AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter One
Penta Potter woke with a start, her pulse accelerating to Indy 500 speed in a millisecond.
The front door closed with a quiet yet unmistakable thunk. The click of it opening must have been what had disturbed her moments before.
As the mother of a preteen, two teenagers, and a just-turned-twenty-one-year-old, her ears were finely honed to noises in the night. But all her children should have been safe in their beds.
A glance at her bedside clock showed 1:12 in glowing red numerals. Muffled voices filtered through her closed bedroom door. Both male, both irritated. One a gruff rumbling bass, the other a light reedy tenor.
Sliding out of bed, she retrieved the baseball bat she’d placed underneath it the first night she’d slept alone in the master suite she and Mark had shared. She’d had no occasion to use it, but knowing it was there reassured her.
Her right hand gripping the smooth wood about one-third of the way up—the better for getting power behind the stroke—she eased open the door with her left and put her ear to the crack.
“Come on, dude.” Her second son’s sullen voice drifted up the stairs leading from the main floor to the bedroom level. “I’ll tell her in the morning. I promise.”
A fraction of the tension banding her shoulders relaxed, even as a new question arose. What was Cyril doing awake? He’d arrived home on the dot of eleven, his Friday night curfew, and grunted goodnight before disappearing to his room in the basement. She’d finished the movie she’d been pretending to watch as she waited and trailed up to her own room a few minutes later, ready to rest now all her chicks were at roost.
“How stupid do you think I am?”
The second voice had the hairs on the back of Penta’s neck shivering to attention. So deep she could feel it in her toes. So menacing that if she’d had a tail it would have tucked between her legs.
Her protective instincts roared and she flew down the stairs, bare feet silent on the carpet, baseball bat raised above her head. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing with my son?”
Cyril’s thin, gawky frame was eclipsed by the hulk of the man looming next to him. A black ball cap shadowed the stranger’s eyes and the lower part of his face was hidden by a full, dark red beard flecked with silver. Wide shoulders cloaked in black leather, and thick legs encased in soiled, tattered jeans completed the terrifying picture.
Penta’s heart rate tripled and she blinked dizziness away. Waggling the bat threateningly, she spoke through clenched teeth. “Well, who are you? Cyril, get over here.” She jerked her head and stepped to the side, making room behind her.
“Jeez, Mom.” Cyril hunched his shoulders, his expression an agony of humiliation. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I won’t let him hurt you.”
If anything, her pronouncement only increased Cyril’s embarrassment. He muttered an obscenity. She’d deal with that offense later, after she’d taken care of the more pressing danger.
The stranger listened to this exchange with no softening of his flinty expression. “For fuck’s sake, boy. Show your mother some respect.” Since he used the same expletive, his command lost much of its force.
His words did, however, lessen her anxiety. A thug intent on mayhem surely wouldn’t be worried about Cyril’s filial obedience. “Will someone please explain what’s going on?”
Cyril’s posture lost all its belligerence as he shrank into himself like a turtle in a shell.
“Tell her.” Big, Red, and Scary’s tone brooked no rebellion.
Despite her growing conviction Cyril had done something dreadful, she was indignant. “Don’t tell him what to do.”
Big, Red, and Scary ignored her. “Spit it out.”
His gaze drilled into Cyril’s profile and her son ducked his chin even lower, wriggling his hips. Her heart sank. He’d done that since he was a toddler when caught sinning.
“Cyril? What happened?” She realized she was still holding the baseball bat at shoulder height and let her arm drop to her side.
He muttered a few words, most of which were unintelligible.
Big, Red, and Scary took one step toward Cyril, who looked younger and frailer than ever. “Speak up.”
“Me and the guys broke some windows. At his shop.” He jerked his head in a minuscule movement toward the stranger.
“And?” The single syllable uttered in a quiet growl was more terrifying than any shout.
Cyril drew in a long shaky breath and revealed the rest in one hurried rush, as if saying it fast would make it sound less horrible. “And we knocked over a couple motorbikes and messed up some displays and tried to break into a drawer where we thought there might be money. And the other guys got away, but he caught me.” Another tiny twitch toward his accuser.
