Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(80)

“Sonofabitch!” he cursed when the old lady changed lanes without looking, effectively cutting him off. He had to work the wheel, gearshift, and pedals as he listened to it ring on the other end. And he prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore that she would answer…

***

Michelle was in the middle of scooping chocolate chip ice cream into Franklin’s favorite Mickey Mouse bowl while leaving yet another message for Lisa—she’d already checked her email; there was nothing, and now she was really worried—when her land-line call-waiting sounded.

Thank, God, she thought right before she clicked over. “Lisa? Where the heck are you? I’ve been wor—”

“Listen, Shell—”

“Rock?”

“Oui, chère, now listen closely, and don’t interrupt.” The tone of his voice had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. “Johnny knows about you. We found your picture and your information in his hotel room and—”

The sound of a gunshot exploded overhead, and her entire world came to a screeching halt.

Franklin…

She dropped the phone and raced into the living room, jumping over the toy fire truck in the middle of the rug and banging her hip against the end table upon landing. It sent the glass lamp sitting on top smashing to floor, but she gave it no mind as she sprinted to the stairs.

Franklin…That’s all she kept thinking over and over again. My boy…

She’d only made it halfway up the staircase when a dark shadow appeared on the landing above. Instinctively, she jerked back, her foot slipping on the tread below causing her to lose her balance and land in a heap on the cold, hard tiles of the foyer.

Scrambling to her feet, she wasted no time trying to determine if she’d broken anything in the fall—with the surge of adrenaline racing through her system, she wasn’t feeling anything anyway—as she attempted to make out the man’s face in the shadows.

She couldn’t. It was too dark with the hall lights off.

Of course, there was one shape she had no trouble discerning, and that was the distinctive outline of the pistol in his hands.

It was pointed straight at her head.

She threw her hands in the air as she glanced past his shoulder and screamed, “Franklin!”

She choked with relief when he called, “Mama?” His voice was high and frightened, but that didn’t matter because it was his voice. His sweet, sweet little voice. “What happened, Mama? What’s that noise?”

Her heart tripped over itself even as she sent a prayer of thanks skyward. And then she realized exactly what it meant that her son was still alive and well and asking questions…

Oh God, Jake. Oh, sweet Jesus…

“If you value your son’s life,” the man—Johnny?—hissed, slowly descending the stairs, “you’ll tell him to stay exactly where he is.”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak.

Jake’s dead. Jake’s dead. Jake’s—

The thought raced around and around inside her head, endlessly spinning until bile crawled up the back of her throat and the room began closing in on her. Then the sound of Franklin’s voice dragged her back from the edge of darkness.

“Mama!” he screamed again, and she was reminded her son was still alive. She had to keep it together, stay strong and smart for his sake.

She managed to swallow in order to yell, “S-stay in bed, sweetpea! I dropped a pan, that’s all. I’ll bring your ice cream to you in a little bit. Just watch your movie!”

“Nicely done, Mama,” Johnny jeered, his face coming into view when he reached the middle of the staircase and the light from the foyer washed over him.

He looked exactly like she imagined he would. The quintessential Italian mobster complete with slick dark hair, swarthy skin, leather jacket, and an expression that was 100 percent sociopath.

He’d have been handsome if it weren’t for the pure, black evil shining in his eyes.

“Back up,” he commanded, “into the kitchen.”

“My son—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Little Franklin will be just fine as long as his mama plays nice.” At the look of horror that washed over her face, he chuckled dryly. The sound was like a snake moving through dead leaves. A shiver raced down her spine in response.

“W-what do you want?” she managed, slowly backing toward the kitchen, wracking her brain for a way to save herself and her son.

Or, perhaps, just her son…

If she screamed at him to use the fire escape ladder stored beside his toy box to climb out his bedroom window, could he do it with his injury? They’d practiced the maneuver a lot, and each time he’d accomplished it with no problem, but he’d been healthy then. Or maybe she should yell for him to get up and run for the front door. But would she be able to wrestle with Johnny long enough to give Franklin a fighting chance? And would he actually leave if he saw her struggling with a strange man, or would her little warrior try to help?

“What do I want?” Johnny grinned, flashing a set of bleached teeth that were startlingly white. “Just to have a little fun.” The way he said the word fun made it sound filthy. “Don’t you want to have some fun?” He crudely waggled his tongue before winking.

Jake had a small armory upstairs. If she could just get past Johnny, she might be able to—