Page 69 of Widow's Walk

Sometimes both.

My hands fist on the arms of the chair, nails biting into leather. I need more time. We both do.

Still, I feel her like a phantom limb. Every breath she takes echoes in my spine. Every word she won’t say to me cuts me to the bone. And I can hear her laugh in my fucking skull. Especially when the house is dead silent.

If I go to her, I will cage her. And that’s not what I want. I love the rebel in her, the side eyes, the dry tone, the defiance. I don’t want to break her to reconstruct her. I want her as she is. I only want her to trust me enough to stay.

However, I need to step it up, just as my father trusts me to do. Sinclair is home and safe. The worst is over. I need to focus back on work. The time apart will only be good for us.

So, I stay where I am. Because if I break first, she could actually break me. And I won’t survive.

And neither will she.

Chapter thirty-one

Sinclair

I’ve hardly left my room since I’ve been once again caged.

Only to scope out the place. Every door beeps when I open it, no doubt an alert going straight to Blackwell. And every window is the same. Mob pups are posted up at every exit possible, but he doesn’t have me followed around by them. A slight improvement.

I’m not stupid, and I know that Blackwell isn’t either. If he claims escape to be more difficult this time, I believe him. But it doesn’t mean impossible. It just means it’ll take more time to plan.

The room I’m sleeping in is gorgeous. Eerily similar to my bedroom back at my family’s estate, only better somehow. Warmer and cozier. The sheets smell of something familiar that I can’t put my finger on. It acts as a natural sedative, making sleepless nights bearable.

Blackwell’s clothes are in the same closet as mine, but he doesn’t sleep in here. Probably afraid I might slit his throat as soon as he falls asleep. And he isn’t wrong.

There’s a fresh-blood hatred brewing in me for him that’s raw and pulsing. I can’t explain it. How can you loathe someone so completely, yet still hand them the blade that cuts you? How do they manage to hurt you precisely the way you expected, and still make it feel like betrayal?

There’s been this dark cloud hanging over me for days, and I think I’ve finally gotten the courage to swallow my pride and go to Blackwell for a favor.

It’s still kind of early, and I’m not even sure if he’s home, but I check his office first. The door is left ajar with one pup hanging around the outside. He steels when he sees me, as if I might bite unprovoked.

I walk in confidently, and he immediately stops what he’s doing, fingers hovering above the keyboard, sitting behind his mahogany desk. Why do they all have a mahogany desk? My father, his father, and now he. Is it like a rite of passage or something?

He doesn’t speak as I approach his desk. “I need a favor,” I say boldly. Deciding to rip the bandage clean off.

A half smirk takes over his face as he leans back in his chair.Pompous prick. “A favor?”

“Yes,” I say tightly, and he gestures with a hand to continue. “I need to go to Oglesby.”

“Why?” he fires back.

“I left something there.” I sigh, exacerbated when he looks confounded. “It’s where I was.” I look down and pick at my nails. “Before I got caught,” I mutter.

“You were in Oglesby?” he asks in disbelief.

I take a peek at him before lifting my head again. “Yup.”

He gawks at me for a long moment before shaking himself out of it. It makes me want to laugh. I was so close. Close enough to not look there. Anyone would assume I would try to put as much distance between the danger as possible. So, I kept close.

He relaxes. “And what is it you left behind?”

I huff and roll my eyes. “Does it matter? This isn’t a ruse to try and run. It’s just something that has become important to me that was left there that I would like back.”

“Tell me what it is, and I’ll have it retrieved for you.”

My lips thin and I feel like stomping my foot. “Why can’t you just take me there? Put a fucking chain on me if it’ll make you feel better. I don’t care.”

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