Page 54

Finn drives us in an unmarked car, parking close to the entrance. The grocery store is busy with morning shoppers. For the first time in weeks, I feel almost normal, pushing a cart down aisles filled with ordinary people doing ordinary things.

Conor runs ahead to the fruit section. "Can we get apples? The red ones?"

I don't have to say no anymore, he can have the nice apples, and the fun cereal. But at what cost? "Sure, baby. Pick out some good ones."

I watch Conor's small hands inspect each apple, his face scrunched in concentration. He holds up a particularly shiny one, pride in his eyes.

"This one's perfect, Mom."

The moment shatters.

A man in a black jacket appears from nowhere. His arm shoots out and grabs Conor by the wrist. My son's eyes widen in terror.

"Mom!"

My heart stops. The apple hits the floor with a dull thud.

"Let him go!" I lunge forward, fingers clawing at the man's arm. "Finn! Help!"

Conor kicks and screams. The man lifts him off the ground. Where the fuck is Finn?

"Get your hands off my son!" I punch, claw, kick—anything to make him let go.

Something hard crashes against the back of my skull. Pain explodes through my head. My vision blurs.

Conor's scream cuts through everything. "Mommy!"

I reach for him as my knees buckle. His terrified face is the last thing I see before darkness swallows me whole.

I wake up on the cold tile floor, surrounded by store employees and customers. My head throbs, and panic claws up my throat as I remember.

"Conor!" I try to stand but the world spins. "They took my son!"

A security guard holds me down. "The police are on their way, ma'am."

"I don't need police, I need to find my son!" I push him off and stagger to my feet. My phone rings in my pocket—an unknown number.

"Hello?" My voice shakes.

"Ms. Brennan." The voice is male, heavily accented. Russian. "Your son is safe. For now."

"If you hurt him?—"

"That depends on you. And on Declan Donovan."

I grip the phone tighter. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Petrov wants what belongs to him. The Donovan’s took something valuable. Now he has taken something valuable from them."

My son. My baby. Used as a bargaining chip in this insane power struggle.

"Put Conor on the phone. I need to know he's okay."

A pause, then my son's voice. "Mom?" He sounds terrified but alive.

"Baby, are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

"I want to come home." He starts crying. "I'm scared."