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The other guy motioned with his 9 mil, urging us to follow the command, and I kept myself in front of Samantha with her pinned to the counter behind me.
“You have less than two minutes to leave before my husband comes home. And if he sees a gun pointed at me, he’ll kill you both and ask questions later,” Samantha warned, no fear in her tone.
The men may have been armed, but there were multiple ways I could take down these pricks.
“But so help me, if you hurt my dog, I’ll kill you myself,” Samantha added, her voice sharp. I didn’t need to look back to know she was peering around my body, glaring at the intruders.
“I may be a killer, but I draw the line at harming animals,” the man closest to me casually commented while I finally lifted my arms in the air, continuing to calculate my next steps. “Your dog’s asleep, though.”
No accents from what I could tell. Or they were great actors working to disguise their origins from me. Both had dark hair and eyes. Beards. About my age or a few years older. Nothing too distinguishable aside from some ink on the backs of their hands.
“I’m here on behalf of your brother.” The only man who’d spoken so far positioned his eyes on me. “Not here to hurt you or the girl.” I faltered at his words, and when I started to lower my arms, he motioned for me to lift them. “And we’re not looking to start shit with your husband. Our man is tailing him home from your son’s daycare, and we have about four minutes until he’s back. But we should only need two,” he went on, his tone steady and calm. Preferable to irritable and erratic, I supposed.
“If you so much as even think about touching my son, so help me . . .” Samantha rasped, but fortunately, she knew better than to do something irrational and lunge for them.
I might have been a special operator, but I couldn’t charge the two guys without getting pumped full of lead.
Assuming this guy was in charge since he was the only one talking, I kept my attention focused on him. “What do you mean, on behalf of my brother?”
He holstered his pistol beneath his suit jacket, swapping it for a phone. “Anthony said you’d want proof of life before we went into details.”
I frowned, still trying to wrap my head around what was going on and how my brother had managed to get himself into trouble this time. Because two guys wouldn’t be standing there otherwise.
He set the phone on the ground and kicked it across the floor with his black suede loafer. Had Anthony told him I was dangerous? Warned him not to get close, or I’d kill him? Why would he help this asshole out if he was in danger?
“Pick it up,” he instructed, and I quickly snatched it from the floor. “As you can see, Anthony’s holding today’s New York Times paper.”
I briefly eyed the picture of my brother. Backward hat over his longish, curly blond hair. In a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows showing his forearms covered in ink. He was sitting in a chair inside what appeared to be a bedroom holding the paper. His green eyes were on the camera. No bruises or visible injuries.
“Right now, he’s worth nothing to us dead. Not when he owes us so much money.”
I released a low, guttural sound, putting two and two together. “How much did you stake him for at the casino?”
“We didn’t stake him. We paid off the debts he owed to others, and now he owes us. With interest, of course. We thought with his celebrity status, he’d be good for it. Turns out, he wasn’t.” He checked his watch. Owen would be there soon.
“How much?” Had Anthony already pissed away all of his pro-hockey money? He’d only just retired, but damn, knowing my brother . . .
“Nine fifty,” the guy dropped the hammer on me, and I resisted the urge to close my eyes in disgust.
“Nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” Almost a million in debt? Was my brother insane? “And he told you I can square up his debt?” What in God’s name was going on?
“You have two weeks. We’re being generous with that timeframe.” He grabbed his pistol from his suit jacket again. “Keep that phone. We’ll have Anthony call in a few days with proof of life so you remain motivated.” He tipped his head, motioning for the silent guy to start moving. “Rob a bank if you have to, but if you want to see your brother alive, you’ll pay off his debt.”
I took a step forward, and Samantha reached for my arm, reminding me not to go for the jugular at the man’s words. My body was tense, and I was prepared to fight, but I restrained myself and watched the assholes leave.
The second I heard the front door down the hall shut, I hurried that way and looked out the window to get a view of the street.
The two men hopped into the backseat of a black Escalade, and then they took off. The windows were too tinted to make out the passengers in the front, and of course, the license plate was missing.
I cursed and went back into the kitchen only to find it empty. I turned off the stove and found Samantha in the backyard sitting alongside her Husky.
“He okay?” I took a knee opposite Ollie. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth, but he was breathing.
She’d already removed the tranq dart from his side. “Yeah, he should be okay.”
A few seconds later, I reached for her hand and helped her stand. “I’m so sorry I put you all in danger.”
“Not your fault.” Her gaze cut past me, and when I turned to see Owen pulling into the driveway, we both started for the gate.
