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Prologue
Charlotte
“Are you coming?” I asked.
“Not yet.” Dad stuck his head through the kitchen doorway and smiled. “I’ll be home in a bit.”
I waved and turned around to give the empty bakery a last once-over. The registers had been closed out; the thermostat was set to seventy-eight; the countertops were wiped clean. I jingled my car keys as I strode to the front door and switched off the lights. I jumped when I heard a loud clanging come from the kitchen. I ran to the back of the store and pushed the kitchen door open.
“Dad! Are you—” My feet froze when I saw two large men in black suits standing over my father, lying on his back on the tile floor. Several pots and pans had landed next to him. He wore an expression that I had never seen on him before: terror.
Some say that when you are faced with possible death, your whole life flashes before your eyes. I expected to see a montage of clips in my mind, playing like an old family movie spinning on a reel. I thought I would see my mother when she was alive, or a birthday party in my backyard when I was a child. I did not experience any of that, though.
In those mere seconds we all stared at one another—as if someone had pressed a pause button—all I could focus on was the quiet. I will never forget that silence. It was the sound of my life changing, forever.
The older, rounder, of the two men pointed at me. “Grab her.”
“Run!” my father yelled.
My track legs took me all the way to the front of the store before the younger man caught up to me.
“Gotcha!” He grabbed hold of my arm.
I pulled back and tried to shake myself free. I did not want to leave my father with these men, but if I could get out of the bakery, I could get help.
“Stop squirming!” The oaf kicked the kitchen door open with his large, shiny black shoe. “Where do you want her, John?”
John’s soulless eyes swept around the room. “Grab that stool and put her next to her father.”
Dad was now zip-tied to the handle on the oven door, sitting on a rolling stool. I used to roll around the kitchen on that stool as a kid. Now, a new memory would be attached to it.
Dad could not bring himself to make eye contact with me. I was forced to sit beside him while my wrists were tightly bound to the same handle on the oven.
“Introduce us to your daughter, Frank,” John said with a sly smile. “She’s very pretty.”
I cringed as he made a show of surveying my body. I turned to my father, a mixture of fear and confusion churning in my stomach. “Dad …?”
“Shut up and listen, blondie,” John growled. “Your father here owes us money. We had a deal. Isn’t that right, Frank?”
“I told you boys—you will get your money. I just need some extra time. Please, just leave her out of this.”
This. What was this?
“We already gave you extra time. What the fuck do you think we are—a bill you can make late payments on whenever you need to? That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”
“How much money do you owe them?”
The younger, still-nameless man stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “You don’t have the kind of money we need, princess.”
I jerked my face away from his touch. “Don’t touch me.”
The two men chuckled. “I like her, Frank,” John said. “She’s got spunk.”
“My father is a man of his word. If he says he’s going to pay you back, he will get the money. Why can’t you give him more time?” I knew it wouldn’t work, but I had to try. I’d seen movies like this, and they did not end well for the people who were tied up.
“Charlotte, stay out of this,” my father warned.
“Stay out of this? I’m tied to the oven, Dad!”
