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“You wouldn’t hurt a baby,” Samantha whispers in horror.
Tyrant pretends to look mystified and points at Barlow. “What, this baby?” He lifts Barlow out of his high chair and settles him against his hip while Samantha covers her mouth in horror. Tyrant smiles at Barlow, revealing strong, white teeth, and my skin crawls. “What a sweet little man he is. Do you suppose it would be difficult for someone like me to hurt a baby? I’ve never tried before. There’s a first time for everything.”
Samantha cries out and lunges for Barlow with both hands, but Dad holds her back. She falls to her knees, sobbing, and Tyrant watches her with that cruel, mocking smile on his face.
“Babies are just so defenseless, aren’t they? Look, he trusts me already.” Tyrant wiggles a tattooed forefinger against Barlow’s cheek, and Barlow wraps his chubby baby hand around it and stares in fascination at the ink.
I have to cover my mouth with both hands to keep from bursting into tears.
“Owen,dosomething,” Samantha shrieks.
Dad opens and closes his mouth, and when he speaks his voice is wheedling. “Please. What do you want from us?”
Tyrant drops his smile, and the room turns even colder. “What do you think I want?”
“I don’t have the money.”
Oh, no, not Tyrant as well. In the past, Dad has owed money to banks, payday lenders, his family, various friends, but to get into debt to a dangerous criminal like this man? What was Dad thinking? He probably wasn’t thinking at all and was on one of his benders. I thought with a new baby and a family relying on him, Dad would want to turn over a new leaf and be a better man.
“Owen, please. You didn’t. How much?” Samantha asks in a trembling voice.
“You haven’t told your wife?” Tyrant sneers. “Your husband owes me twenty-nine thousand. I normally wouldn’t come personally to collect such a small sum, but Mr. Stone called me a few names when the bouncers were throwing him out of my Yancy Street club. Apparently I’m a prick?” He arches a questioning brow at Dad.
The horror I feel is echoed on Samantha’s face. Twenty-ninethousand, and he insulted Tyrant Mercer to the men who work for him.
“We have savings. The joint account…” Samantha trails off as Dad shakes his head, telling her that the money is gone. He must have drank and gambled it away. Tears well up in her eyes. “Owen, how could you?”
The silence is crushing.
Tyrant glances between them. “No more ideas? Then perhaps this will motivate you. You can have your brat back when I have my money.” He holds one of Barlow’s hands and makes him wave at his parents. “Bye-bye, Mommy and Daddy. I’m going home with Daddy Tyrant.”
With a laugh, he turns toward the door. Toward me. I quickly pull back into the shadows.
Samantha screams and reaches to grab her baby, but Tyrant pulls a gun out of his jacket and aims it at her head, his mocking expression turning ferocious.
“Back the fuck off. I have no mercy for you, and no mercy for this child. If I don’t get my money, I will rip your lives apart, and what’s left will be a blood-soaked mess. Right now, no one’s been hurt, but if I’m still waiting this time next week, that will change.” He presses a kiss to Barlow’s temple and smiles at them once more. “Piece by piece.”
I have to do something. I can’t call the police. I don’t have a weapon. Dad doesn’t have that kind of money and neither do I. Barlow’s only hope is if someone breaks into Tyrant’s impenetrable mansion, grabs him, and sneaks out again. Tyrant’s home has high surrounding walls and presumably more security systems than a bank vault. Once Barlow’s inside, there’ll be nothing we or anyone can do to get him out.
I glance over my shoulder toward the front door. The glossy black car out front must be Tyrant’s car. Stealing Barlow back from Tyrant will be a hell of a lot easier if the person doing the stealing only has to break out of that mansion, and not into it as well.
I turn and hurry as quietly as I can back down the corridor.
“You’re a monster,” Samantha sobs behind me as I slip out the door and pull it closed behind me.
With blood roaring in my ears, I run to Tyrant’s car, hoping with the full force of my desperation that he’s left it unlocked. To my amazement and relief, the rear door opens when I tug on the handle, and I slip inside.
There’s a coat on the back seat of his car, long and dark and made of wool. I dive onto the floor of the car and cover myself with the garment, and I’m enveloped in a fragrant but cold scent. It fills my lungs with each breath I take, and I realize I’m breathing in Tyrant Mercer’s scent. The wool against my cheek is warm and soft. I should be feeling nothing but terror at this moment, but I’m distracted by the sensation of this man and his tastes. Expensive. Subtle. Dangerous.
The driver’s side door slams, the engine starts, and I feel the car start to move.
My hands clench on the wool in horror. What have I done? How is it any better that I’ve essentially been kidnapped along with my brother? My breaths come faster and faster. Tyrant will hear me if I keep this up. I bite the inside of my cheek, and the pain cuts through all the noise in my head. For now, Tyrant doesn’t know I’m here, which means I have the advantage.
I wish I’d brought a hammer, a knitting needle, anything I could use as a weapon. I don’t know how capable I am of hurting another person, but if it’s to save Barlow, I think I could grab whatever is on hand and use it against Tyrant. I imagine picking up a lamp or a flowerpot and smashing it over his head. That could work, though I feel ill at the thought of hurting anyone, even a criminal like Tyrant.
“No tears? Don’t I frighten you, little Barlow?” Tyrant says, and I wonder if he has my brother on his lap as he drives.
Barlow makes a baby talk sound that I know means he’s curious about something.
