I turned toward the top of the wooden stairs, gripping the wrench so hard my forearms ached. They had come for my granddaughter. They were about to learn they had just walked into the home of a man who had absolutely nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER 2
I pressed my back against the wall directly beside the open doorway of the loft, holding the heavy steel wrench tightly against my chest. My breathing was slow and measured, a survival instinct kicking in from a violent past I thought I had buried deeply enough to forget.
Downstairs, the harsh scrape of a heavy metal trash can being shoved aside echoed through the garage bay.
"Check the office," the deep voice commanded. The tone was completely casual, the sound of a man who was entirely used to entering places he didn't belong and taking whatever he wanted. "You, go up those stairs."
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to ascend the wooden staircase toward the loft. Thud. Thud. Thud.
I risked a quick glance back at the couch. Lily was still fast asleep, completely unaware of the nightmare climbing toward us. The pink raincoat lay innocently on the wooden table, hiding whatever deadly secret Emily had sewn inside it.
The footsteps reached the top landing. A shadow stretched across the floorboards. A man stepped into the threshold of the loft, a heavy black flashlight raised in his left hand, scanning the darkness.
I didn't hesitate.
I swung the heavy steel wrench horizontally, slamming it squarely into the hand holding the flashlight.
There was a sickening crunch of bone, and the man dropped the flashlight with a sharp, breathless grunt. Before he could shout, I dropped my weight, driving my shoulder directly into his sternum, and launched him backward. He crashed violently down the wooden stairs, tumbling heavily to the concrete floor of the garage bay below with a massive crash.
"Upstairs!" someone yelled from the gloom.
I didn't wait in the loft. Waiting meant letting them trap me with Lily. I rushed down the stairs, leaping over the groaning man on the concrete, and landed in the center of my massive, oil-stained workspace.
The main bay was illuminated only by the thin silver moonlight bleeding through the high windows. Two men were advancing on me, their boots crunching on spilled gravel and debris.
The leader stepped forward. He was tall, heavily muscled, wearing a dark tactical jacket. But what caught my eye, what seared itself into my brain in the dim light, was the thick, intricate tattoo climbing up the left side of his neck. It looked like a serpent coiled around a jagged crown, rendered in stark, heavy black ink.
"Arthur Thorne," the tattooed man said, his voice completely calm. He didn't sound angry; he sounded irritated, like dealing with me was just administrative work. "My name is Silas. Put the tool down, old man. We aren't here for you. We're here for the child."
"You're trespassing," I growled, planting my boots on the concrete. "And you're about thirty seconds away from leaving in a hearse."
Silas chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Tough talk from a man who hasn't swung a chain in a decade. We are family, Arthur. Her father wants her back. Now, be a good citizen and hand over the girl before things get unpleasant."
Her father.
Cole. Emily’s toxic, abusive boyfriend she had run away with all those years ago. The boy I had begged her to leave. The boy who had driven a wedge so deep between me and my daughter it tore us apart.
If Cole had sent these men, it meant Cole was responsible for whatever happened to Emily.
Pure, unadulterated rage flooded my veins.
"She doesn't have a father anymore," I spat.
The man to Silas's right lunged forward.
I sidestepped, grabbing a heavy, oil-slicked chain dangling from a rusted engine hoist above me. I yanked it hard, pulling the heavy steel engine block directly into the man's path. He slammed into the swinging metal with brutal force, the air rushing from his lungs in a wheeze, and crumpled to the floor.
Silas swore and charged. He was fast, much faster than a man his size should be. He tackled me around the waist, driving my back painfully into the sharp metal edge of a tool bench. The wrench flew from my hand, skittering uselessly across the floor.
Silas pinned me, his heavy forearm pressing tightly against my throat. He leaned in, the stench of stale tobacco and cheap mints on his breath. "The girl, Arthur. Where is the damn coat?"
The coat. Not just the girl. He wanted the coat.
I reached behind me on the workbench, my hand blindly searching the scattered tools. My fingers closed around a heavy can of industrial degreaser. I brought it around, smashing the heavy aerosol can directly into the side of Silas’s head.
The can burst, spraying thick, stinging chemicals into his eyes. Silas screamed, dropping me as he clawed frantically at his burning face.
I didn't wait to see if he recovered. I scrambled up, breathing hard, my chest burning, and sprinted back up the stairs.
Lily was sitting up on the couch, her eyes wide with terror, the blanket pulled up to her chin.