"Ophelia, darling."My mother's voice slid through the speaker like ice water, chilling me to the bone."We're coming for what's ours.You can't hide forever."
"You stay away from us," I hissed, fury temporarily overriding fear."You have no right—"
"Rights?"She laughed, the sound utterly devoid of warmth."We have judges, dear.Lawyers.Men with guns.What do you have?A criminal husband who can't even keep his communication systems running?"
My blood froze.They knew about our security setup.About Razor's plan.
"Your father's quite disappointed," she continued, savoring each word."He had such hopes for a peaceful resolution.But you've forced our hand."
Before I could respond, a scream pierced the air—Dante's voice, high with terror, coming from the small adjoining room where he'd been napping in a makeshift race-car bed.
I dropped the phone, adrenaline propelling me across the office."Dante!"I crashed through the door to find my son bolt upright, his small finger pointing toward the window.
"Someone there," he whimpered, eyes wide with fear."Bad man looking."
I scanned the window—closed but unlocked, the fire escape just beyond.Had someone been there, or was it a nightmare?With the security system down, I had no way to know.
"It's okay, baby," I soothed, even as I reached for the expandable baton Razor had given me.With a flick of my wrist, it extended to its full length with a satisfying metallic snap."We're going to play a special game."
I locked the bedroom door, then grabbed Dante and carried him into the attached bathroom.The windowless space had been one of Razor's requirements when selecting this location—a final fallback position with only one entry point.
"Remember how we practiced?"I asked, working to keep my voice steady as I pushed a small vanity against the door.It wasn't much, but it might buy precious seconds.
Dante nodded solemnly, his little face serious.He'd learned too young what it meant to hide from danger.
I pulled out my phone to text Razor's emergency code—WEATHERED—but the message failed to send.No signal.I tried Socket next.Nothing.
A soft thud from the main office sent ice through my veins.Someone was inside.They'd either picked the lock or had a key.Either way, we were trapped.
"Listen carefully," I whispered, crouching to Dante's eye level."We're going to play the very quiet game.Like hide and seek, but even better."I guided him toward the bathtub, grateful for the shower curtain that would conceal him."You stay in here, behind this magic shield, and don't make a sound until I say the special word."
"Dinosaur," he whispered, our agreed-upon safety word.
"That's right.Dinosaur means it's safe."I helped him into the tub, arranging the shower curtain to hide him completely."Not a sound until then, okay?Not even if you hear strange voices."
His solemn nod broke my heart.No four-year-old should be so practiced at hiding.
Working quickly, I fashioned a crude alarm from toiletries, balancing bottles on the edge of the vanity where they would crash down if the door was forced open.The baton felt cold and heavy in my hand as I positioned myself beside the door, straining to hear movement beyond.
Footsteps.Measured, deliberate.At least two sets, moving through the office with practiced efficiency.
"Check the bedroom," a male voice ordered."The kid was supposed to be napping in there."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but something strange was happening inside me.The paralyzing fear that had been my constant companion during years with Tyler was transforming, crystallizing into something harder, sharper.This wasn't just about me anymore.This was about Dante.My son.My world.
I thought of Razor, of how he'd patiently shown me self-defense moves, making me practice until my muscles ached."You've got good instincts," he'd told me."Trust them.Use them."
The bedroom door splintered open, the crack of breaking wood followed by heavy footsteps.They'd be at the bathroom door within seconds.
I tightened my grip on the baton, mentally running through the weak points Razor had taught me—knees, throat, groin, eyes.I wasn't some helpless victim anymore.I was a mother defending her child.A wife waiting for backup.A survivor who'd already endured worse than whatever waited on the other side of that door.
The doorknob turned slowly, testing the lock.A short pause, then a shoulder slammed against the wood.The vanity skidded back an inch, but held.Another slam.The toiletry bottles crashed to the floor.
"She's in there," the voice called."Get the ram from the truck."
I pressed my lips together, silencing the fear that wanted to escape.Behind the shower curtain, Dante remained perfectly still, the training we'd practiced as a "game" now saving his life.
The bathroom door shuddered under another impact.The vanity slid further.Next time, they'd break through.
