by Malcom, Anne
He wanted to tear the flesh from his own skin hearing that truth echoing in his brain.
“You need to stop, now,” Keltan commanded, voice cold. “You need to do your job, focus on that. And make sure you stay the fuck away from Elena. I don’t want you spewing any of your shit anywhere near her. She’s gone through enough.”
After a beat, he let him go and stormed from the office.
Keltan didn’t have to worry about him going near Elena. He planned on keeping as far away from her as he could.
He also planned on getting her kid back for her.
* * *
“Fuck,” Luke breathed after Keltan had briefed them all.
He’d gotten the whole team together.
Usually each of them was competent enough to handle shit on their own, most of them specialized in certain fields. Duke was good at the celebrity babysitting crap, Luke did a lot of the security installations, had law enforcement connections, Heath with roughing people up when needed, Rosie, being all-around fucking insane, and him with the dirty work. And cleaning up after the dirty work was done.
This shit was all hands on deck.
They were gonna go and get the kid as soon as possible. But there were logistics to take care of. Safeguards to make sure that piece of shit knew he could never go near Elena or the kid again if he wanted to keep breathing.
And they had to keep the fucker breathing.
She didn’t want him dead.
It angered him unlike anything had.
He didn’t think he had the ability to be angry again. Anger was an emotion, wasn’t it? And he didn’t have emotions.
Until today.
Now he had too many, it was hard to think straight. It was because he knew she was in here, somewhere.
He needed to get out of here. He was crawling out of his fucking skin. But Keltan had called the meeting.
“Yeah,” Keltan agreed.
Rosie’s eyes were hard and her small hands fisted on the table. “Where is she? Elena?”
“In the rooms upstairs. Got Stella getting her something to eat ‘cause she honestly looks like she’s about to pass out.”
Lance thought about that. The fact that her body was lean to the point of gaunt and she was a woman who was meant to have curves. You could tell that by just looking at her. Full lips, all that fuckin’ hair. Beautiful caramel skin.
He was a piece of shit for even thinking that in this situation, but he was a piece of shit.
And he’d never had a reaction to a woman before. He didn’t have much of a reaction. He fucked them because he knew it was a necessary release of pressure, but it wasn’t something that drove him. There was no animal need.
But he had it with the bruised, battered single mother pleading for help to get her son back.
Yeah, he was a piece of shit.
“She won’t pass out,” he spoke, even without meaning to. All eyes went on him because he never usually spoke at these things. He kept words to a minimum. He didn’t like the sound of his own voice in his head. “Woman like that, only time she’ll fall over looking for her son is if her heart stops beating.”
Keltan’s eyes focused on him, too fucking intensely. They were still hardened from the exchange earlier. He nodded, before looking to the rest of the room. “Lance’s right. She’s strong. Tough. A good woman. But she’s holding on by a fucking thread.”
“Of course she is,” Rosie snapped. “Her abusive, spineless, piece of camel shit husband kidnapped her son. Please tell me I’m the one that’s allowed to kill him.”
Keltan focused on her.
Luke rolled his eyes at his wife, then reached over to squeeze her hand because he was in tune with that woman and could hear the underlying emotion in her bloodthirsty tone.
“We’re not killing him.”
Rosie glared at him. “Is this some more of this weird New Zealand humor than I don’t get because I don’t get it and it’s not funny.”
Lance was happy that he was not the only one who thought that this was bullshit. And of course it would be Rosie, out of all of the men at this table that would have the strongest feelings about killing this roach. Because the men at this table were among some of the toughest he’d spent time with, but Rosie was in another ballpark.
You wouldn’t know the small, beautiful woman with all sorts of crazy hairstyles and outfits would spend her nights killing drug dealers and rapists, but that was kind of the point.
She was also a mother.
And there were fathers at this table, but Lance had learned that there was something different, something ferocious about a mother’s love.
“It’s not a joke,” Keltan replied, voice hard. As much as the man needed to stay professional, Lance knew he wasn’t happy about it either. They were not hitman for hire, not officially at least. But there were circumstances in which they agreed that death was part of their invisible service list. In cases of rape and anything to do with children.
“Of course it’s not,” Rosie hissed. “Because it’s not fucking funny.”
“Elena doesn’t want him dead. You meet her, you’ll understand,” Keltan explained. “She’s... different. Soft. Kind. She’s not a person that can have death on her conscience, not even when that someone has done all that to her. I’m gonna respect that. I’m gonna protect that. Because it’s rare in this world to find someone who doesn’t want revenge. Who doesn’t want to meet ugliness with worse.” He looked around the table, taking extra time on him and Rosie. “We’re all going to respect that.”
Lance gritted his teeth.
Rosie let out an impressive string of curse words, some even Lance hadn’t heard of.
Duke nodded.
“We got you, got her on this, brother,” Heath said, something moving in his eyes. The man had more experience with the kind of women who didn’t live in a world of blood and vengeance, who were thrust in there anyway. “You want me to get Polly in? Have her sit with her?”
Keltan nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
And it was.
Elena was all kinds of dark right now, she needed some light. Some peace in this chaos.
Polly was that.
She would give the woman as much peace as she could. Though Lance knew the only true peace she’d have was her son in her arms. Which was why he knew chaos so well.
Chapter Three
Elena
“Tell me about him,” Polly said, her voice soft and kind.
Her entire presence was soft and kind. She’d come in about an hour after Stella, the receptionist showed me to the room above the Greenstone offices. It was a small apartment, clean, modern, like the rest of the place.
There was a small lounge area with a dusky gray couch, only slightly lighter than the color on the walls. It looked comfortable, not cheap like a lot of sofas in places like this. It looked like it might swallow you up, and your troubles too. Right now, nothing could swallow my troubles.
There was a big TV mounted on the wall across from the couch. It was sleek. New. On the coffee table, there was a neat stack of books, a candle burning, and coasters.
Framed artwork scattered the walls, it was all beautiful landscapes, some seascapes too. I’d wandered over to gaze at them because they were so beautiful, so full. The artist was someone named Lauren Mathers. Someone very talented, and someone I likely couldn’t afford.
Off the living area was a small kitchenette with a nice coffeemaker, a stocked fridge, and a small dining table. There were bedrooms down the hall, “if I felt like napping,” Stella had said.
No way could I close my eyes and do something like sleep when I wasn’t under the same roof as my son.
The bathroom had a big tiled shower and bath, nicer than a fancy hotel. Even though I’d only been to a fancy hotel once in my life, on my honeymoon, and we’d only stayed one night because we had to cut it short for a case.
It was all much nicer and trendier than my home. But it didn’t feel cold. Professional. T
he artwork, the books, the candles, throw pillows, all told me that someone had put thought into this.
It was nice for any other situation.
But it didn’t mean anything in this situation.
Until Polly came in. She carried around more calm than this room. She was beautiful, but that was not the first thing I noticed. She seemed bright, full of color, and that had nothing to do with her clothes. But it was her. I could feel a pureness to her energy.
She had focused on me. “I’m Polly,” she said in greeting. “I’m Heath’s wife. He works here. He’s one of the people who won’t rest until we get your son back.”
I blinked. There was something about the way she said it that shook what was already rattling inside me. There was a hurt, a personal kind of loss inside of it. Like I wasn’t some stranger, like my child was not just some job for her husband. Like it was her blood, her family, like my hurt was hers. It was an impossible thing for a stranger to do, but she didn’t feel like a stranger.
If this were another circumstance, I guessed we might have been firm friends. I would have been excited to meet such a person.
But I felt like I’d never be excited about anything ever again.
I realized that I’d just silently been staring at her after she spoke. But she didn’t seem impatient or irritated at my lack of response. She just stood there, warm and sad half smile on her beautiful face.
“I’m Elena,” I said, my voice a whisper.
Once I spoke, she nodded, moving to the small kitchenette to boil the kettle. “I’m going to make us tea,” she decided.
She wasn’t asking me if I wanted it, she was taking the decision from me as if she sensed there was no way I could even make a choice as to whether I wanted tea or not right now. All my willpower was going to the decision to inhale and exhale, the effort to hold myself together.
“You go sit on the sofa,” she called gently. “It’s more comfortable there. I know nothing is comfortable right now, but we’ll sit there anyway.”
I obeyed her because her voice was calm, decisive and something else. A little bit haunted. Some shadow of a past knowing of hurt. Of trauma.
So I sat.
She boiled the kettle.
Made us tea.
And then came to sit beside me and immediately asked about Nathan.
I clutched the warm mug, wishing the heat would seep into my bones, but it didn’t, they were ice cold.
Her words filtered through me and I paused, preparing to launch into all the things I spouted about my son whenever someone asked.
But I couldn’t.
My mind cleared.
Blanked.
I blinked rapidly, panicking. “I,” I choked out the single word, trying to call up my memories. It was like trying to scrape the bottom of a dried-up well for a glass of water.
Nothing.
“I can’t remember him,” I choked out. “I can’t even remember anything.” Never in my life did I think I’d forget a single detail about my son, not a strand of hair. But here I was trying to call up what frickin’ color it was.
“What’s happening to me?” I whispered. “I can’t remember my son. What is my body doing? Does it know I’m never going to see him again? Is it trying to prepare me for something?” My voice was shaking now. Rattling with panic. With horror.
Polly gently took the mug from my hands and placed both of them on the coffee table. She squeezed my palm. “No, your mind is in immense pain right now,” she said. “It is helpless right now. And people deal with pain and trauma in all different ways.”
“I’m a terrible mother,” I whispered not taking in her words. “I can’t remember my son.”
Polly squeezed my hand, harder this time. “You are not a terrible mother. I can tell you that for certain. And you know what? You don’t need to remember him. You’re going to see him soon.”
There was something in her words, some kind of strength, different, completely separate from Keltan’s strength.
And, for some reason, I believed her.
Most likely because my survival and sanity depended on it.
Lance
“I’m taking point on this,” Keltan told him as he grabbed the handle on the door before the car had come to a complete stop.
Lance clutched the handle. “Like fuck,” he snapped.
He couldn’t explain or understand the anger in his voice. He was sure it confused Keltan since it wasn’t characteristic of him. That was his specialty, handling any situation without the burden of emotional reactions.
“It wasn’t a request,” Keltan said. “I’m taking point on it. Can’t trust you not to go off on this, and we already discussed that isn’t how we’re doing this.”
Yes, they had discussed it. Despite him and Rosie having big misgivings about it. Rosie had been most vocal, of course. He communicated his hatred for this course of action silently. But they all were unhappy with it, even Keltan, who was the one to have the final say on it.
They all wanted to punish this motherfucker. Lance didn’t just want to punish him, he wanted to bury him.
But with the information they’d collected over the past eight hours, it became apparent, the way they wanted to handle it—with a bullet to the temple after a painful beating—would not be smart, nor would it get the kid out clean. And there wasn’t a guarantee that it wouldn’t blowback on Elena or the kid.
That was the only reason that Lance hadn’t gone rogue and did what needed to be done. Not because he cared overly about his job, or even because he respected Keltan—though he did. Because whatever small chance existed of this affecting the two innocents in this situation, he couldn’t risk it.
That was foreign to him, along with all of this emotion. Risks were inevitable in situations like this. Innocents usually got caught in the crossfire. It was an inescapable and ugly truth you had to figure out how to live with if you wanted to live a life like Lance.
He didn’t want to live this life how he did, there was just no other choice. So he turned his emotions off and became resigned to the fact that the wrong people got hurt a lot more often than the right people.
But there was no risking this. He was willing to forgo his animal need for blood and justice.
But he wasn’t willing to give up complete control as Keltan was forcing him to do.
He clenched his teeth. “I won’t go off,” he said.
Keltan regarded him with a raised brow. “Callin’ bullshit on you there, brother.” He clapped him on the shoulder, even though his boss likely knew how dangerous human contact was with Lance right now. “We’re gonna get that boy back.”
It seemed like they were. Because inside that shitty McMansion, inside a gated community, was Robert Hudson’s official place of residence as of two months ago, when he relocated from Virginia to California, with a promotion and a shot at running for office.
Rosie was going in first.
Because a man like Robert would think with his dick first seeing a woman like Rosie. He definitely wouldn’t consider her a threat.
Which would be a big fucking mistake.
Then they’d go in.
Retrieve the boy, deliver their instructions to Robert. Those being never to contact, see or touch Elena or the kid ever again. And show him just what would happen if he did.
They were using information instead of fists in order to deliver this message. Lance would rather use knives. But sometimes, to people who already spoke with their fists, information was more powerful and damaging.
Especially a fuck like Hudson who was trying to get votes and relied on the shiny image below the rotten exterior.
He ultimately cared only about himself, not his wife or kid, so he would protect himself in all the ways he didn’t protect them.
It was deeply fucked up, but it was going to work to their advantage.
Elena’s advantage.
He’d heeded Keltan’s orders and stayed away from her the entire time that they were at the offic
es, waiting for intel, making plans. Not because his boss had commanded it, but because he knew he couldn’t be around her. That didn’t stop him from watching her on the monitors. She hadn’t eaten, from what he’d seen, and that also had almost him breaking all promises to himself and Keltan and storming up there to force feed her.
But he didn’t.
Because Polly, Rosie, and Lucy were all in and out of the room.
Each of the wives had dropped everything the second they heard what was going on. Because they were good mothers. Good women. And they would provide Elena with something she needed that Lance couldn’t.
But he still watched her, whenever he could, which wasn’t often. She hadn’t slept. And neither had he. The rest of the team had snatched a few hours in shifts, but no one was comfortable sleeping on this shit.
Everyone knew the stats on missing children.
Even when they were taken by someone known. Especially when it was known that person was violent.
So they barely took breaks.
And it paid off.
Because it brought them here.
“Okay,” he hissed out through his teeth, his mind on the last image he’d glimpsed of Elena in the monitor. Time spent trying to argue with Keltan was more time that fucking look would be painted on her face. More time when she wasn’t giving her body nutrients.
Keltan looked surprised, as if he’d been preparing for more of a verbal battle, his body was taut, like he’d been expecting a physical one.
Not that Lance had given him reason to expect such things.
Sure, his job description meant he handled the most violent parts of the Greenstone Security business, it didn’t make him an aggressive man. He was violent by nature, but it was controlled, ironclad. He didn’t get in fights with people at bars, with men who said stupid shit, didn’t let himself be controlled by such things. Mainly because that shit didn’t even puncture the surface. But because if he unleashed in those environments, where a black eye and maybe a couple of broken ribs were what was expected, he’d be covered in blood and the other person wouldn’t be breathing.