Page 84 of Mack

“Good! Then maybe I’d be rid of you,” she snapped.

Troy looked at her and laughed. “Well, that’s not going to happen, so maybe I’ll just hurt the boy.” He let go of her hair, pushed her against the wall, then strode down the hallway.

“No! You stay away from him,” she yelled as she followed him, punching him in the back. He spun around, backhanded her and she fell to the floor as she watched him enter T.J.’s bedroom.

A few minutes later, he returned to the living room, holding a screaming T.J. in his arms. She tried to get up, but when Troy looked at her, she sat back down.

Chapter Twelve

Mack sat in his truck on Mallory’s street, and watched her enter the house, carrying T.J. Then a few minutes later, he watched Simmons cross the porch and knock on the door, then it opened and he stepped inside. Mack knew Mallory would never open the door for him.

“T.J. Shit,” Mack swore. He knew he was going to have to go in there. He pulled his truck into the driveway, blocking Simmons truck, then he stepped out and as he reached the porch a wail split the cold air. Not crying. Screaming, pure and wordless, the sound a child makes when scared.

He was halfway up the steps when Mallory’s voice came through the door.

“Give me my son!”

Not a plea. A command, stripped down to something animal and absolute.

Troy Simmons answered, low and muffled.

Mack backed down the steps, gravel shifting under his boots, and moved along the side of the house. Every instinct told him to go straight through that door. He kept moving instead, cutting his eyes to each curtained window as he passed.

He drew his Glock at the rear gate, which whined as he eased through it. The backyard was open grass with no cover. He crossed it in a crouch, staying below the window line until he reached the back porch.

Through the gap in the curtains, he could see Troy with his back to the glass, one arm hooked around T.J. like a vise. The boy’s sneakers kicked at nothing. His face had gone deep red, the veins rising on his forehead, as he continued to scream.

Mack’s jaw tightened.

Mallory stood opposite them, her face contorted, mascara streaked down her pale cheeks. A bruise forming on her cheek. Then her eyes found his through the glass. He pressed a finger to his lips and watched her fight to keep her expression neutral as her gaze shifted back to Troy.

Mack pulled back from the window. Whatever Troy wanted here, it wasn’t T.J. He was here for Mallory.

That was never going to happen.

His palm closed around the brass doorknob. He turned it by degrees, each fraction of rotation a held breath. The door gave with only the faintest resistance. The hinges shrieked as it swung open, but T.J.’s screaming swallowed the sound whole.

He slipped into the kitchen low, then straightened to his full height. The linoleum felt like it went on forever. When he finally reached Troy, he pressed the barrel of the Glock against the back of the man’s skull.

“Hand the boy to his mother.” Mack kept his voice flat. “Or I drop you where you stand.” He glanced at Mallory. “Take T.J. Go outside and get in my truck.”

She stepped forward but Troy tightened his grip on the boy.

“You’re not going to shoot me while I’m holding this kid,” Troy said.

Mack cocked the hammer and pressed it against the back of Simmons’ head. The click sliced through everything. Troy went rigid.

“You willing to take that chance?”

When Simmons sighed, Mack nodded at Mallory to take T.J.

He watched her snatch T.J. and go, the boy’s face buried against her shoulder, and held his position until he heard the distant slam of his truck door.

He took a step back but kept the barrel of the gun against Troy’s head.

“Drop anything in your hands and raise them. Now.”

“I don’t have anything, man.” Troy’s voice had lost its edge entirely.