Page 191 of Sins of the Hidden

"Robert Marshall?" Law gestured to the back of the van. "I've known him for over twenty years."

I stepped out of the car. "Stay here."

Law gripped the car door handle, knuckles white. "He's my friend. I want to know what the fuck's going on."

"Too personal for you." I opened the side door, stepping out with my bat.

"Make it quick." Chet nodded from the driver's seat. "These four in the back are getting restless."

I moved across the perfectly manicured lawn, silent despite my size. No need for the key he'd offered. The lock on the back door gave way with minimal effort.

The house was quiet, tasteful, and expensive. Medical journals stacked on coffee tables. Awards displayed in glass cases. The home of a man who believed himself above consequences.

I found him asleep in his oversized bed, reading glasses still perched on his nose, an open medical journal on his chest. No wedding ring. No photos of partners or children. Just diplomas lining his walls.

I stood over him for a full minute, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes opened when I tapped the bat against his nightstand.

"Wha—" His confusion quickly hardened into professional indignation. "You have absolutely no right to be in my home. I'll have you arrested for this."

He reached for his glasses, pushing them up his nose. No fear. Just entitled outrage.

"Do you have any idea who I am? I have patients who depend on me. Important patients." His voice remained clinical, controlled—the voice of a man who expected deference even from intruders. "Whatever you want, it's not worth the trouble you're making for yourself."

"Oakley."

Confusion flickered across his face, then recognition, then the shift in his posture was almost comical—shoulders straightening like credentials might protect him. "Trevor's daughter? Is she having medical issues? This is highly irregular, but if it's an emergency?—"

"She came to you for help. Pain. Irregular cycles. Weight she couldn't control." My fingers flexed around the bat, the wood creaking softly.

The doctor's expression shifted, professional detachment hardening into something dismissive. "Ah. Yes. I explained to her that her condition is largely lifestyle-related. If she would just exercise more, control her diet?—"

The bat connected with his hands first—a clean strike that shattered the delicate bones. His scream filled the bedroom, high and shocked. He hadn't expected violence. Not in his home. Not in his world of peer-reviewed journals and country club memberships.

"You called her a liar."

"I never—" His protest died as I raised the bat again. "I was simply explaining medical facts. Sometimes psychological factors manifest as physical symptoms. That's established science. Any physician would tell you the same."

"She's not defective." A growl slipped past my teeth, too quiet to be safe. "You are."

I struck his jaw, bone giving way with a wet crack. Blood sprayed across his expensive cotton sheets.

"She has PCOS." I set the bat against the wall and moved around his bed, collecting items as I spoke. Alcohol from his bar cart. Silk ties from his closet drawer. A book of matches from the bedside table. "A real condition you missed because you judged her weight instead of running tests."

He tried to pull himself up with his shattered hands, face contorting with pain. I pinned him with a stare, and he froze. Two quick motions and his wrists were bound to the headboard with his own monogrammed ties. Another secured his ankles.

Through broken teeth, he gasped. "The statistical likelihood?—"

Ignoring him, I picked up a letter opener from his nightstand. Solid silver. Heavy. Sharp enough. I held it up, letting the dim light catch the edge—just like Mother's sewing needle had.

"Do you feel this?" The silver tip pressed into his thigh without warning.

He screamed, pulling against his restraints.

I withdrew the letter opener, ran my finger along its edge. "And this?" I traced it along his forearm, just enough to draw blood.

His eyes bulged, the whites turning red. "Stop!"

"Why should I believe you?" My head angled to the side, studying his response. "It's all in your head."

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