Bull’s house, Hawk stopped. “Got news.”

The boy froze.

Hell, hadn’t meant to scare him. Hawk knelt. “Your mom’s at Bull’s.”

Aric’s eyes went wide.

“Go on.”

“Mama.” The word came out loud enough to be heard, then Aric raced onto Bull’s deck and through the door.

A clear cry of happiness came from Kit.

Pretty obvious the kid had no doubt of her love.

Must be nice.

Hawk leaned a hip against the deck railing. They didn’t need him in there, and fuck knew, the woman would be more comfortable without him around. Most females found him terrifying—and he’d killed Kit’s husband. Yeah, most people wouldn’t consider the death of an abusive asshole to be a great loss, but she’d married the guy. Must’ve loved him at some point, right? He’d seen women return to the men who’d pounded on them.

So, after speaking to her once in the hospital to reassure her that he’d watch her son, he’d kept his distance. He would drop Aric off at the door of her hospital or rehab room and wait down the hall.

Now she was here—and he’d simply avoid her. She’d be comfortable with his brothers who weren’t scarred and tatted and who managed to conceal their deadly natures far better than Hawk could.

People liked Gabe—and being a cop probably helped.

Even huge as Bull was, the guy liked people, and they flocked around him.

Caz, with his penchant for knives, did his killing up close and personal and was a unique kind of deadly. Hawk far preferred to shoot from a distance, either in a helicopter or as a sniper. Yet, despite the knives that Caz still carried, the doc could charm just about anyone. He cared about people, and it showed.

Hawk, though, didn’t trust anyone except his brothers, and people could tell. Even if he wanted to talk—and he didn’t—speaking didn’t come easy. Mako had thought Hawk’s raspy voice was probably from screaming. Hawk had never told him it’d been fucked up since his father hit him in the throat with a skillet for making too much noise.

It’d been a long time before he managed to talk at all after that.