Was my dad here? I hadn’t heard his voice.
I opened the door, and my eyes roved over the tall, muscular man wearing an expensive suit.
“Time to die, little one.” His sneer turned into an evil smirk.
“No,” I bit out, backing up.
It happened so fast. His huge fist met the center of my face.
When I regained consciousness, the living room spun uncontrollably. I blinked twice, struggling to clear my vision.
My eyes grew wide as they took in Mom’s swollen, bloodied face. She caught sight of my clenched fists.
“No,” she silently urged from a kneeling position facing me.
I obeyed my mother. I wasn’t restrained. Glancing to my left, I saw my brother was bound. He must’ve attempted to fight one of the men.
I scanned the living room quickly.
Three men filled the space. One sat near Krew, his bright green eyes sharp beneath long brown hair, a scar slicing down his left cheek. Was he the leader? The other two stood looming over us, evaluating.
I knew who my dad was—a ruthless mafia boss. When things went wrong in the mafia world, entire families were sometimes wiped out. The thought twisted my stomach. Mom sat silently, hands bound in front of her. I understood why she didn’t struggle—she was six months pregnant with my baby sister.
Did Dad know we’d been taken hostage? Or had something terrible happened to him? The pain of that possibility gnawed at my heart. Questions flooded my mind. Where were our bodyguards? The coppery scent hung heavy in the air. If these men had breached our home, I knew what had become of them. They were dead.
The man who’d knocked me out drove his boot into my shin. “Sit the fuck up.”
Clenching my jaw, I fought back tears that blurred my sight. Staying sharp was crucial. Sitting up in my white and blue cheer t-shirt and blue running shorts, I felt exposed—those shorts seemed even shorter under their hungry stares. I hugged my legs close to my chest. The other guy was probably about eighteen, with a dark buzz cut and dressed in a navy suit paired with black boots. He disappeared from view. What were we waiting for? My mind raced, trying to guess their next move. I knew my father wasn’t a good man, but I never imagined he’d hold his enemy’s family hostage.
The younger man reappeared, gulping down a bottle of whiskey.
He holds it at his side and flashes a wicked grin. “Your dad has the good stuff. I have this same whiskey at home.”
I noticed someone in my periphery. I didn’t dare turn my head. My family and I were already outnumbered.
“How old are you?” the younger one stared down at me.
It felt like cotton clogging my throat. “Why?”
“I know the answer, but tell him,” the man in the chair ordered.
I glared up at him and hesitated.
A large hand flew across my cheek. “Tell him now,” my personal bully ordered.
I held my cheek, which felt like it had been set ablaze.
“Fourteen,” I gritted out.
“Stay away from her,” Mom warned.
“Mom, no. It’s ok.”
She couldn’t worry about me. She had to protect the baby.
The bully turned to her and slammed his boot into her belly. “Shut the fuck up.”
My heart hammered in my chest at the shrill that escaped her.
