The blood in my veins slowed to a crawl, my mind unable to wrap around the absurdity of the situation. I finally put my foot down about something pivotal concerning my life and my family—then the universe flips me off.
While everyone scrambled for safety, I could do nothing but stand there, mouth agape, watching it all happen.
The last man closed the door behind him. The decisive click rang through the whole house. The message was as clear as day—we were trapped with these men.
"Everyone down!" the tallest one ordered—scarred, towering, and lethal.
But his voice only seemed to scare the kids into a horrible panic. I pulled away from their mum, screaming. Aunty Agnes was too horrified to even realize the twins were no longer with her—her arms hovered above where her children should have been.
My heart lurched; the last thing we fucking needed was to agitate men with weapons who looked wasn’t their first time.
If they could put a gun to a pregnant woman’s head, kids were definitely not safe.
I grabbed them as they darted past me, locking them in place in my arms, whispering—softer than I thought possible given the circumstances—
"Don’t move, or they’ll hurt mummy."
They froze. Thank God. At least they stayed in place as the scarred man repeated his order—this time louder—his gun now aimed at Gerald’s chest, cocking it.
The reaction was instantaneous. I pulled the kids down with me, their chests meeting the ground with mine.
Only Charlotte stood—quivering like a leaf in the wind, blubbering like she always did when she couldn’t manipulate her way out of a situation she didn’t like.
With all of us down, the man with a gun to Charlotte’s head turned her around so her back was against his chest, pressing the barrel harder into her skull, making her grimace.
The scarred man seemed satisfied. He looked around and nodded before he spoke again. His voice carried a lethal calm—the kind that warned you this man didn’t need to yell to be dangerous.
"This isn’t a robbery," he said, his tone almost polite, like he was delivering a business proposal.
"We’re here for one thing."
He paced slowly in front of us, his boots thudding like war drums against the floor. His eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on each person—as if weighing our worth... or our weakness.
Charlotte whimpered. The man restraining her gave her a slight shake.
"Quiet," he muttered into her ear.
Scarface—because that’s what my brain named him in the chaos—tilted his head.
"Two people here have something I want. Something I need. I’m sorry to rope the rest of you into this," his face hardened despite the apology, "but bullets don’t discriminate."
He smiled again—all teeth and sharp edges. His canines were long. I saw the glint of them in the light.
He turned to Charlotte, then twisted toward Ajax, dark gaze locking on him.
"Where’s my money, Brooks?"
Ajax was shaking like a tormented cockroach on the floor. He couldn’t form a word.
Scarface made his way toward him. Ajax only shook harder, his pants darkening as pee leaked from him in a slow, spreading patch. The stench hit the air just as Scarface crouched before him.
Even the armed men behind us chuckled under their breath.
"Disappointing," Scarface muttered, his disgust as acrid as the odor of piss.
He slammed the butt of his gun into Ajax’s jaw. A sickening crack echoed through the room as Ajax crumpled to the floor with a gargled yelp.
The kids whimpered under me. I tucked them tighter, shielding their faces. My chest felt like it was vibrating with each beat of my heart—each breath too loud, too shallow.
The man rose again. His voice was calm, which somehow made it even more terrifying.
"Charlotte and Ajax Brooks cumulatively owe me a sum of $600k. During our last meeting, I gave them two months. Now, time’s up."
His words dropped like a guillotine.
Charlotte let out a pathetic, strangled sob. Ajax groaned—his jaw probably dislocated. I hated that I still had it in me to feel bad.
"I’ve been a generous man," Scarface continued, pacing again. "I even waived the interest—by 0.5%. Can you imagine? And now here we are..."
He gestured to all of us.
"A room full of innocent people. Because of your bad decisions."
He turned to the man at the door.
"Take inventory. Let’s see what we got."
The one with a wolf tattoo on his neck stepped forward—toward Aunty Agnes.
Her eyes darted furtively around the room before they fell on me.
"She has a million dollars," she blurted. "She’s Lilith Brooks."
Of course, I thought.
They froze. Every single armed man turned in my direction. Like predators catching the scent of prey.
They all proceeded toward me.
I glanced at my aunt—just in time to see her flash me a satisfied smirk.
It told me everything.
"If we can’t have your money," that smirk said, "you won’t either."
I raised my head tentatively at the men who now surrounded me.
"Lilith Brooks?" Scarface asked. "As in the Lilith Brooks of the Wolves—the Westbrook Wolves?"
I blinked. He knew me.
His face split into a genuine smile.
"You’re my little girl’s hero. She won’t stop talking about you. She hates sports but watched all your games."
His grin widened as he extended a hand toward me—gun still in it.
I flinched. He noticed and passed the gun to one of the others before gently pulling me up.
He whistled as I steadied on my feet.
"Golden eyes indeed."
He looked me over—curious, not malicious.
"You look like someone I know. Those eyes..." His voice turned thoughtful before he seemed to push the thought aside.
"So, these disgraces are family to you?" he asked, not unkindly. Almost sympathetically. Referring to Ajax and Charlotte.
"Sorry I banged them up so bad."
I couldn’t utter a word. I let him speak, afraid to ruin the momentary pause from the chaos.
He stroked his beard, ruminating.
"You know what? For you, we can come to a compromise."
My brows flew into my hairline. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novᴇlfire.net
"Of course. But I want something in return."
My heart sank. Loan sharks were lethal. There was no telling what he wanted.
"You come to my little girl’s birthday party. Spend a day with her. She’s not the devil like me, nor does she look like her pops."
"She’s a little ray of sunshine."
"Of course. I’d be honored," I replied, trying to keep the quiver from my voice. "Thank you, sir."
"Nah. Call me Jerry."
He turned to one of his men.
"I’ll waive $300k from the original amount. We give them three months."
He turned back to me.
"Can I get an autograph for my little girl?" he asked as one of the men retrieved a pen and paper.
I smiled—relieved and, despite everything... flattered.
I collected the pen he held out and asked,
"Lilienne," he supplied, voice almost reverent.
An ache fluttered to life in my chest. So much love in just the way he said her name.
"Beautiful," I murmured, putting pen to paper.
Then—suddenly—my wrist was yanked.
I looked up in shock to see Jerry staring at the crescent tattoo.
"Is this a tattoo?" he asked, but his voice was hard now.
My stomach twisted, but I let out a nervous laugh.
"Obviously," I chuckled.
But he wasn’t amused. He hesitated. His thumb brushed the mark. A beat passed. The others crowded in.
I watched their eyes widen.
My heart was in my throat.
"Could it be..." one of them trailed off.
"Give me the scanner," Jerry ordered.
One of the men handed him a device unlike anything I’d ever seen. He placed it on my wrist. A tingling sensation came first—then a loud beep shattered the tense air.
"She is..." another began, trailing off just as Jerry looked up at my face again.
I saw a flash of sympathy—right before his expression hardened.
"Everyone get up," he ordered.
"We have proposition for you."