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I know, without a shadow of a doubt, he followed whoever attacked us.
“We need to call for backup,” Matty says, his voice laced with frustration and concern.
“On it,” Desmond replies, looking at me as I curl around Milo, holding him tight. His eyes narrow, scanning the devastation in my living room. “Watch them,” Desmond tells Matty, who nods sharply and surveys the room with a trained eye.
“Are we safe just sitting here?” I whisper to him.
Matty glances out the window, then back. “Whoever it was is gone now,” he states, moving across the room to inspect the damage. Shattered glass from the curio cabinet litters the floor, a reminder of the invasion.
Milo clings to me, his small frame trembling with fear. I hold him close, attempting to provide some semblance of comfort in this nightmare. The minutes tick by, each one feeling like an eternity.
Albert, our feline companion, prances from the steps to the couch and hops up in Milo’s lap, purring loudly. Cats are freaking weird, knowing when we humans need them, and they bring a sense of calm with them. His white body stretches out on Milo’s lap, and he laps up his tears.
“Is Lyric okay?” Milo blinks up at me, his eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.
Pressing a kiss to his temple, I run my cheek against his soft skin, breathing him in. “Lyric knows just what he’s doing. I have no doubt that he’s okay.”
As Matty investigates the room, the air grows thicker with tension. Each creak of the floorboards and whisper of wind feels like an ominous warning. My heart races, and I can’t shake the feeling that danger lurks in every corner of my once cozy home.
Desmond walks in, his eyes dark. “My brothers are on their way, and we are leaving,” he states firmly, his voice carrying an undertone of controlled anger. He steps over the debris, glass crunching under his feet as he crouches before Milo and me. “Hey, kiddo.” Desmond reaches out, cupping Milo’s face in his large, calloused hands.
“Are we safe?” Milo’s little voice trembles with fear and uncertainty.
“I promise to always keep you safe,” he whispers, his tone gentle but resolute. “And even if I can’t, Matty or Lyric will.”
“I had a nightmare,” Milo confides in Desmond, turning to him. Sniffling, he wipes his nose along his forearm. “I dreamed someone took me, and I got lost in a corn maze. Can you find me in a corn maze?”
Desmond smirks, a rare sign of warmth in his usually stoic demeanor meant to reassure the little one in my arms. “Lyric just so happens to be the best tracker in the world,” he assures Milo. “But if you feel scared, I can put a little tracker in your shoe. That way, I can find you no matter where you are in the world.”
“A tracker?” Milo’s eyes widen with intrigue, his body easing up and his trembling subsiding with that one promise from Desmond.
“Yep, I’ll show you tomorrow. Would you like that?” Desmond asks, his rough exterior giving way to a softer side when interacting with the innocent.
Milo nods enthusiastically, his ease growing into newfound confidence. “Then I’d like to know who blew up our house.” His frown turns into a determined grimace.
It takes everything in me not to laugh when I realize he’s mimicking Desmond’s facial expressions.
“Me too, kiddo, me too.” Desmond opens his arms wide, inviting Milo into a comforting embrace. “Is it okay if I carry you to the car?”
Milo practically launches himself into Desmond’s arms, his little body crashing into the safe haven Desmond provides. Albert releases a soft, little meow before settling against me, a comforting presence in our tumultuous world. The unknown enemy might have shattered our home, but in Desmond’s arms, Milo finds a semblance of safety and the promise of retribution.
“Bullets,” Matty says, his voice slicing through the tense air. My head snaps to the side as I swallow bile. He stands by the wall, digging one out with a knife. “No emblem.”
I rise on shaky legs, cradling the kitten to my chest. “What does that mean?”
“It means someone just played their hand,” Desmond says as he holds Milo to his chest and walks over to the wall. He says nothing more, his eyes darting between Milo and me, an unspoken truce not to speak in front of the child.
I hear the squeal of car tires outside, followed by footsteps as they get out and rush toward my little home.
“Get back inside!” I hear Dom yell, probably to Jani. He’s the first through the door, his eyes scanning the room and then us. He goes straight to Milo, stealing him from Desmond’s protective arms.
“Uncle Dom.” Milo latches onto him as if he’s his favorite superhero.
What surprises me even more is Dom, who cracks a freaking smile. “Hey, Milo, can you hear me okay?”
“Yep,” Milo answers.
“I’m going to carry you to the car and check you over, all right?” Dom asks, but he’s already moving through the house and out the front door, creating a protective shield around Milo.
