Page 9 of Protecting Christina

The woman moved toward the front door, but he pulled her back. “Don’t you fucking move.”

The baby screamed again, and the mother hushed him soothingly, clutching him to her chest.

Then she turned to the man. “I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are.”

“Get out of my way.”

She tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front.

“The only way you’re going to leave this house is through a body bag.”

My stomach churned, and it took everything in my power to push the memories aside and focus on this situation.

The man reached for her, and I sprang into action.

With my boot, I kicked the door open in one motion, knowing exactly where the wood was weakest.

The woman jumped, and the man stood still for a second, probably in shock, then grabbed her and put one arm around her neck and the other around her waist.

Coward.

Using his woman and his baby as a shield, thinking I’d walk away. What he didn’t know was that I was trained in hostage situations.

I also knew that the angle he held her could never snap her neck. At worst, he could block her airway, but I would reach him before he could ever choke her out. So, I took my time and tried to diffuse the situation first.

Raising my hands in a show of surrender, I hoped to calm him down. “Let’s talk about this,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes incredulously. “You just broke my door down and you want to talk? Who the fuck are you, man?”

“I’m here to take your woman and baby someplace safe until you’re ready to be with them again.”

He shook his head. “Nah. That’s not gonna happen. So, you can take yourself on out of here.”

The man didn’t sound drunk. He wore a business suit and tie, but it didn’t mean he would be easier to reason with. A drunk man was slow and sloppy. This man didn’t seem to be either.

“Then let them go, so we can discuss it.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. Now, get out of my house before I call the cops. This is still New York and you’re breaking and entering.”

I knew if he somehow managed to call the police, I would be the one in handcuffs. Sometimes, it was a lot harder to put a man away for emotionally abusing his partner than breaking down his door.

But I wasn’t backing down. And neither was he.

Throughout the stand-off, the baby had stopped crying. His big watery eyes stared at me. And a roar simmered deep in my belly.

“Fine. I’ll leave.”

I prayed my tactic worked. I dropped my hands slowly to my sides and walked backward towards the door. I knew I could reach for my gun behind my jacket, but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Just as I turned my back and placed my hand on the knob, I heard the woman’s swift intake of breath. As I’d hoped, he had either released her from his hold or at the very least loosened his grip.

This is my chance!

I closed my eyes, visualizing my movements, remembering exactly where the man had stood ten seconds ago.

Then, I whipped back around and grabbed the man’s shoulders, pulling him toward me before he could tighten his hold on the woman again.

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