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Straining to breathe, the lackey nodded slightly. Buck released him and took a step back.
Glaring at Buck as he rubbed at his throat, the lackey forced out, “She needs to die.”
Buck nodded. “She will, along with that bastard Quinn. We’ll kill them both during the exchange. Now let’s get going.”
I closed my eyes just in case they happened to glance over at me as they went to leave the apartment. Even after I heard the door shut behind them, I kept them closed and processed everything they had said.
* * *
At some point I eventually fell asleep. It didn’t feel like long before the baby started crying again. I refused to take care of him this time. Buck was gone. So he’d cry until his mother woke her ass up.
I sat up and slowly rested my shoulder against the post. Every inch of me ached. Trying my best to ignore the baby’s cries and the unsettling urge to reach for him, I glanced at the window, trying to gauge the time. Bright, pale light was shining through the rips in the newspaper. Morning was all I could guess. The desire to know wasn’t strong enough to risk pulling out and powering on the phone I had in my pocket to check.
Movement in the corner of my eye pulled my attention from the window. Amelia was sitting up, staring down at her now-wailing baby in the basket as if in a daze. She sat like that for the longest time with emptiness in her eyes. Unable to take his cries any longer, I was about to say something. Then she reached for him. The way she moved as she changed his diaper was as if she was on autopilot.
I couldn’t stay quiet any longer as she began to pull the top of her dirty hospital gown down to expose one of her breasts. “What you put in your body you feed to your baby.” My voice was sharp and angry. Angry because of her carelessness. Angry because I cared.
Her eyes traveled to me. It seemed as if my words took a minute to process, but she eventually fixed her gown and dug around in the grocery bag for a premade bottle. As she fed the baby, she stared down at him with that emptiness until tears filled her eyes. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her face crumpling.
With how tired and hurt I was, it took effort not to show my annoyance. I preferred the emptiness over the crying.
Tears poured down her cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore,” she repeated.
“Being a mother or life?” I asked.
Her eyes met mine and I could see in them the desperation for peace she thought only death would provide.
I owe her,I reminded myself. “I doubt anyone will stop you from killing yourself, or care, for that matter,” I said coldly. “Except for that baby in your arms. I think he’d care a great deal.”
She looked back down at him and sadly, nothing changed in her eyes.
The urge to smack the shit out of her had me fisting my hands. I knew everyone handled trauma differently. I knew some could step up when it was needed despite what was killing them on the inside and others couldn’t. If her husband hadn’t taken from me what he had, I might have been able to apply that understanding toward her. But he had. And right now, all I could see when I looked at her was that she was about to abandon the one thing I’d give anything to have.
My gaze dropped to the baby in her arms, who was staring up at his mother like she was his whole world.
“He needs you, Amelia,” I said. Not for her, but for him.
She ignored me as she continued to cry.
One more push, I urged myself. “He won’t have anyone to care for him and protect him. He needs—”
“I can’t even protect myself!” she screamed.
I waved a hand at the door. “Go! Take him and go. Right now. That’s how you can protect you and him.”
She shook her head, crying harder. “I—I can’t.” She began rocking back and forth and lowered her forehead to her son’s, whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The agony in her voice made my chest feel heavy.
As she sat up straight, she held a look of acceptance that made my heart speed up. She pulled the bottle from his mouth and laid him back in the laundry basket. Right away, he began to fuss. Amelia stood on shaky legs and headed for the kitchen.
“Amelia,” I begged, knowing in my gut what she was going to do.
She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard me.
“Don’t do it. Don’t do this to your son,” I pleaded and tried to turn to still see her. The movement forced me to hunch forward, whimpering.
Amelia still kept walking.
Ignoring the pain, I started to climb to my feet. “If you do this, he’ll have no one.”
