Page 69 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Don’t—” Myla called out before stopping herself.

“What?” I turned to look at her.

Her knee was bouncing nervously. “Just don’tsayanything.”

Will laughed.

“I got it,” I assured her as I headed toward the doors.

The nurses recognized me, and the ICU doors opened right up as I reached them. Richie’s door was visible down the corridor, but I didn’t rush as I made my way over to it andpushed it open. The moment I stepped inside, all conversation stopped, and the suits at the end of the bed turned to look at me.

“You need to come back later,” one of them ordered.

Aoife was sitting by Richie’s bed, face ashen, her hands clenched tightly on top of her purse.

“Nah,” I said slowly, looking back at the suit. “I think I’ll stay.”

“We need to speak with Mr. Lewis and his wife alone.”

“I’m her brother,” I said, planting my feet. “What’s this about?”

The suits looked at me like I had a screw loose.

“Your brother-in-law was shot—”

“I’m aware of that,” I cut him off, glancing pointedly around the room.

“Richie—” Aoife said, her voice wobbling. “They want to offer him a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” I asked suspiciously.

“They want me to testify,” Richie rasped, his eyes on the suits. “Put Julian in jail.”

“Not just Mr. Kitz,” the suit closest to me clarified. Then he made a noise in his throat and shook his head. “This is a private conversation.”

“He stays,” Richie said flatly.

The closest suit opened his mouth to argue but shut it again when his partner shook his head. “Frankly, you’re in deep shit, Richard. You can go to prison for money laundering, and let’s be honest here—you wouldn’t be there long.”

Aoife made a little noise as his insinuation hit home.

“Or you can testify as the state’s witness.”

Richie stared at him.

“Aces and Eights Motorcycle Gang,” the other suit mused, checking out my cut. “Oregon. I doubt you’ll have much pull in the prisons here.”

“We’re a recreational riding club,” I corrected flatly.

“Sure you are.” He smirked.

“And you’d be surprised.” I smiled back at him, holding eye contact until he looked away.

“Better me than them,” Richie said finally, looking over at my sister. “Talking to you would put a target on my wife’s back.”

“It’s a federal case,” the suit furthest from me said easily. “Which means you’d be put in witness protection.”

I could see the wheels turning in Richie’s head. The man had absolutely no poker face, and I’d always been able to tell when he was actually weighing the pros and cons of something or just delaying his answer. “My wife and son?” he asked.

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