READ AN EXCERPT BELOW
She left everything to save her baby— even the father. When a mob boss wants to take Jo and her son for himself, will an old love stand by her side?
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“Make yourself at home.”
My jaw tightened, my brow twitching. Once more, my arms crossed, and I gave him a dead-eyed glare. “You’ll have to forgive me. I just had a gun shoved in my face, and I thought it might be nice to sit.”
Marshall tossed a tea bag into his mug. “Selma? The arthritic 74-year-old?”
“Did I forget to mention the gun in my face?”
“I’m sure you could have taken her.”
It was wrong how the people who once brought out the best in you now only brought out the worst, and when Marshall sat down to drink his tea, I shot to my feet. Something wasn’t quite right about sitting there, about making like there was nothing wrong. My attention scanned the room, and finally, I settled on some silly paperwork Marshall had stuck to his fridge.
“You plan to be here for long?”
“Actually, I’m moving back.”
Despite his best efforts, a grim look cast over his features. “I’m sure Connor will love that.”
The name, his name, had a way of turning my stomach more than Marshall ever could. Hearing it roll off his tongue only made it worse. I turned on my heel and folded my arms again.
“This feels more like a text message conversation, Jo.”
Annoyance locked my jaw, and when my eyes squeezed shut, my hand lifted to massage my temples.
Just spit it out, you idiot.
“I need your help.”
“What happened to your rule?” The memories that nibbled at the back of my skull brought a wave of dizziness. “Conner is supposed to be your first call.”
When nothing else seemed to work, I cleared my throat. I wanted to be as cavalier about the whole mess as I was in the car, but under those eyes, it was never quite so easy to be someone I wasn’t. His brow furrowed when I finally looked up, and in front of me, I watched Marshall slip back into the boy I’d grown up with.
“What’s wrong?”
The question stiffened my back. Habit forced the slightest sense of vulnerability back down my throat, and after straightening my clothes, I stuck my hands on my waist. My hips jutted out to the side, and as I glanced across the room, I choked out the reality I’d been avoiding for so long.
“I’m going to kill him,” I admitted. “He’s trying to take my son, and I need you to help me kill him.”
My jaw tightened, my brow twitching. Once more, my arms crossed, and I gave him a dead-eyed glare. “You’ll have to forgive me. I just had a gun shoved in my face, and I thought it might be nice to sit.”
Marshall tossed a tea bag into his mug. “Selma? The arthritic 74-year-old?”
“Did I forget to mention the gun in my face?”
“I’m sure you could have taken her.”
It was wrong how the people who once brought out the best in you now only brought out the worst, and when Marshall sat down to drink his tea, I shot to my feet. Something wasn’t quite right about sitting there, about making like there was nothing wrong. My attention scanned the room, and finally, I settled on some silly paperwork Marshall had stuck to his fridge.
“You plan to be here for long?”
“Actually, I’m moving back.”
Despite his best efforts, a grim look cast over his features. “I’m sure Connor will love that.”
The name, his name, had a way of turning my stomach more than Marshall ever could. Hearing it roll off his tongue only made it worse. I turned on my heel and folded my arms again.
“This feels more like a text message conversation, Jo.”
Annoyance locked my jaw, and when my eyes squeezed shut, my hand lifted to massage my temples.
Just spit it out, you idiot.
“I need your help.”
“What happened to your rule?” The memories that nibbled at the back of my skull brought a wave of dizziness. “Conner is supposed to be your first call.”
When nothing else seemed to work, I cleared my throat. I wanted to be as cavalier about the whole mess as I was in the car, but under those eyes, it was never quite so easy to be someone I wasn’t. His brow furrowed when I finally looked up, and in front of me, I watched Marshall slip back into the boy I’d grown up with.
“What’s wrong?”
The question stiffened my back. Habit forced the slightest sense of vulnerability back down my throat, and after straightening my clothes, I stuck my hands on my waist. My hips jutted out to the side, and as I glanced across the room, I choked out the reality I’d been avoiding for so long.
“I’m going to kill him,” I admitted. “He’s trying to take my son, and I need you to help me kill him.”