Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(82)

Please, God, please, if you let them be alive, he bargained with the Big Kahuna as he heaved again, I promise I’ll love them and protect them until the day I die. No more secrets. No more running. No more blame. I’ll make this family work and—

The sound of the cartoon playing in Franklin’s room drifted to his ears and had him stumbling forward. In a split second he was across the hall, pushing into the bedroom, nearly fainting with relief when he saw his son’s wide, alive eyes staring at him from the middle of the bed.

The boy’s bottom lip began to quiver, his face scrunching up—uh-huh, Jake knew he was quite the sight, especially to a three-year-old, but there was nothing to be done for it now. So he simply held his finger to his mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered as he rushed across the room to kneel beside Franklin’s bed. “I need you to be really quiet for me, buddy. Can you do that?”

“J-Jake?”

“Yeah, little bro, it’s me.” He patted Franklin’s leg beneath the covers then winced when he saw the big, bloody handprint he’d left behind.

“You’ve g-got bwud,” Franklin announced, staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

Nope. The problem wasn’t that he had blood, but that he’d lost too much of the stuff. It was hard to concentrate beyond the dizziness that had his head spinning on his shoulders.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assured his son as he grasped the edge of the mattress to steady himself. “Now, I need you to listen to me. There’s a bad man in the house, and I need to hide you. Do you know of a good hiding place?”

Franklin shook his head.

Shit.

“Okay,” he said, pushing up from his kneeling position to sprint to the window, quietly throwing open the sash.

A two-story drop.

There was no balcony, no patio roof, no lattice work attached to the side of the house. Nothing to help his son reach the ground save for a two-story drop.

He could fashion a sling out of the bedclothes maybe, and lower Franklin that way, but it would take up precious time and he needed to go find Shell.

“Where’s Mama?” Franklin whimpered, and Jake spun back into the room.

“She’s safe.” Please let that be true. “And now I need to get you safe, too.”

“Mama said she’ll spank me if I get outta bed,” his bottom lip protruded even farther.

“She did? When did she say that?” Then Jake shook his head when he realized time meant nothing to a three-year-old. “Never mind, buddy. Listen, I promise you your mama won’t be mad or spank you. She wants me to help you get out of the house.”

“Sh-she does?”

“Yes,” he whispered, wracking his brain for another solution. Then, magically, Franklin offered one up.

“You could use the wadder.”

“What, buddy?” His control was fraying with every ticking second. Every second he couldn’t afford to lose. “What’s a wadder?”

“The fire wadder,” Franklin pointed toward his closet door with a shaky finger. “Mama keeps it beside the toy box.”

A half-breath later, Jake was across the room, soundlessly throwing open the closet door and nearly weeping with gratitude at the sight that met his eyes.

In a matter of seconds, he’d attached the emergency rope ladder to the windowsill and was lowering his brave son onto the first wrung.

“Now when you get to the bottom,” he instructed quietly as he watched the boy scramble down the device—it was obvious by his sure footedness, despite his young age, that Shell had practiced with him many times, the brilliant woman, “you run next door and ring the doorbell. Tell whoever answers that there’s a bad man in your house and they need to call the police.”

“Okay,” Franklin whispered, and Jake took a moment to sigh with relief when his son’s foot touched the ground, then he was back through the window and racing downstairs, the monster he’d learned to control over the years was screaming for release.

And he did what he hadn’t done in a long time. He turned it loose…





Chapter Seventeen


“Mmm,” Johnny sucked his teeth and dropped his hand to rub at the bulge in his crotch as he cut through Michelle’s last bra-strap and her breasts spilled free.

She bit into the gag and turned away. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching as he ogled her. Nor would she give him the satisfaction of hearing her whimper, though there was definitely one building at the back of her throat.

“Look what we have here,” he taunted, and she squeezed her eyes shut, curling her tied hands into fists when she felt his gloved fingers move over her left breast. He twisted the nipple. Hard. But she still refused to cry out. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on these puppies for a couple of days now,” he drawled. She could feel his fetid breath on her cheek. “And thanks to the info I got outta Lisa, now I’ve got my chance.”

She jerked her head around, unable now to stop the tears spilling from her eyes or the hard sob that sounded around the gag.

Lisa? No!

Johnny smiled with nauseating delight. “Yeah, I paid a visit to your nanny last night. She was very accommodating.”

If she hadn’t been wearing the gag, she would’ve spit right in the middle of his evil, smirking face.