Blinking, I looked at Sinclair, confusion written on my face. He never willingly gave anyone anything. “Why now?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked at the file, my hands lightly shaking. It was all there. I knew it was. Sinclair would never willingly give me half the information. It wasn’t his way. It was all or nothing. Yet, staring at the file, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Because I just learned that Madigan is missing.”
“What?” I sat up straighter. “Who called?”
“Caitlin,” Sinclair stated. “She’s worried. She hasn’t seen or heard from her daughter in over a week. All her calls go straight to voicemail.”
“Does O’Malley know?”
Sinclair nodded. “Yes. He has his men looking for her.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” My voice shook, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on me.
Sinclair met my gaze, his expression grave. “Rurik Ryabkin is also missing.”
Rurik was a soldier in the Russian Bratva, reporting straight to Maxim Fedorov, thePakhan. Rurik was loyal, devout, and absolutely deadly. “They were last seen together leaving a restaurant in Chinatown. In that file, you’ll find everything I have on Mr. Ryabkin. It’s not much, but it’s a place to start.” Sinclair’s tone hinted at layers he wasn’t ready to uncover.
“What do you want me to do?” My words came out sharper than I intended, anxiety twisting in my gut.
“Find them before the truth gets out,” Sinclair resolutely affirmed, then looked down at his hands before adding, “Rowen, Madigan knows the truth, and if she and Rurik are together, it won’t be long before he does as well. If Rurik tells his boss, you know as well as I do the Bloodletter will do anything to protect his family. Tread carefully.”
A chill ran down my spine at the mention of the Bloodletter’s reputation—ruthless was an understatement. The thought of crossing paths with him made my hands tighten unconsciously around the file.
“Melissa and I will leave immediately.” The urgency in my voice surprised me, but I couldn’t shake the sense that every second mattered.
“Take her brother and Dr. Walker as well. I’ve already spoken to Reaper. He wants the matter settled fast.” Sinclair’s eyes were steely. Reaper, the president of the Golden Skulls Motorcycle Club, rarely did business with Sinclair—his involvement meant the situation was as dire as it could get.
“Gunner is a Silver Shadow. Reaper can’t order him,” I pointed out, not sure if I was relieved or frustrated by the reminder of his devotion to his club rather than his sister.
Sinclair smirked, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You let me worry about Mr. Kingston O’Rourke.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rowen
Grabbing the file from the seat next to me, I walked out of the cockpit and paused at the threshold, taking in the uneasy silence. Melissa sat near the window, gazing out at the clouds, her posture rigid with worry. Her brother Michael reclined in one of the seats, feigning sleep—his jaw clenched even in rest—while Dr. Walker curled beside him, eyes downcast and lost in a book. The air seemed charged, every breath thick with unresolved words and old wounds.
I hesitated for a moment, watching the tension ripple through the cabin, before slipping into the seat beside her. Reaching for her hand, I asked softly, “Are you okay?”
She turned to face me, pain flickering across her eyes. “Why is he here?”
“Because I’m going to need his help,” I admitted, knowing Melissa’s resentment toward Michael ran deeper than she’d ever say aloud.
Melissa huffed, her frustration brittle. “Good luck with that. Gunner only cares about his club.” The words hung heavy—a bitter echo of arguments past, both of them wounded by loyalties that never aligned.
Michael muttered, his eyes never opening, “And you.” His voice was rough, weighed down by everything unspoken—a lifetime of protecting her from afar, too proud or too stubborn to say it out loud.
Spinning around in her seat, Melissa leaned over the back and snapped, “You said ‘we’!Weall miss you.Weall wantyou home. Not you! I don’t care about your club brothers. I care about you!” Her voice trembled, every word sharpened by years of feeling abandoned—and longing for her only brother to choose her.
Closing her book, Dr. Walker sighed, the sound weary. “Are you two really going to hash this out right now?”
“YES!” Melissa and Michael both said in unison, the force of their reply betraying how much remained unresolved between them.
Rising from my seat, I carefully placed the file on the table and moved over to Sinclair’s chair. As I settled in, I opened the file and forced myself to concentrate, determined to tune out the ongoing argument between Melissa and Michael. Their voices, though tense and persistent, reminded me of a reality I had never personally known—the complexities of sibling relationships. Having grown up without any knowledge of my own siblings, I felt no urge to get involved in their dispute unless Michael pushed a boundary I was not familiar with. Instead, I focused on the task at hand, choosing to remain a quiet observer in the midst of their unresolved conflict.
I didn’t look up as Dr. Walker took the seat beside me. Her presence was quiet but steady, and I could sense the weight of her reputation. “I never got the chance to tell you what an honor it is to meet you,” she said, her voice low. “Several years ago, I heard you and Dr. Stephen Thomas speak at the Symposium for Theoretical Advancements in Sociological and Psychological Behaviors. Your discussion about the Ethical Approach to Therapy left a lasting impression on me.”
I offered a small smile. “I was only there to support Dr. Thomas.”
