Page 92 of Silent Schemes
I tune it out, just like I tune out the ache in my side and the bruise still turning purple on my ribs.
I’m about to kill the lights when the door slams open.
No knock, no warning. Only one man does that.
Will.
He storms in, jaw set like a broken hinge.
His hair is wild, suit unbuttoned, and his hands are fists even before he speaks.
He’s carrying two objects, both jammed into a paper bag.
He rips them out, throws them on the desk between my guns and the whiskey.
Pink Stork ginger lozenges.
A bottle of prenatal vitamins.
The silence is so hard it cracks the air.
I don’t touch them.
I don’t move.
Will leans in, both palms flat on the glass, face lined with a worry that would be touching if it weren’t so fucking offensive.
“Found these,” he says. His voice is made for funerals.
I look at the vitamins.
Neon label, garish, the kind of thing you only buy if you’re… the thought trails off.
I look at the lozenges next.
Pink, like a joke.
My stomach goes cold, but my face is steel.
“Where?” I ask
“Cabinet. Next to your toothbrush.”
He watches me like a cop, like he’s waiting for me to confess.
My fingers curl on the edge of the desk.
I can feel the pulse in my thumb, the blood thumping just under the skin.
“Whose are they?” I ask, though I already know.
Will’s eyes go cold. “Sienna hasn’t left your place in three days and suddenly she’s gone today. You want me to spell it out?”
I pick up the lozenges.
Shake them once, hard enough to rattle the glass. “Not necessary.”
We stare at each other across the desk.
