“Zuri …” Physician charm oozed from Edwin, a sharp contrast to how he leisurely dropped his gun-fisted hand on my son’s shoulder.
Darius jerked his head up, tears streaming from his face. His voice tiny and trembling, he cried, “Mommy?”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard. Tasted copper. I wanted to pull my gun, but he used a four-year-old as a shield.
Edwin sighed. “Little One.”
I growled. “Don’t call me that. How did you find me?”
He smirked, patting my son’s head. “You mean tonight? Well, property taxes helped with that. Now that you’ve traded up to a Dodger, I need something from you. I owe the cartel a few more mill. Let’s just make it an even ten million, so I can disappear.” His thumb brushed over the safety. On. Off. On. Off.
My face leaked with tears. “Okay, I’ll ask Montana for money. Jus-just let my son go.”
“Good. Good. Good. No more horse betting for me.” He chuckled. “Or did you mean how did I find out where you were hiding?”
“Sure? Tell me everything,” I deadpanned. I needed to give Montana and his brothers time to figure out how to take down this demon.
“You went to Paris. Those photos didn’t give you away, however. Naturally,that country thugtried to keep you a secret. Hidden.” The doctor mocked, head tilted. “He droned on and on about his love. He didn’t have a father either. So, I thought, that’s something sweet. After he’s been neglected, he latches on to the foster throwaway.”
“Despicable.” Jaw locked, I mentally rehearsed how I’d flip my dress up to get my weapon.
He waved me off with the gun, too amused with himself to care. “However, I saw you before Paris. On E!News. Fancy restaurant in Beverly Hills. You scored a Dodger. I love the Dodgers.”
“You love being slimy, too, so stop touching my son!”
He examined my baby’s twisties with his free hand, as if judging foul sushi. “Why didn’t you tell me, Little One? We could’ve gotten me free from the Queso Kings. We could’ve scammed him! But no, you run off with Mr. Bayou Brunch Special!” He flicked another twisty. This one landed on my baby’s tear-streaked cheek. “Now, let’s see if you’re worthbigmoney to”—he sneered the words as if he were better—“Big Country.”
“Montana?” Darius whispered, eyes brightening. “M-mommy! Is Daddy here?”
Edwin froze mid-rant, jealousy twisting his face. “What did you say, kid?”
Before I could stop him, Darius straightened up, brave and clutching Brody tightly. “My daddy better than you!”
Edwin’s eyes turned a shade darker than death. The metallic cock of his gun sliced the air, then he fired.
montana
. . .
Didn’t realize how loud my boots were until the hangar spat the echo back at me. As I crouched behind a rusted oil tank, I set eyes on Edwin. What in the hell was mybébéthinking?
Darius shielded most of his body, bound and seated on an old computer chair cranked to the highest height in front of him. My son—my boy—clutched Brody like it could roar us outta this mess dude had caused.
Every part of me wanted to move. But I needed an opening. And Zuri kept shifting in and outta my way. Worked my way to the left, every muscle coiled in rage, ready to strike from behind. Just needed to get around her.
From the distance, I hardly heard them, but my eyes bugged when Darius screamed. “My daddy better than you!”
Edwin raised the gun.
The shot cracked the hangar.
The toy’s head exploded into a puff of stuffing.
Darius screamed—high, panicked—fighting the man’s hold on his arm even though the bullet never touched him. I felt that scream in my bones. I’d claimed him long before I admitted it.My son.
Edwin swung the gun at Zuri.
I didn’t even take a breath. I moved, shoulder slamming Zuri from the side. As he took the shot, I traded one of my own. The moment the bullet tore into my arm, I realized Ezekiel had done the same for me once. We’d been hunting gators in the bayou back then. Just us two. Until I’d forced Wash to go. Had to show off. Ezekiel saved my life with a crack shot—killing that gator. But this time wasn’t a hunt. Edwin’s bullet found me somewhere that didn’t matter—my nondominant arm. Mine found the space between his eyes.
