Page 1 of Brick (Chosen Few #5)

N atalie hummed “Rock-a-bye Baby” while rocking in the wooden chair she’d picked up from a garage sale that morning. Bray lay snuggled in her arms, his stuffed dog tight in his grasp and his white fluffy blanket wrapped around him.

The chair wasn’t as nice as the one she’d left behind at Keetan’s, and the wood dug into her spine, but Bray was happy to have their rocking routine back. They’d both missed it.

Bray fell asleep quickly, making her even happier she’d taken him swimming at the indoor public pool earlier.

She stood and, in the darkness of their shared bedroom, moved to the wall where his crib waited. She lay him on the thin mattress and he immediately flipped onto his tummy and sighed.

Sweeping her hand over his dark curls, she felt her heart ache. Leaving their home two weeks ago had been tough, but he’d finally settled in their new space.

And he hadn’t even asked about Keetan.

She slipped out of the room and shut the door. In the living room, she lowered herself to the sofa. The apartment had come partially furnished, and the owner had been nice enough to pull an old crib out of storage for her.

She’d finally broken away from Keetan. She was still in disbelief that she no longer had to walk on eggshells. She didn’t have to count the hours until he went to work, or dodge him when he was home. She also didn’t have to pretend to fall asleep with Bray so he couldn’t try to get in her pants.

Keetan’s lack of response to her leaving him had her reeling, though. She’d fled while he was at work, and aside from a nasty text message sent when he finished his shift to find them gone, she hadn’t heard from him.

It was unsettling. Because Keetan was a loudmouth. A hothead. Someone who needed to unleash on people just to get his point across. Other than that one text, there’d been none of that.

Maybe he’d moved on to another woman—god, that’d be fantastic. Not for the new lady, but for Natalie and Bray, it’d be a dream.

She curled her feet under her and picked up her phone. A text message lit the screen. She tensed and looked. Keetan.

Dammit, she should’ve blocked him. She opened the message.

Last chance, bitch. You know what I can do and I’ll fucking do it.

Fear punched her in the gut. Her fingers trembled as she typed a message then deleted it.

There was no way to defuse him. She had no choice but to call his bluff.

She looked at the time the message had been sent—almost an hour ago.

She’d left her phone in the living room while doing Bray’s bedtime routine and hadn’t heard the text come in.

Bang , bang , bang !

“Police, open up!”

All the blood drained from her face. Her heart beat in triple time, and she rose to her feet. She wrapped one arm around her waist and with her free hand toyed with the neckline of her T-shirt.

Her gaze shot to the hallway. Bray hadn’t woken, and she didn’t want him to be scared. Keetan would be furious if she didn’t open the door, but doing so would only make Bray and her vulnerable.

She inched her way carefully to the door, feeling as though she were walking a burning path to hell. Could he have actually called the cops? It’d been his voice, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t reported her. After all, it was what he’d been promising to do for the last ten years.

“I know you’re there, Natalie.” His voice drifted through the crack in the door. “I can fucking smell you.”

Panic rooted her feet to the floor. He couldn’t see her. Certainly couldn’t smell her. But he still paralyzed her. She pressed her hand against the wall next to the front door to steady herself. She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as terror slapped her around between fight, flight, or freeze.

Summoning all of her strength, she pulled back her shoulders. She was the only person standing between Bray and a madman—she couldn’t cower. “You need to leave, Keetan.” She forced steel into her voice. “Bray’s asleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

A low, gruff laugh sounded. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he crooned. His voice was so close he might as well be in her ear.

Ice-cold terror coated her skin. She backed away and ran to the couch, where she’d left her phone. Calling 911 was a last resort, but here she was. Her thumb fumbled to unlock the screen.

Bam!

The door bounced on its hinges. She let out a sharp squeak.

Bam!

Bray shrieked a terrified wail, startled from his slumber.

Instinct ripped her in two. The need to run to her baby and comfort him was great, but the need to protect him greater.

If she went to his room, Keetan would go there looking for her.

If he found her right there, he might leave Bray alone.

She might even be able to talk him down.

Crash!

The wood door banged open.

She finally got her phone unlocked.

Keetan charged across the room, a baseball cap low on his eyes and a gun trained on her. “Drop the phone,” he snarled, as he stomped forward.

Her thumb hit 9 then 1 then—

He slammed the gun against her hand and the phone flew to the couch. Before she could dive for it, his knuckles smacked her cheekbone. She gasped as she fell to the carpet. Pain exploded across her face.

Bray’s frantic screams split the air, and she watched as a man carried him out of the bedroom. A second guy trailed him.

“No!” The guttural cry tore from her chest.

Wham!

Keetan’s foot connected with her stomach, and the force was enough to make her almost vomit. She coughed and choked as her insides swam. Pain blurred her vision, but she could just make out Bray’s tear-streaked face, his mouth wide midscream.

“What do you want me to do with the kid? He’s losing it.” The man holding her son also wore a baseball cap, and in the low lighting, the odd angle of it shielded his face.

She pushed up to her knees then staggered to her feet. The world tilted on its axis. She clutched the arm of the couch for support. “Keetan, please stop. You’re s-scaring—”

Crack!

Keetan’s fist smacked the same cheek. Blood filled her mouth. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, holding her throbbing face. She swallowed any sounds of pain, knowing Bray was watching and already afraid. “It’s okay, honey,” she forced out.

He wouldn’t be able to hear her over the commotion, but she prayed to god he felt her love.

“Momma! Momma!” Bray’s gut-wrenching sobs and nearly purple face ripped her heart from her chest.

“Bray,” she called, needing him in her arms more than she needed her next breath.

“Take him to my car,” Keetan commanded.

The man left the apartment, and the other man followed.

Self-control fleeing from her body, she threw herself at Keetan and grabbed his knees. “No, you can’t. You can’t take him! Please,” she begged.

He kicked her off him and then reached down to snatch her jaw in his meaty palm. Light reflected off his bald head, and his green eyes flared with menace. “I fucking warned you.”

He tossed her backward. Her side connected with the coffee table, and before she could get to her feet, he was gone.

“No, no, no!” she sobbed.

He left the door wide open like the gaping hole in her heart.

***

Brick rubbed his eyes and pulled his attention from his office computer. He should’ve gone home an hour ago, but he’d needed to put together an invoice for the last week of bodyguard duties he’d finished for Backcountry.

Buzz , buzz , buzz

He glanced at his phone. Ghost’s name lit the screen. It was after 7:00p.m. What the hell did he want?

“’Lo?” Brick answered.

“Sup.”

“You tell me. You’re the one calling.”

“I’m calling because you’re gonna wanna see this,” Ghost snapped. “Look at the text I just sent you.”

Unease prickled his senses. He opened the message that came through and clicked on the link. A picture of a woman holding a small child filled his screen. Both the woman and the child were smiling.

His gut lurched.

It’s her.

He stared at her big blue eyes, her golden-blond hair, and the cherubic little boy in her arms. Unlike his mother, the boy had brown curls and mocha-colored eyes.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Ghost’s question punched through the speaker.

Brick couldn’t talk through the constriction in his chest. He struggled for a shuddering breath. “Yeah, man.”

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Ghost asked, impatience thick in his voice. “The woman you had me search for a while ago? Natasha Smith—or should I say Natalie Shaw.”

The constriction in Brick’s chest intensified. After his one-night stand in Fargo with Natasha—obviously an alias—he’d tried to find her. She’d bailed while he was sleeping and he’d had to rush to catch a flight back to Seattle.

He’d figured that the least stalkerish method of reaching out to her would be via social media, but he hadn’t been able to find her. Part of him had wanted to just let it go, but Christ.

Natasha, or Natalie, whatever the fuck her name was, had stayed on his mind for over three damn years. So he’d asked Ghost, the man who could find the most elusive criminals with terrifying ease, to check her out.

All he’d found was that the name Natasha Smith had been stolen. Brick had opted not to search for her after that because he wasn’t that desperate.

Now, looking at the photo of the woman who’d stolen his breath, the woman who’d seemed so damn sweet and innocent, he couldn’t believe the news caption: she was wanted for manslaughter.

And the little boy staring back at him... looked like his damn kid.

“You there?” More impatience from Ghost.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m fucking reeling bro. Manslaughter? There’s just no way.”

“Maybe she’s like the female Ted Bundy and you dodged a bullet.” Ghost’s dry, empty tone told him he didn’t really give a shit what Brick was going through. Which was about as much as he’d expect from the prick.