Page 31 of Widow's Walk

My brothers are already there, working the room in their distinct ways. Harlan, with that effortless charm and charisma, can emulate like turning on a switch. And Dane, the taciturn one, laconic by nature. He’s a man of very few words, but when he speaks, you listen. Every word carries weight.

I find myself more aligned with Dane. I’ve never been one for idle talk. I’m deliberate and reserved. I don’t waste my words on men who would sooner stab me in the back as soon as I turn it.

The air is always taut with tension in a room full of men in power. But tonight, it hums with something more palpable,more visceral. The kind of pressure that settles hard in your gut. Everyone is thoroughly searched before entering, but the precaution does little to soothe the unease coiling inside me.

It could be because my mind is not entirely here. My mind keeps drifting to Sinclair, knowing she’s out there exposed.

I want nothing more than to snag Sinclair and get us the fuck out of here. However, walking out before the deal is sealed would be seen as a slight. A personal insult no one here would forget and never forgive.

Thankfully, it unfolds without friction and as planned. Smooth, at least on the outside.

Still, my hackles are raised as we wrap it up. And I won’t exhale until she’s beside me again.

I glance across the room at Scout, and there’s a subtle crease between his brows as he surveils the room. His eyes scan every person in it and every single move they make. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. I’ve felt it the moment I stepped foot in the room.

I signal one of my men with a look and a nod toward the back. “Retrieve the women.”

A few minutes pass before the doors open, and they file in, drinks in hand and laughter circling. I pay them no attention as introductions are being made, my eyes keep straying to the threshold.

Too many seconds crawl by, and of course, no Sinclair.

I grunt, trying not to visibly shift as my pulse kicks up. Just as I decide to go tearing through the casino myself, she strides in. Head held high and eyes gleaming with mischief. Every step she takes is designed to test my restraint as she approaches me.

I manage to stay put despite the internal war within myself. “Did you enjoy spending my money?” I murmur as she plants herself at my side.

“Sure did.” She grins, unrepentant.

“Any luck?”

“A little.” She shrugs while glancing around. “So, how long are you going to make me suffer through this?”

My lips fight against the humor threatening them. “Not long.”

I’ve been nursing the same drink since I got here, pretending to be present. But my attention sharpens when I spot two men having what appears to be a heated conversation. Voices are raised, hands are waving, violence crackling through the room.

I snap a look to Hawk, and he’s already headed my way. “Get her out of here,” I order sharply.

“And miss all the fun?” Sinclair teases, the rebellion in her already sparked.

“Sinclair,” I growl in warning, but her eyes are laser-focused on something else. Something that has her lit up. Before I can grab her, she sprints off, and my heart jumps. “Clair!”

The room explodes into chaos. The sounds of chairs scraping, voices raising, and glass shattering have my gut turning as I keep my focus on Sinclair. She is my sole priority.

I’m fucking seething with dread as I push by anyone in my way to find my batshit fiancée, whom I have not let out of my sight since she twisted from my grasp.

Her tiny figure has a man pinned beneath her like a true conqueror. She’s feral as she beats his face to a pulp with this giddy, demented grin, blood splattering all over her, most likely rebreaking her fucking hand.

My men are moving in fast now, pulling bodies apart and restoring order. I surge forward and wrap my arms around Sinclair’s waist, setting her upright. Relieved she’s unharmed. She’s breathless and wild-eyed, but she doesn’t turn on me.

“Get her the fuck out of here!” I bark at Hawk, who’s already on it.

“He’s coming with us,” she states in a surprisingly equable tone despite the carnage still scorching her gaze.

Something about the authority in her demeanor has me rooted, and I stare back at her with morbid curiosity, wondering what her play is here. Then I glance down at her bloodied victim, hardly breathing. He’s nobody and won’t be missed, so I humor her and grab Scout’s attention as Hawk hauls her away.

After I’m certain Scout has everything under control, I leave. The disrespect given on our territory will not go unpunished. But I need to get Sinclair away from it all and then speak with my father first.

I am beyond reasoning when I get into the vehicle, joining Sinclair. As soon as the door shuts, we take off, and I grasp her left wrist. I’m not so gentle as I pull her hand up to inspect it. “It’s fine, Blackwell,” she says in a curt tone as if I have offended her.

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