Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
My son’s father would be dead right now.
How far from reality did I drift that I thought bringing a violent mobster on the most important errand of my life with me would end well? And now, as if Jasper hasn’t been traumatized enough by his kidnapping, he will be forever scarred by seeing his father brutally assaulted by his mother’s boyfriend.
Not okay.
Not in any realm or reality.
I fish my phone out of my purse. I need to take charge of this situation and do what’s right. “I’m calling an ambulance,” I mutter.
“Don’t,” Junior warns.
“You don’t get to make this decision,” I snarl at him.
The color drains from his face. He takes a step back and his eyes go dead again.
I carry Jasper into his bedroom while I make the 911 call, then hang up and set him down. “You’re coming home with Mommy now. I missed you so much, Jasper.” I drop to my knees and give him another bear hug.
“I missed you, too, Mommy.” His little voice kills me. So sweet. So precious to my ears.
“What do you want to pack to bring along? Any special toys or stuffed animals?” He has a favorite pillow he was terribly attached to at home. I cried into it at least a dozen times, wondering how he was sleeping without it.
“I’ll bring Mr. Dragon.” He picks up a rainbow-colored stuffed dragon.
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head. “I just want to go home.”
Ugh. I moved after his dad took him from me because I needed to downgrade to afford the P.I. I’m not going to tell Jasper that now, though.
I pick him up again and carry him into the living room as the sirens approach the house.
Junior’s standing in the open door, waiting for the swarm of cops and paramedics who stream into the little apartment.
As the second shit-storm of the night rolls in, I realize I probably made a huge mistake.
* * *
Junior
The cops throw me face down and cuff me as soon as they arrive, even though I offer no resistance. I expected this kind of treatment, though. I just didn’t want Desiree or her boy to have to see it.
Cristo, I fucked up.
Big time.
I already wanted to throttle her stronzo ex for what he put her through taking the boy, but when I saw him smash the door into her face, I relished killing him.
But not in front of her. Not in front of the boy. I should’ve pulled back. Or pulled him out of the apartment. I don’t know. I should’ve done something different.
Because now I’m sure I’ve lost Desiree. The horror and condemnation on her face make it clear.
“Well, look here,” one of the two beat cops who showed up drawls. “Driver’s license says this is Santo Tacone, from Chicago. Wouldn’t be related to the Don Tacone sitting in a Federal Prison right now, wouldya?”
I don’t answer.
It earns me a swift kick to the ribs. Fine. Local cops want to be heroes and give me a beat-down, they’re welcome to it. I probably deserve it for what I’m putting Desiree through.
After a few more bruising kicks, the other cop, who was interviewing Desiree, snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“He was resisting arrest,” the first cop says.
“You got a room full of witnesses, dumbshit,” he says, which is true. The tiny apartment also has three paramedics in it, as well as Desiree and Jasper. “And seriously—I don’t think you wanna fuck with this guy.” He hooks an arm under mine and tugs, helping me off the floor and to my feet.
“Are you kidding? We got Santo Tacone, Jr. on something solid. Assault and battery. No way we’re not taking this as far as we can.”
“Let him go,” Desiree storms. “He was just protecting me.” I’m more than a little relieved that she’s defending me, although I’m not stupid enough to think it changes things. Clearly she didn’t see this coming. She hasn’t been on the wrong side of the law her whole life, like I have.
The first cop looks confused.
“It was self-defense.” The second cop unlocks my handcuffs.
I have to hide my shock. But this could be the classic Good Cop, Bad Cop play.
“Are you kidding me? He put that guy in the hospital,” Bad Cop says.
“So he got a little aggressive. I’d be hot, too, if someone hit my girlfriend and kidnapped her child.”
I keep my mouth shut. I know better than to ever say a word in front of law enforcement.
The paramedics wheel Abe out on a stretcher. Good Cop speaks into his radio.
Bad Cop narrows his eyes. “You’re scared of this guy. Wait—you’re from Chicago, aren’t you?”
“I grew up in Tacone territory, yeah. What I remember mostly is they kept the streets safe. So, no. I don’t have a hard-on for putting a guy away who was acting hero for his girlfriend.”