Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
How had it come to this?
I’d rescued myself from ending up in the trunk of a Lincoln by not taking the very nice commission tacked onto imaginary Kevin’s corporate retreat.
How could I rescue myself now, though? Fear rattled through my lungs in an uncertain inhale.
Elijah, my sweet baby, I suppose I’ll kiss you a trillion times before Daddy meets us in heaven.
Omari tugged me along, and my socks slid down my feet with every hurried step. Ugh. The most uncomfortable feeling in the world.
Maybe the second most uncomfortable feeling.
Death probably felt ten times worse than the small lump of extra cotton beneath my heel.
washington
. . .
That damn cover house and finding my little brother might be the reason I wouldn’t see my wife again.
Now, I had a ticket to show for my efforts to get to her. I paused at the stop sign. Maybe it was brief. Very brief. When I got called out by this cop sitting in the bushes, I called it good time management. The officer gave me a ticket, and I jotted down his badge number.
I crumpled the ticket and put the SUV into gear. My glare destroyed the officer in the side mirror as he watched me pull away. “Bet. Keep rolling your eyes. I’ma see them roll all the way out of your eye sockets in traffic court, sir.”
My phone rang. Hooked up to the Rover, I pressed a button.
“Madison?”
“You ain’t there yet?” Texas asked.
“I’m trying!” I gasped. At the rate I was going? I’d either get cast for Fast & Furious: Crescent City Drift or die. At least once I hit this corner, and the cop wasn’t watching me anymore.
“She isn’t answering?”
“Nah. She puts her phone on Do Not Disturb while creating. Always had to set the mood.”
“That’s not good. I had a friend reach out to you know who,” he whispered. I guessed he was already at the construction site. “They did a wellness check.”
I snorted, even though I’d called my own NOPD buddy, who hadn’t answered. After almost sideswiping a seafood delivery truck, I deadpanned, “Very helpful, Texas. I have a bad feeling about this. Madison may be being held hostage in a windowless above-ground bunker.”
“Relax, the ART team is on it.”
“Define on it.”
He sighed. “They cracked some encrypted messages. Omari’s got a deal going on tomorrow.”
“To. Mor. Row?”
“They want the buyer, not the shady art dealer. So, they won’t move until he—”
“Commits a whole felony. Got it.”
“A non-homicidal felony. Murder ain’t Harris’s MO.”
I hung up and gunned it.
By the time I reached the studio, I’d already lost my judicial composure. I screeched to a stop so hard the SUV fishtailed. I shoved the door open and sprinted toward the loading door near the room she used.
The studio felt like a sauna fighting for its life. Heat shimmered off a metal table, and I winced. Stop! My brain screamed, high-pitched and so embarrassing that I wanted to hide from myself. My heart said, Bruh, you wrong for that. Save your wife.
My eyes widened at the sight of a molten glob, hell on earth. Madison molded that evil slice of brimstone with shaky fingers and a stuttering cry that broke my heart. I couldn’t see her face behind the face shield, fogged up from her constant sobs.
Omari hovered behind her. Since he was glaring down at her, he didn’t see me coming. His hand clasped her neck. “Make another mistake, I’m gonna break every tooth in your mouth with my knuckles!”
“I’m trying!” she cried.
He snapped a finger. Snapped a finger at my wife.
I stepped closer with the cold fury of a man who was gonna try his own murder case. Hell, if I were losing her too.
I needed my distraction not to send lava gooey stuff sky high and in my direction.
They looked up at the same time that I approached.
“Let my wife go!”
Omari’s eyes darted from me to the rod in Madison’s hand. He squeezed the back of her neck tighter. “Gimme that.”
“No!” She swung the blob at him.
Omari jumped to the side, releasing her neck. I balled my fists, took a controlled step closer, feeling safe. Safe adjacent, as long as my wife kept that thing away. Because while I didn’t fear the dude, I was shamefully, grown-man terrified of the heat my wife could unleash.
I moved fast, fist slamming upward into his jaw. He traded a cross of his own. At least, he tried.
I sidestepped, quick enough to watch the air move between us. Though not a boxer, reflexes came installed in my Louisiana bloodline. I swung at him again, left-right. He shifted to the left, grabbed a glass figure off a rack and flung it toward me. Every Babineaux gene in me stood up, blocked that, and chose more violence as I bum-rushed him, bringing him back against a metal desk.