And then this ends, I’ll bleed him dry. Brother or not. He just lost his right to have our name.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
LOLA
The shouting has gotten progressively louder.Reese’s voice slices through me. “This is insane! This is a child, Beau! A fucking child! Hunter will?—”
“Hunter will do what I tell him to do when I have his wife and his son.” Beau’s voice is completely void of emotion.
A crash happens first, followed by more glass shattering.
“Don’t touch me!” Reese screams.
A thud. They’re fighting. Which is good. It’s buying me time.
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “How are you doing back there?”
“Nearly done.”
My body is almost vibrating with adrenaline. I feel my first wrist get untied as it flops down. I shake it out as Wyatt’s tiny fingers work the right wrist.
Seconds feel like hours. But he does it. My boy gets my wrists free.
“Good job, Wyatt,” I tell him.
Another nod. His lip is trembling, but his eyes are locked on mine.
The fight in the kitchen is getting louder. More desperate. Something else shatters. I hear Reese shouting words I can’t make out.
This is my chance to save Wyatt. That is all I care about now.
I look down at my wrists. My hands are slick with blood from where I’ve been pulling.
He reaches for me immediately, and I pull him against my chest. “Okay. You’re okay.” I press my lips against his hair. “We’re going to go now. Very quiet. Like mice. Can you do that?” I tell him as I lift him into my arms.
He nods against my neck.
I head over to the sash window behind the couch as lightly as I can. It’s old and wooden. I push it up. It sticks. I shove harder, and it screams on its runners.
I freeze.
The fighting in the kitchen stops.
Silence.
My heart is in my throat.
I grab Wyatt, lift him to the window, and push him through. He lands on the ground outside with a soft thud. And it’s like I can finally breathe again. “Run,” I choke out. “Run and don’t stop. Find a road. Find a person. Tell them your name is Wyatt Sterling and your daddy’s phone number is?—”
I recite Hunter’s number. The one I’ve memorized. The one burned into my brain.
Wyatt stares up at me through the window with those blue eyes full of a terror no child should ever know. “What about you, mommy?” he whispers.
My hands fly to my mouth to stop the sob from erupting out of me. He called me mommy. And that might be the first and only time I get to hear that come from his mouth.
The door handle behind me rattles.
“I’ll be right behind you, son. Now go. Run. Don’t look back. I love you.”