Page 65 of Widow's Walk

A few of them chuckle as I let them think I’m down. I’m weakened, but I am not done.

I tune out everything else they say, then when they haul me up, I keep the weak façade going. They drag me to a tiled room and strip me. The water is freezing as they blast me unmercifully. The daze I’m in isn’t pretend as I watch the water disappearing into the drain go from red to a pale pink until it runs clear.

“Who’s going to want her? She’s all carved up already,” someone says, talking about my scars.

“She’s still an Ortiz,” someone else says.

I want to laugh, but I won’t. Not yet.

My wrists and ankles are shackled. I’m kept naked, display-ready. My head swims, but I’m not gone yet. I’m aware, caught between haze and fire. My steps are uncouth, trying to keep my feet under me as they pull me along. Down a hall—left, then right, turning another left, then I lose count.

I’m shoved into a glass box. “Behave or you will be put under,” someone warns in my ear with hot, rancid breath. My mouth twitches, but I remain in a murk.

Lights blind me, shining bright on the display case. It’s impossible to see anything past them, but I know they’re there. Out there, licking their chops, readjusting their tiny dicks in their overly expensive slacks.

The sound of someone over an announcer saying a few things to rile up the crowd is just background noise. I don’t even payattention when the bidding begins, nor care about the price for me.

I shuffle my feet forward, the shackles clanking. I move until I can lean my forehead against the glass, staring out with broad focus, so that everyone thinks it’s them I have my sights locked on.

I smile, a wolfish, toothy grin. All malice and no warmth. I roll my head back and forth listlessly. The background noise fades into nothing.

Good. I have your attention.

Standing up straight, I crane my neck back, then connect my head with blunt force against the glass. I don’t feel a thing. Not when I do it again, and once again before I’m dragged away, roaring in laughter, leaving a streak of my blood left on display. Symbolic, really.

I’m handled with zero care, tossed around, and shoved down. But I go down with spirit. A sharp jab at my neck stands me to attention.

And the very last thing I remember is…he didn’t come.

Chapter twenty-eight

Blackwell

My knee bounces with fury and nerves as I sit crammed in the back of the surveillance van, watching her through someone else’s eyes.

Sinclair. Shackled. Beaten. Vulnerable and exposed. Her knees are unscathed because she refuses to kneel. She’s caged like a prized pig, yet still holding court like a goddamn queen.

The feed glitches from the covert cams our men on the inside wear as they move through the crowd. Our ties with the De Lucas paid off. In addition to their alliance with the Abramovs, who have ties to another Russian family. They gave us a rare in.

Russian alliances are hard-earned and even harder to maintain. But desperation makes excellent diplomats.

If the Bozzellis had never come to us with that deal or moved in on the Ortizs sooner, we would never have been put in this position. Sinclair would still be home, safe. Still mine. Wrapped in silk and sin, not displayed like motherfucking merchandise.

My molars grind. “Why are we waiting again?” I growl lowly.

“Patience, Blackwell,” Harlan cautions, while Dane sits there unmoving since we got here. Rigid and hasn’t spoken or unclenched his fists once.

Scout shifts beside me. “You know we can’t move yet. Your father—”

I slice him a look. “Mention him again and I will putyouon the auction floor.”

The space quiets. All I hear is my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. But even that goes quiet when Sinclair moves.

Slowly. Her chin up, wearing that smirk that usually precedes carnage. “What are you about to do, joon-kharâsh?” I whisper.

We’re on the edges of our seats, waiting for ourSinister Sinclairto make her presence known. She has her head resting on the glass ominously. I feel it in my blood, thick and hot when her eyes light up. Wild with sparks spraying.

Then she slams her head into the glass. I don’t know how many times. Maybe twice, maybe ten times. It all happens so fast. The sound doesn’t reach us, but I feel it vibrate every bone. She begins laughing, blood running down her face. Then she’s grabbed up and hauled away like a slab of meat. Hands wrapped around her bare body, touching her.I explode. “We’re going in.Now.” My voice is lethal.

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