Page 20 of Widow's Walk

The woman may not have killed anyone, or made an escape—yet. But the woman has been a goddamn headache since she step foot through the gates. Any sane man would have shoved her into the back of a car, sending her right back to where she came from, but I’m a little unhinged myself. I crave the chaos and what may rise from it.

I join Scout outside of the room, and we put some distance between us and my father’s office before speaking freely. “Ihate to bother you with this, again, but it’s become more of a problem,” he says lowly as we walk towards the surveillance room.

I pinch the throbbing at the bridge of my nose, the ache already building. “Just show me.”

It’s no surprise when he leads us to the control room and starts showing me some recent footage of Sinclair in the gym sparring. I’ve already warned her not to turn our men into her chew toys. Clearly, she took that as a challenge.

“And this was yesterday,” Scout says before queuing another clip.

The resentment and anger roll off her in waves. Even through the screen, it’s so palpable and thick enough to taste. Her jaw is locked, her teeth clenched like she’s biting back a scream. Her nostrils flare with every breath, every strike laced with something further than aggression.

She doesn’t spar. She vents. She bleeds through every hit, every kick, every merciless takedown. It’s not discipline. It’s a purge.

Sinclair is undoubtedly lethal. If she weren’t so hell-bent on being a goddamn menace, provoking anyone within a hundred-yard radius, she could channel all that raw skill into something useful. But that would require control, and control is not her style.

The video ends with Sinclair pinning a man to the mat, arm wrenched at an unnatural angle, before snapping it without hesitation. His scream is muted by the recording, but I feel it in my molars. Then she grins. Fucking grins. Flashing those diamond-dusted canines like a trophy.

I swing my gaze to the live feed. There she is, pummeling a punching bag as if it were trying to assault her. Sweat gleaming across her milky skin, tracing the line of her throat down to her chest, glistening as her body moves with fluid, violent rhythm.

“I’ll take care of it,” I mutter and leave.

I make a quick trip to my room to change into some joggers and a T-shirt before heading to our gym. As I enter, there are a few men scattered around the equipment.

“Everyone out,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear without having to yell.

Sinclair pretends not to hear me, her fists still flying as she continues to beat the shit out of the bag as if I’m not even there. I watch as bead after bead of sweat drips down into her skin-tight top, and my jaw clenches.

Her sweat, her fury, her audacity.

It’s maddening.

I’m locked on her as the room clears and I prowl forward, my steps slow and deliberate. Every soft grunt that escapes her each time her fist makes contact ignites something primal in me.

She still refuses to acknowledge me, and it pisses me the fuck off. I want her attention the second I enter the room.

“From now on, when you want to spar, it’s with me.”

“Why?” she says, breathless, unrelenting.

“You know why. We already had this conversation, and you decided to do the exact opposite of what I said.”

She finally drops her arms and turns to me with that signature smile, but I can’t stop watching the sweat trickle down her chest, disappearing between her breasts. Her body isn’t only fit, it’s a masterpiece of muscle and temptation.

She’s built like danger, but disguised as desire.

“How is it my fault your men take it easy on me? If they made it a fair fight, they wouldn’t be walking away bleeding.” She fidgets with her gloves and tape.

“You broke someone’s arm.”

“Shit happens,” she mutters dryly, again avoiding my eyes.

“You bit a chunk out of someone’s chest.”

“I fight dirty.”

“Sinclair,” I say her name sharply, and her eyes slowly roll up to meet mine in defiance. There she is. “From now on, it’s me you spar with.”

One side of her plush lips curls up, and her eyes sparkle in delight. “You want to get in the ring with me, Blackwell?”

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