Hawthorne Man Novels & Stories

I answered undaunted, "I swore I'd lock you up, and I'm doing it. What you do after that, I don't care. I hope to have to deal with you again.” As the doors closed, I could notice a look of respect from the man who had given me the best gift of my life. But I didn't care in the least at the time. I needed to find Abbie as soon as possible. “How many men do we have with us?” I asked on the way south, the GPS showing us the way, it had already dawned for a long time and we found more cars on the highway, which had to be dodging the fate of God.

Like everything else about the man who had wrapped up his first antitrust victory at twenty-eight and hadn’t lost a tier-one client since. I stepped in. Closed the door behind me. And waited. Because no matter how high your star rises in the firm, there are still rules, especially when you’re playing on the turf of a predator at the top of the food chain. Mr. Hawthorne was standing by the window, his suit a flawless shade of slate gray. No tie. Just a crisp white shirt and the unmistakable air of someone who knows the law bends for him. One hand held a small espresso, the other tucked into his pocket as he stared out over the cold chaos of Manhattan.

The timestamp in the corner read *02:14:11 AM*. In the center of the frame stood two men. One was Elias, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched in a way that looked completely foreign to the heir of the Hawthorne Group. The other man was taller, broader, his back mostly to the camera, but his hands were clear. He was holding a strip of black silk. His thumb was pressed against Elias’s throat, right over the carotid artery, in a gesture that looked halfway between an execution and an embrace.

Evan: Can I see you tonight? I closed my eyes. Me: I shouldn’t. Evan: Please. I typed, deleted, typed again. Me: An hour. That’s all. Evan was already there when I arrived. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, tension etched into every line of his body. “You look exhausted,” he said. “So do you,” I replied. He turned. “Something’s wrong.” I let out a breath. “Ethan took the fall.” Evan froze. “What?”

"Go." He stands. His legs are unsteady. He has to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling. For a moment, he just looks at me—this broken, bleeding, burning woman in the corner of a dungeon cell. His face is a mask of grief and guilt and something that looks like love. Then he turns. He walks to the door. He doesn't look back. The door closes. The lock turns. And I am alone with the fire and the darkness and the terrible, burning knowledge that the man who saved my life as a child just poisoned me to save his own.

I glance up at him and murmur a “thank you.” "You look like crap, by the way.”He drops into the chair across from me and looks at me. I exhale and rub my eyes "could not sleep." "Yeah, I figured" He leans back."Ellis, talk to me. What's going on?" I wrap my hands around the cup and let the warmth spread through my fingers. "There is nothing to talk about." "Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting,Hawthorne just got accused of theft, and the office is losing its mind."

“Don’t be late.” ______ Hawthorne Hall was a tomb on Wednesday afternoons. Mark’s knuckles rapped softly on the heavy oak door of 214. “Enter.” Professor Thorne’s office was a dim cave of knowledge. Towering bookshelves swallowed the walls, and a single green-shaded lamp cast a pool of warm light over a massive, disorderly desk. She sat behind it, glasses perched on her nose, reading a dense-looking text. She wore a cream-colored silk blouse, the top button undone.

In the middle of the commotion, a man entered. He looked around Heath’s age but at least five years harder. His rugged features were sharpened by a scar that ran along his jaw and another faint one near his temple. The expensive suit he wore fit his powerful frame perfectly, yet it couldn’t hide the way he moved—like a predator among prey. Everyone stared. Heath’s finger twitched faster at his side. His jaw clenched hard enough that I saw the muscle jump. I leaned closer. “Who is he?” Heath’s jaw tightened. “That… That’s Thorne Blackwood.”

Hawthorne's voice rang out across the suffocating silence of the hall. "Is there anyone among you who spent the night with my son two months ago?" The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. I kept my eyes pinned to the marble, squeezing my hands together so tightly my fingernails bit into my palms, terrified that if I even blinked, everyone would somehow know it was me. The frantic sound of my own heartbeat filled my ears, deafeningly loud. Seconds passed. Then more seconds. Before finally, Mr. Hawthorne nodded slowly, his cane resting still on the floor.

Nola shook her head no, she saw the anxious look on the man’s face as his eye began to twitch. “No, thanks, we have to go,” Nate said as he grabbed his sister's hand and walked off. Miss Polly looked long and hard on the man. She could see the signs that this man was evil. She made it her priority to tell her friend down at the precinct to look into him. She memorized his address, so that she didn’t forget. “Great doing business with you, Gary,” she smiled, and then she walked off with the children. The kids sold a few more treats to some more single men in the area, forgetting all about their encounter with Gary. But none of the other men checked everything on their mother's list. It was ei