Page 24 of Widow's Walk

I throw myself down onto one of the sitting chairs in an unoccupied room and slap the thick folder down on the coffee table. I feel like I’ve been dragged through hell, blindfolded and barefoot, with that woman lighting a match at every turn.

Dane joins me only a moment later. “What’s going on?” He takes a seat across from me with a curious look.

“She broke her hand. Going to need surgery.” He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me. “We were sparring.”

“Shit happens,” he says casually and unconcerned.

If only it were that simple.

“Pour us a drink, will you?” I utter under my breath.

Dane rises with a grunt and goes to pour for two. We sit silently with our drinks while he scrolls through his phone, and I stare at the envelope like it’s a loaded weapon sitting between us.

My mind continues to picture every pin, every break, every internal scar in print.

Just as Dane grumbles something about going to find Harlan, he steps into the room. “Sorry. Thought it best to remove the alcohol from her room. Had to wait until she was distracted.”

“What was she doing when you left?” I ask.

He chuckles and steals Dane’s drink. “Talking nonsense, high as a kite. Got her into bed, though. Probably passed out by now.”

“So?” Dane starts. “What’s going on?”

I nod at the envelope. “I want the Ortizs gone.”

Dane reaches for the folder and flips it open. His expression shifts instantly as he starts leafing through the scans.

“What’s that?” Harlan asks.

“Radiographs,” Dane mutters, and his eyes cut to me. “These Sinclair’s?”

I nod once. It has Harlan’s curiosity piqued and on his feet. Dane takes a seat as Harlan peers over his shoulder, watching him flip through one after another. The look on his face has me insane.

“Was she in an accident or something?” Harlan asks with genuine concern.

“I don’t know,” I murmur.

Dane’s eyes widen. “You don’t know? What did she tell you?” With Dane distracted, Harlan steals the folder from his hands and takes it with him to sit down.

“I haven’t asked her about it yet,” I say lowly. Harlan only glances up at me, but Dane looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. If only they knew. “You saw the state she was in,” I snap. “Who knows what kind of bullshit she’d come up with?”

The lie is for myself. The truth is, I didn’t trust myself to open that box quite yet. I’m not sure if her lies would infuriate me more than the truth or not. Either answer would have me uncontrollable.

I avoid their stares and sip my drink while the room grows deathly silent.

“DoesBabaknow?” Dane finally asks.

“Not yet. I wanted to talk with you both first.”

As they flip through the pages of her past, I feel her presence in the back of my mind like a brand. Right now, she’s upstairs, drugged, listless. But all I can think about is her bones snapping and pieced back together, over and over again.

The drinks do nothing for the pressure behind my eyes. Not enough to help dull the weight of what I saw in those scans. The sound of her laughter from earlier—light and drug-laced like it belonged to someone else entirely—still echoes.

Eventually, I leave my brothers behind as I go and take the stairs two at a time. I hesitate for only a second before turning the knob and entering her bedroom without knocking.

I’m instantly overwhelmed by the smell of her. The only light comes from the dim-lit lamp on her side table, like I’ve noticed a few other times. It solidifies my belief that she doesn’t like the dark. She pretends to come from it, but in reality, she hates it. Possibly even afraid of it.

Her limbs are tangled in the sheets as if she tried to fight sleep but lost. My eyes stray down to her bandaged hand clutched to her chest as if even in her sleep, she knows it needs protection.

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