Page 8 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)

Chapter six

Blackwell

I don’t waste any time with politeness.

I walk away from Sinclair’s father and brother mid-conversation without a word. I’ve swallowed enough of their bile for one night.

As soon as I step outside of the main room, my senses take me opposite the restrooms. My gut tells me right away, something is wrong.

The further I venture down the hallway, the thicker the shadows become. The noise from the ballroom fades into a pulse behind me, and my alarm bells ring louder.

My strides lengthen, and my pace quickens. Then I hear it. Royce’s voice, the wrong tone with Sinclair’s name wrapped in it.

“I bet you’re already spreading those legs for him, aren’t you?” I hear him sneer with genuine vehemence. “Fucking whore.”

Something in me quietly stirs. Like the click of a safety being switched off. But I remain rooted, even though it might kill me.

“I said fuck off, Royce,” Sinclair snaps back with more emotion I’ve heard from her yet.

The joints in my hands are stiff with restraint when I register the sound of a scuffle. Everything inside me screams for me to intervene, but Sinclair remains such a mystery to me. I might learn more by watching what happens in the dark.

There’s a maniacal cackle that I know belongs to Sinclair. “You’re still obsessed with me. Still trying to convince yourself I ever wanted it,” she spits. “Pathetic. You’re just the sickness I survived.”

Royce literally growls. “You only survived because I let you. But don’t act like you’ve forgotten about me. That you’ll ever forget about me.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” She pauses, and I swear my stomach turns.

“And when I think about you, it makes me sick . You have always made me sick . You’re sick in the head.

Always have been.” The emotion leaks into her caustic words again, but there’s something deeper behind them.

I don’t know how much longer I can stand here in silence.

His cackle sends a chill down my spine. “Oh, yeah?”

“I swear to God, I will fucking kill you! Get the fuck off me!” she screams, voice shaking with fury.

“Come on, Sinclair. For old time’s sake,” he muses through a strained voice.

One step is all I take before a guttural sound rips through the silence. Then the storm herself comes tearing around the corner, all fire and panic. She charges through the dark, so flustered she doesn’t see me before it’s too late.

Sinclair barrels right into me. She snaps her gaze up to mine, eyes wild and lip trembling. I can vividly see how terror and pure rage try to tear her in two. Then she stares up at me, silently asking if I’m her savior or if I’m the devil in the dark.

For her sake, I’m both.

“You fucking bitch!” Royce staggers into view, hunched over and clutching his side, voice shredded from whatever blow she landed.

I take Sinclair around the waist and draw her in beside me. Then I step forward, just enough to shield her. Her body turns to stone. She doesn’t speak. She stays there, rigid against me. And I never, for a second, take my eyes off her brother.

His realization of my presence is delayed. His bloodshot eyes finally focus, and whatever fury he had before triples. He was not expecting to see me.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask evenly.

“None of your fucking business,” he snaps. His gaze flicking between me and Sinclair, who has never been so quiet. “Family matters.”

“When it comes to my fiancée, it is always my business.”

Something I said lights a fuse, and he looks at me, the bloodthirst surfacing. I keep my feet planted when he advances, his posture coiled with intent, and I’m prepared to take him down. Begging for a reason. One excuse, and I will end him.

But I lose my moment because Sinclair is suddenly between us, with a flash of silver, and a knife pressed to his throat. He freezes. He might be drunk, but not enough to mistake the promise in her eyes.

“Walk away, Royce,” she commands in an authoritative tone. Her voice low, sharp, and absolute, sending all the blood in my body to my cock. “Or I will slit you from ear to ear.” I smile. Just a little, knowing without a doubt she’d do it.

My she-devil.

Royce’s nostrils flare as he stares her down, and she matches his gaze with her fierce one. No words, only raw, unfiltered contempt crackling between them. Years of it built up and coming to a head.

Then Royce abruptly breaks away with a humorless, sharp snort. Like this is all some sort of sick inside joke only he gets. His step back is slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Sinclair’s face. But something in his eyes shifts. Something colder and twisted.

And in that moment, I know. This isn’t sibling rivalry. It’s so much deeper than that. An unspoken history that has created a war and has been simmering for years.

“If you ever, and I mean ever, touch her, or look at her for too long, I won’t come between you.” I take a step forward. “I’ll go right through you.” My voice is smooth, like ice.

He gives no verbal response. His lip curls up as his eyes remain dark yet empty. He finally comes to his senses and realizes there will be no victory for him here, and he walks off.

“We should probably get back out there,” she says as if nothing happened.

I stop her when she turns to leave, catching her arm firmly. That’s all it takes for her to break. Spinning on me as if I had just let a storm loose. Fists flying, nails slashing through the air as I barely block the worst of it.

In the next breath, I have her confined against the wall with my body. Her chest is heaving, her hands are trembling, and when she looks up at me, I see it. Not only the fury burning in her eyes, but something older. Wounds that have never healed. Rage rooted in survival.

There’s pain, and it runs deep.

“Get the fuck off me, Blackwell!” she screams, baring her diamond-crested teeth and thrashes.

“Calm the fuck down. I just want to talk,” I say calmly.

“Fuck off,” she spits.

I don’t move and patiently watch as anger burns itself out until her breathing becomes somewhat normal. “Good.” I loosen my hold on her arms, but I don’t remove myself. “Why did he come after you?”

“It was nothing,” she snaps. “Just stupid family drama.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“He’s just a fucking prick, Blackwell. A drunk prick trying to start shit with me as usual.” She seems to be having difficulty meeting my eye.

I study her closely, watching her struggle to keep the cracks from spreading. “Just say the word, and he’s gone.” I keep my voice low enough for only her to hear.

That hits her. She wasn’t prepared for the offer, and it threw her off. She blinks once, twice. Swallows. Then, just like that, she makes another crack.

Her expression smooths over, sliding back into the version of her that never bleeds. She presses into me slowly, aligning her hips with mine, the curve of her body deliberate. Her dark painted lips tilt into a smirk when she feels how badly I’ve been affected.

She’s fighting to bury whatever just surfaced beneath lust and control. And her weapon of choice—her body. She believes she’s now in control, and I let her enjoy the illusion.

Only for a moment.

One hand slides to her jaw, holding it firm enough to still her. The other falls to her hip, locking her in place against me. The smirk falters, and her breath stutters. I lower my lips to hers, and her eyes flutter shut, but I don’t connect.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” I rasp, and her breathing picks back up. “You can only hide the truth beneath your seduction for so long.” I smile when her nostrils twitch.

She licks her lips, and my hips jump forward involuntarily. Her eyes pop open. “I won’t break for you, Blackwell,” she whispers, but there’s no venom in it.

I drag my thumb along her jaw, gentle in a way that makes her freeze more than any threat. “I know, joon-kharash . But eventually, you will bend.”

I fist the frail fabric of her dress and yank it up until I gain access underneath. I stifle a groan when I’m immediately met with moist flesh at the apex of her thighs. No panties and fucking wet.

She mewls with closed eyes, and her head falls back against the wall as I run my fingers against her sensitive bud, stroking back and forth. Her lips are so inviting as they part, and it nearly undoes me.

It’s beyond tempting. Whether she means it or not, it’s a fucking trap. Because one kiss, I won’t just lose control. She’ll take it completely. It’s not pride I’m concerned about, it’s survival. Giving Sinclair the upper hand could mean losing everything.

She moans, rocking forward to add more friction, and I pin her to the wall with my hips. She growls in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut. Applying more pressure to her sopping cunt with two fingers, I tease her entrance, dipping only a fingertip in with each stroke.

Her fists curl around the fabric of my jacket, knuckles turning white. Her jaw slackens with her shallow pants, laced with the sweetness of red wine. As if she has forgotten every reason to hold back.

When I slide two fingers inside of her, she cranks her head back to taunt me with the slender column on her neck. The milky-white skin almost glowing like a beacon, causing my mouth to water.

It drives me to put more effort into getting her off, needing to feel her explode and watch her come undone.

Cupping the back of one thigh, I crank it up over my hip to open her.

I use my fingers to fuck her, slapping my palm against her pussy.

Her juices stick to my hand, and I can smell the sweet aroma spiraling up between us.

Gritting my teeth, I thrust another finger inside of her, and my hips jerk on instinct. My cock is begging for her cunt. To feel it wrapped around me from tip to hilt.

My eyes won’t stop stealing glances at her lips. Not yet. Not until the thrill of newness wears off. Where I am in complete control.

She chomps down on her bottom lip and whines. Her muscles coil, and her back bows. Then, like a rubber band, she snaps.

I watch with intrigue as she soars, head back like she had a shot of heroin. My lips brush against her plump bottom lip, and I barely move mine, but enough to have me mad with desire for her kiss. So fucking close. I almost did it. But I keep my head on straight.

Sluggishly, I lean back as I retract my hold on her cunt and let the fabric of her dress fall.

She’s listless, coming to and fluttering her eyes open.

It takes a few heavy blinks, but she yanks herself out of the trance and morphs back into her caustic and arrant self with that sharp grin of hers that can carve bone.

I give her space and continue watching her. She fixes her dress, ironing it down with her hands, then checks her hair. “Well, that was fun. Thanks for the orgasm.” She grins brightly, and the gold hoop behind her top lip catches the light. “See you back in there.”

I’m momentarily stunned, watching her walk away with a sway she didn’t have before. And I know without a doubt that it has everything to do with the vulgarity I gifted her.

I shake myself out of it and follow in the same direction. She snatches a champagne flute off a tray without pause and disappears into the crowd.

I have to stifle my chuckle as I grab a drink for myself from the bar, but when I bring the glass up to my lips and catch her scent on my fingers mixed with the aroma of whiskey, I wish I could throw all caution out the window, track her down, and throw her over my shoulder as I take us out of the room.