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HEMINGWAY

H artley is sitting on the couch, watching one of his favorite shows. I got him pizza for dinner, and now I’m walking around the house cleaning up the mess we made. Blythe called earlier and said she’d be moving in this weekend. I’m going to give her the master bedroom. It’s the nice thing to do. I don’t want to be that close to her, but I have to for Hartley. Christmas was extremely awkward, and I’m glad it’s over. We are going to get this taken care of soon. Hartley deserves to stay in the home he was raised in.

When I moved in two weeks ago, there was evidence that someone tried to break in. The prospects cleaned up the glass from the shattered window. The person didn’t get in. A neighbor called the police as soon as the alarm went off.

I enter the room Oliver used for an office. I glance around but don’t see anything obvious. When I flip back a board attached to the wall, I find several pictures and notes. I’ve avoided coming in here over the last couple of weeks, but it’s time to try to make this place a new home and not a mausoleum for the dead.

“That’s Auntie Bly’s case,” Hartley says from behind me. “Papa said that until he figured out how to close it, she wouldn’t be able to come home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know anything else, other than it’s about Auntie Bly. I only know that because I saw one of the pictures once. Why would someone hurt her like that?” His words make me take a closer look at one of the pictures. It’s Blythe, lying in a bed. She’s been beaten so severely, and I’m instantly angry.

I leave the office and head for my bag in one of the spare rooms upstairs. Pulling out the file, I flip it open. It’s a medical record. As I read through the injuries she suffered, my eyes lock on the SART report, and I can’t breathe. I rush to the bathroom between Hartley’s and my room, where I drop to my knees and vomit.

Blythe was raped and beaten. Her voice is altered because of the damage done to her vocal cords from being strangled.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I fall back on my butt and lean my head against the wall. I don’t want to answer it. I want to know why she never told me. Did she blame me for it because I wasn’t there to protect her? I let the call go to voicemail and stand up on shaky legs.

“Are you okay, Uncle Hem?” Hartley knocks on the door.

“Yeah, buddy.” I choke as I brush my teeth and splash water on my face, trying not to cry and get upset over everything I saw. Her face was so beaten that her jaw, nose, and orbital socket were all broken. Whoever attacked her didn’t want her to live.

My phone rings again, and this time I see Wayne’s name on the screen. I also see a text from Leif.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Emersyn is on her way to pick up Hartley. Get to the hospital as soon as you can. Blythe was attacked.”

My knees lock, and my body wants to crumble.

“Again?” I can’t believe this is happening to her. “Blythe,” I growl her name, upset and hurt that she’s going through this again.

“Yeah. I’ll explain when you get here.”

I open the text message.

Leif

Blythe was attacked. Get to the hospital. If you still care, she’ll need you. If you don’t, find a new tattoo artist.

He always cared about Blythe, and I get why he said that, but it still bothers me.

Me

Go to hell. I’m on my way.

Leif

Don’t be a fool. She needs a friend to protect her.

Me

I know.

I pull up to the hospital twenty minutes later. I have the guys waiting, and I’m ready to go after whoever it was who hurt her this time.

I’ll kill them.

I walk through the doors, and Wayne is up and walking toward me. Gambit, Cowboy, and Butcher are behind me, ready to cover my back and help where they are needed.

“What happened?”

Wayne looks at the guys and then glances around us before turning back to me. Whatever he wants to say, he doesn’t want said out loud.

“Spit it out, Wayne,” I growl, upset that bringing her back here has obviously put her in danger. I didn’t get to where in the investigation Oliver was, but I’m going to assume they never caught her attacker.

Wayne steps closer and lowers his voice. “She was attacked when she went for a run. I haven’t been able to see her, so I don’t know all the details, but I have a feeling I know what it was about.”

He hands me his phone, and I see an article from a news organization based in Providence. It’s about corruption in the sheriff’s department here in Eastport. How the current sheriff buries reports of rape, and how he has been grooming an underage girl. It goes on to explain that the previous sheriff’s own attack was buried and closed because the current sheriff is covering it up. The article mentions that in the past, before Baylor became sheriff, he and some of his friends raped and beat several girls. Those cases are also unsolved and buried because influential people are pulling the strings of the department.

The article ends with the reporter asking how anyone could trust their safety with such a corrupt department. A comment left below states that the current sitting governor is calling for the state police to investigate, while Senator Randall Manos Jr., whose son is running for governor, asserts this is nothing but false reporting, trying to smear the town where his son was raised.

I hate politics. I hate the lies that come from politicians’ mouths, and I especially hate the Manos family. I always have. Randall III and I never got along growing up. We got into several scuffles. He tried to have his friends jump me once, but I was able to hold them off with Sam’s help.

I hear the swish of the doors and glance over to see Castor Evander step through. He looks pissed as he approaches our group. I hand the phone off before turning to punch him square in the face. He sputters, not expecting my assault. He quickly shakes it off and comes at me. Gambit grabs a hold of me, while Butcher stands between us, stopping Evander’s forward progress. He’s one of the deadliest enforcers of our club, if not us all. He doesn’t look intimidating, but that’s the problem. With his auburn hair and lean six-foot frame, he doesn’t have the bulk of me or Gambit. He’s the silent, deadly type. If he has a knife in his hand, be prepared to give up. He’ll have you diced in pieces before you can fire a bullet from your gun.

I see the moment the chief discounts him. Evander goes to push past Butcher, and Butcher spins around and drops him on his ass.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Why would she want to see you?” I bark at him, and he immediately yells back at me as he gets to his feet.

“I’m the only one here who wants to help her. She’s my fucking sister, asshole. Where else would I be?”

His words stop all of us.

“You said you would tell her first,” Wayne says, shocking me.

“You knew?” I swing around to face Wayne. “She’ll never forgive you for keeping this secret from her.” Blythe has craved family and a connection to someone by blood since she was a little girl. It’s why we had planned to start a family right away after we got married. “How is this possible?” I look at the chief, and he shakes his head.

“I need to tell her before I tell anyone else, but I know now. My father found out, and we think that’s why he was attacked.” Evander points to Wayne.

“I love that girl as if she were mine. I didn’t tell her because she was still processing everything. You read that file yet?”

“I’m still reading it. You called and interrupted me.” I don’t tell him I bitched out when I got to the part that said she was raped.

“Family for Hawksley,” a doctor calls out, and we turn to see a physician standing there.

“I’m her father,” Wayne says. We all follow behind them when the doctor directs him to a room. “They are with me,” he says, permitting the doctor to speak freely in front of us.

“She’s bruised badly, and her shoulder was dislocated. We were able to put it back in place. She’ll need to rest for several days. She’s refusing pain medications. She said she had a bad go of them before and doesn’t want to risk it. I told her if she can’t sleep because of the pain, then she should take one. If you monitor her taking them, it shouldn’t be a problem. She’s asking for you.”

“Was she raped?” Wayne asks, and I lock down my emotions, afraid of the answer.

“No. A friend heard her screaming and came to help. She’s upset and angry, but other than that, she’ll be okay.”

“I want to see her,” I tell him.

“She’ll be upset you’re here,” Wayne says.

“I don’t care. I need to see her.” I’m not taking no for an answer.