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Phoe patted his chest. “I’ll make sure the donation says that.”
Drake rolled his eyes at his wife and dragged Phoe into his arms. Phoe would always find a way. Money meant nothing unless it got her what she wanted. Phoe was right. Ten minutes later, Drake, Ace, and Jett were escorted to a private room where Sinclair lay.
Jett froze in the doorway when he laid eyes on her. Sin looked so tiny and fragile in the bed, and from the door, the extent of Sin’s injuries was noticeable. Doc hadn’t mentioned the terrible damage to her throat. It was black and blue, and livid finger marks could be seen against her pale skin. Sin’s left eye was swollen shut, and there was a bandage across her forehead. Her poor nose was double its usual size, and her lips split open.
Jett staggered back, and Drake’s arm shot out to support him. Visibly pulling himself together, Jett walked over to the bed and saw her hands bandaged. Sin had battled her attacker. Shit, his woman had fought. Her chin had a nasty scrape on it, and so did her nose, which added to the swelling there. Her bottom lip was puffy. Sin’s left wrist was in a bandage, and from the way she was lying, her ribs were taped up.
Jett sat in the chair next to the bed, reached out, and picked up her bandaged hand. He gently stroked Sin’s blood-soaked hair away from her face and touched her undamaged cheek gingerly.
“Find him, find this Marshall and hold him,” Jett said to Drake.
He sensed Drake’s and Ace’s anger at his back.
“We will, I swear,” Ace grunted, leaving the room.
“It’s the Marshall letters. Rouse wants them. Tell Reid, he knows,” Sin whispered hoarsely. Her damaged vocal cords pitched Sin’s voice low and harsh. Sin turned her head towards them with a wince. Her one good eye studied Drake and Jett, and then she looked up at Drake.
“Make Jett go; he called me a cunt.” A single tear tracked down her cheek.
Jett made a noise and touched it with a finger.
“Can’t leave you, Sin, please,” Jett whispered.
She closed her eye and looked away.
“What are the Marshall letters?” a voice asked, and Drake twisted and recognised Detective Benjamin standing there.
“No idea, but her partner will,” Drake responded. “Anyone got Reid’s number?”
“Yeah,” Jett said, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and tossed it at Drake. “Reid’s in England. Keep ringing until he answers.”
Drake
Drake left the room and dialled Reid, who fortunately answered on the first set of rings. The man was horrified and began scrabbling to book a plane home. As Reid surfed for a quick flight, he told Drake everything he knew, which wasn’t much. A guy called Mr Rouse had been pushing for a private sale, claiming he was related to Marshall.
Sin had refused several times, but he’d kept phoning. Reid informed Drake to get hold of Andy as every potential buyer for the online auction had to register, and Andy could dig out the details. Drake passed the information over to Ben and told Reid he’d stay in touch. Ben phoned Ramirez, who’d remained at the scene and received the information that uniforms were looking at the paperwork in Sin’s briefcase.
“Ms Montgomery say anything else?” Ben asked as he walked back into the room. Jett shook his head and kept watching. Ben sat his ass down in a chair in the corner, and Drake perched on the other side of the bed.
“This shit with your women getting hurt needs to stop, Drake.” Ben sighed.
Drake looked at Ben.
“This ain’t linked to the club. This concerns Sin’s work and the Reading Nook. Nothing to do with Rage, but you can bet your bottom dollar it will be. Find the bastard before Rage, or you never will.”
Ben bristled and leaned forward. “You informing a cop that you planning a murder?”
Drake held Ben’s eyes.
“Telling a cop, better find Rouse before we do, or you’ll never find him. Didn’t mention murder,” Drake retorted just as quick.
“This man’s body turns up, Drake; we’ll be looking at you,” Ben warned.
“Won’t be a damn body,” Jett muttered, and Ben peered at him and then glanced away.
Sin
I came to bone sore and hurting. My face felt like my skin was pulled taut, and I couldn’t open my right eye. From my blurred vision, out of the window, I spied the sun was just rising. I peered at the wall, and a large clock announced it was half-past seven. I assumed it was Friday, but I wasn’t sure. I peeked and saw a pair of legs stretched out by the side of my bed. Despite the tightness, I frowned as best as I could with the bandage on my head. I glanced up and recognised Jett asleep in the chair next to the bed. Jett’s arms were folded across his chest, and he had a pillow under his head. He looked tired.
