“Brown. Hold on.” His voice cuts through the restaurant.
The officer guiding me outside stops, holding my shoulder as Frank stands from the table like a horrible giant, that sickly smile twisted into a sneer.
“I’ll handle this.”
The younger officer looks at me. “Sir, we received a call about you—”
“He won’t leave me alone. He threatened to take my baby away!”
The officer gives him an awkward look. “Sir, if I could just bring her home.”
“I’ll handle this, Brown.”
He quails under Frank’s authoritative tone and does nothing as that ogre digs his fingers into my shoulder and wheels me outside.
God fucking damn it.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this,” he sighs.
“Do what?”
I’m answered the moment he holds the door open for me.
Child Protective Services.
They’re already waiting for me, a half dozen of them wearing jackets.
“Ma’am, we’re going to have to take your child.”
“NO!”
Frank rips the baby carrier from my chest, but I wrap my arms around my baby, tears streaming down my face.
“You can’t— You can’t take away my baby!”
“Claire.”
“Get the fuck away from me!”
I yank Étienne out of the carrier and hold his screaming flesh to my skin. The rest of them surround me, a few of the women looking sympathetic.
“Claire, I have a document signed by a judge awarding temporary protective custody. Give him to me!”
“FUCK YOU!”
“If you resist, I’ll have to arrest you.”
One of the woman approaches me. “Ma’am it’s only for forty-eight hours. You’ll get him back.”
Then four of them surround me and each of them has hands on my baby. They rip him out of my arms and I scream as though I’ve been stabbed. I’m blinded by tears as I watch them take my baby away—strangers taking my baby away from me in a car to be driven off God knows where. I run forward to leap in front of the car, but Frank catches me around the waist.
“It’s for the best, Claire.”
The car containing my son drives off, and my grief turns to rage.
I ball my hand into a fist and I launch it at his stupid, blunt nose. It connects with his face, which pinches as though he’s sucked a lemon, and then my other fist buries in his stomach. He lets out a pained cough.
“I’ll fucking kill you!”
My arms explode with pain the moment he grabs me and twists me around, slamming my face on the hood of the car. Handcuffs bite into my skin as I stare into the faces of a dozen or so onlookers, recording the incident on their smartphones.
“Fucking cops!” one of them screams.
My heart bleeds, unable to think about anything but my boy. He’s gone. He’s gone.
LUC
Fucking cops.
The assholes just leave me in an interrogation room with my hands cuffed. I stare at a blank wall and seethe as the bastards outside waste my fucking time with this bullshit. Meanwhile Claire’s at the hotel alone with that creepy prick. The fact that he’s a cop didn’t stop him from giving me a beat down at a traffic stop.
Jesus.
The door opens slowly and the donut-eating asshole dressed in blue walks inside. “Mr. DeMarco. You’re free to go.”
Suck my cock.
I’d like to put my fist through this cop’s smirking face. Every one of them. Especially that psychotic piece of shit who has a thing for my wife.
I’m on edge the whole way home. One thought keeps repeating in my head:
She’s alone with him.
I sprint, climbing the stairs to reach the floor of our room. I swipe the card over the lock on the door. It clicks, and I open it.
“Claire!”
The suite swallows her name, and there’s no response but my echo. I walk into the living room—nothing. Then I glance into the kitchen. My shoe slips on something, and I look down to see water all over the floor and the remains of a shattered glass.
“Claire, what the fuck happened?”
I run from room to room, my chest unable to expand. Maybe she fucking took a nap or something. Then I check our room. It’s empty, too.
She’s not here.
I think of the shattered glass. She wouldn’t leave that on the floor. Something happened. Maybe a struggle?
Pain constricts my chest, and I feel the world spiraling. My scars burn, and my pocket vibrates with something.
Phone!
I grab it and answer the call without thinking, “Claire?”
“Luc, it’s me.”
Johnny.
“I don’t have time—”
“Your wife is in jail.”
“What?”
A long sigh crackles through the speaker. “I had her followed. She went with that cop to some restaurant downtown. There was a bit of a scene. She got into a fight.”