Page 7 of Black Bird

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, palming the side of her desk and leaning toward him. He ignored her, looping the badge around his neck and holstering his weapon. “Athan!” Rhaena growled, stepping in front of him when he tried to leave.

“What.”

“You’re not telling me something. Whether you wanna share all your personal problems with me or not is your choice, but as yourpartner,I deserve to know what’s going on.” She crossed her arms.

The muscles in his jaw twitched and his eyes darkened as he looked at hers. “Later.” They stared at each other for a long moment before she finally stepped aside and let him past. He could feel her eyes on him the whole way to the precinct elevator.

Rhaena tapped the end of her pen frantically against the stack of reports she was bent over, her chin resting against the palm of her hand as she stared across her desk at Athan’s empty chair. Something was fucking wrong. She’d never seen that look in his eyes before. She didn’t even get to see the file he had been staring at. Whatever was in it spooked him—and spooked him good. She was just about to get up and ask the captain if he had a copy when—

“Northwood,” a male voice said from behind her. She spun around to face him. Jenkins. “Here’s that tail you asked me for. If he finds out, you didn’t get that shit from me. Keep me outta whatever this is between y’all.” He handed her a file and, like an idiot, looked around the precinct as if he were trying his best to look suspicious before leaving her to her thoughts.

“Thanks.” He didn’t turn back, instead throwing up a couple fingers in reply. She turned her chair back around and spread the paperwork over her desk, cursing under her breath and hoping like hell she’d be wrong about wherever that victim had been found Saturday morning. “What the hell did you do, Kane,” she whispered, slowly shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair.

He should have been with her. He shouldn’t have left that creepy ass bar without the woman who was supposed to become his wife. His father angrily paced back and forth across his home office in a pretty mansion in the wealthiest neighborhood in Boston, his manicured hands crossed behind his back.

“Do you know if you were photographed at that club?” Senator Conrad Stratford asked, never looking at his son who sat toying nervously with his lip in a leather chair by a massive fireplace.

“I don’t,” Brent murmured as he stared blankly at a spot on the floor.

“Do you know what this will cost us in the press?” He stopped pacing and turned to face him. “Do you even give a shit about anyone but yourself, son?” Brent furrowed his brows and looked his father in the eyes.

“Myself?” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the knees of his pressed black slacks. “This isn’t my war, Dad. If you wanted the information so badly, maybe you should have dated her instead and left me out of it.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t get something out of this situation, Brent. A girl that looks like that must be ravenous in the sack. You know what happens after you break a woman in good?” Conrad smirked and pointed a finger toward him. “Pillow talk.”

“For God’s sake.” Brent rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning his face to the bookshelf along the wall.

“Tell me you’ve got something from her.Anything.” His father stepped closer to his chair.

“Not much. Just some vague information about her mother. She doesn’t like to talk about her that much. I can’t say I blame her.”

Conrad snorted and poised a hand to his hip. “You’re falling for the broad.” Brent flashed his eyes at him and sneered. “Christ, Brent. You’re a brilliant lawyer, but you’ve got shit for balls. Stop being a soft little lad and act like there’s something between your legs that doesn’t resemble a pussy. The players are on the board, but I can’t move them if you don’t supply the battle plans. You have one job, and an easy one at that. Handle it. You almost lost our best chance Friday night. If she’d died, I’d be fighting the coroner over what I need instead of getting it straight from the source. You’re sharing a fucking bed with it.”

“She’s a good person.”

“If she’s so amazing, why weren’t you there?” Brent’s jaw feathered at the question, and he looked away, bringing his fingers back to his lip. “Fix it. If you can’t handle her the easy way, then you won’t like how I’ll have to handle her if I have to do it myself.” Conrad stepped over to a small table by the large bay window and poured two fingers of scotch. He brought the glass to his mouth and met his son’s gaze. “You can go.”

Brent stood, clenching his teeth and straightening his dark sweater before prowling out of his father’s door. As his footsteps echoed down the long hallway, his gut felt hollow and mangled. He had a good idea what his father meant by handling Sarah himself. It would be worse than whatever she was going through now in that hospital. A hospital she wouldn’t even be at had he not left that night. He never asked for this. He’d never expected to actually care for her. His keys jingled as he fished them out of his pocket, and he ran a hand through his blonde hair.

“Why do hospitals charge so fucking much?” Wren said over a mouthful of chocolate pudding as she sat on the edge of Sarah’s bed. “Like, they charge you your whole soul for good pain meds, surgeries … damn bandages.” She spooned another mouthful. “But everybody knows what their secret weapon is for everything.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “Cubes of Jell-o and pudding cups.” She smiled down at Sarah, turning the spoon over on her tongue and closing her dark brown lips over it as she pulled it out.

Sarah rested a styrofoam cup with a straw jutting out of the top against her chest as she forced a smile at her friend. Wren had stayed ever since they’d allowed her in after she’d finally woke for longer than a few minutes. Sarah knew that her best friend was overridden with guilt for what had happened after she’d decided to stay at the club and leave her to fend for herself. She didn’t blame her for the attack. It could have happened to anyone—could have happened to them both had Wren left with her. She had told her that much every time she heard another apology. It was difficult for Sarah to hide that she’d awoke with a cold feeling of the darkest rage a couple of hours ago. She was handling it well … too well. She raised her knees beneath the shitty excuse for a blanket and tucked her hair behind the stack of piercings on her right ear.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m really okay” she said softly. Wren lowered her cup of dessert to her lap.

“Someone needs to be here with you.”

“No … no, they don’t. You brought me my laptop and books. They’ll suffice.” Sarah cleared her throat, wincing and grazing the large bandage on her neck with her fingers. “Who’s taking care of Denver?”

“Denver is an animal. He can manage. Cats are easy that way, man. They can find their own food if they’re hungry, bathe themselves…” Wren lowered her head and bit down on her lip when Sarah didn’t acknowledge her. “Look, friend … if you wanna be alone, just say so. I’m not a pussy. I can handle it.”

“I do,” Sarah said simply, staring forward at the peak of her raised knees. It wasn’t a second later that Brent’s knuckle softly knocked at the open door, and he stepped in, carrying a vase of obnoxious looking flowers. Sarah cursed under her breath. Wren didn’t bother keeping her insults quiet as he rounded the hospital bed and sat the vase on a small table by the window.

“Hey, babe.” He smiled sweetly, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. Sarah’s mouth tightened and then relaxed. “How you feelin’?”

“Overwhelmed,” Sarah spat, surprising herself as well as her companions with the force behind it. This wasn’t her. Didn’t feel at all like her. It had come out of nowhere. She shook her head, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry.”

Fuck … why am I so angry?

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