Page 143 of Sin

The call ends and I stand there with the phone in my hand and fury burning through the shock. Not at Jenna. Not fully. She’s hurt and angry, and, honestly, she has every right to be both. But Laurel is sick in her apartment, and the company is about to turn her into a headline. That, I cannot allow.

Richard grabs his briefcase. “Let’s go.”

“You’re coming?”

“Yes. You are about to walk into a room full of angry Sinclairs. Someone should be there who bills by the hour and doesn’t throw punches.”

By the time I reach the office, the storm has already hit. People look away when I walk through the lobby. Some stare. Some whisper. Some pretend not to whisper, which is worse.

I take the private elevator up. Richard stands beside me, silent. My phone keeps vibrating but I ignore it.

When the elevator doors open, Owen is waiting. His face is carved from stone. That’s how I know he is furious.

“Owen,” I say.

“Conference room. Now.”

“Are the shareholders⁠—”

“Not yet.” His eyes cut to Richard. “Good. Counsel.”

Richard nods. “Good to see you, Owen.”

“Don’t. We don’t have time for pleasantries.”

We follow Owen down the hall. The conference room is full of my brothers. Tate sits at the table, elbows on his knees, looking like someone took his easygoing charm and crushed it in one hand. Blaze stands near the windows, arms crossed, jaw tight. Dante is on his phone, probably trying to keep PR from setting themselves on fire. Foster is there too, quiet and grim.

No one speaks when I enter. That’s worse than yelling.

Then Wilder looks at me. “Tell me it’s not Laurel.”

My hands curl.

Blaze mutters, “Fuck.”

Wilder’s face changes. “Jesus, Sin.”

“Don’t,” I say.

Blaze laughs, but it’s angry. “Don’t? That’s what you’ve got?”

“I said don’t.”

“Because what? Because you’re protecting her now?” His voice rises. “You should have protected her before you started fucking her in your office.”

Tate stands. “Blaze.”

He points at me. “I heard you. I heard her. I thought it was Jenna because I didn’t want to believe my own brother was that reckless. Just like our fucking father.”

Owen’s expression turns lethal.

“Everyone sit down,” he says.

No one moves.

“I said sit down.”

That time, they do.