The Sinister Silhouette

I WALK THROUGH the sliding glass doors and head straight for the desk where an older woman sits. She continues to click on her keyboard like I’m not standing three feet in front of her. I’m about to slam my fist down on the wood to get her attention, when she looks up and gives me a fake smile. Apparently, someone doesn’t like their job.

“Can I help you?” she asks with a phony pleasant tone.

“Yes.” Her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs at my harsh tone, and she gives me a nervous look. “You can tell me where my sister is.”

Licking her peach-colored lips, she looks down at her keyboard and hovers her fingers over the keys. “And what’s her name?”

“Ella Hendrix,” I answer shortly. “She was brought in a while ago.”

She types something, and a minute later, shoots off a room number. Just as I turn, she blurts out, “They no longer have her in the emergency department. They moved her upstairs to the ICU.”

I grunt my thanks and head to the elevators. Silver Hill General is the smaller of the two hospitals in Silver Hill. It’s been standing since the fifties and could definitely use some refurbishments. Silver United Memorial was built when I was a kid and is the one where all the rich folks go.

Stepping out of the elevator on the third floor, I turn right and start looking at the room numbers. When I come across number thirty-six, I take a moment to settle my rapid heartbeat. The entire way here, I’ve tried to block out the images forming in my head of what I’m about to see. When Mom called an hour ago to tell me Ella was attacked, I about went ballistic. The only thing that kept me stable was the kid who was in the shop with his dad while he got a tattoo. Mom said Ella’s condition wasn’t critical; just some bumps, scrapes, bruises, and a possible concussion, so I finished up the ten minutes that was left of the guy’s ink, waited another fifteen for Jazz to get there, then took off.

My jaw aches from clenching it so hard, so

I work it in circles to loosen it. When I step around the doorway and into the room, I see Mom standing beside the bed, my dad at the foot, and my brother sitting on one of the chairs.

Sensing my presence, Mom looks up and spots me. Her eyes looked pained, and it fucking sucks seeing that look on her face. Helen Hendrix is one of the strongest women I know, but when it comes to her children, any time one of us hurts, she hurts with us. She tries to put on a brave face, but we all see past it.

She holds her hand out to me, and I walk over to grab it. It puts me in view of Ella and anger rages through me at the damage to her face. Her left eye is swollen halfway shut with deep purple and blue bruises around it. There’s a butterfly bandage over her left eyebrow covering a gash and she has scrapes on her cheekbone and at the corner of her mouth. Her chin is scraped to hell and back and there are purple marks on her neck. I look down at the bandage that wraps around her hand all the way up to her elbow.

She tries to crack a smile, but winces instead. “Hey, big brother,” she croaks. “Do you like my new look?”

“Who?” I demand in a gravelly voice, ignoring her bad timing at trying to make a joke.

“Luca—”

I bend and put my face in hers. “Tell me who fucking did this to you, Ella.”

She flinches at my harsh tone, and Mom tries to calm me down by rubbing my back.

“No,” Ella states, her eyes turning hard.

“Why in the fuck not?” I growl.

“Because I don’t want you to go out and kill someone, that’s why,” she announces stubbornly.

My blood pressure rises, causing the pulse in my throat to thump crazily. My nostrils flare as I blow out a deep breath and try to rein in my temper. These people know me better than anyone else. They know I’ll do anything to protect the people I love. I’m smart enough to realize my parents have probably heard rumors of the shit I’ve done. At least some of it. Just because it’s never been brought up between us doesn’t mean they’re clueless. They aren’t stupid and know how things are around here. I may not work the streets, but my name is known on them.

“Son,” my dad’s voice sounds beside me. “You need to calm—”

“No, goddammit!” I snarl and look at him. “She’s going to tell me who did this to her!” I turn back to Ella. “Was it Cora?”

A laugh bursts from her lips before she can stop it, and the sound ends on a moan. Her eyes close for a moment, before she opens them and pins me with her heated gaze.

“That bitch wouldn’t know how to kill a fly if she had a flyswatter in her hand, let alone get the drop on me.”

“Ella,” I warn, but before I can say more, a hard voice stops me.

“Chase Leeway.” I turn to Vicki, who just stepped into the room with a cup of coffee. “That’s the bastard who did this to her.”

I bite my lip to keep back the roar that wants to break free. Chase fucking Leeway. He should have been my first guess. The bastard’s had it hard for Ella ever since he came in with his rich buddies to have some ink done. For obvious reasons, she’s refused him every time he’s asked her out. The last time it happened, he left pissed. He tried to fake it with a charming smile, but I saw the dark look in his eyes as he walked out the door. That was months ago, and we haven’t seen him since. We both assumed he was over his interest in her. Clearly, we were wrong.

Fucking bastard is going to pay.

Vicki comes further into the room and deposits her cup onto the tray beside the bed before leaning down and giving Ella a gentle kiss on her forehead. Luckily, the lump found in her breast was benign. She’s a pretty girl. Black hair cut short, small round face with wide green eyes, and dimples in her cheeks. She’s short, but big boned, and doesn’t take shit from anyone, especially when it comes to protecting her girl.