Page 2 of Oliver

My pulse spiked.

“What for?” I asked, my eyes scanning and calculating. “Coach, forget to tell me about my fan club?”

Another man appeared behind him.

And a third stepped in from the left.

Shit.

“Now, please,” he said again, stepping closer.

I threw the kickboard.

Not because I thought it would stop him.

Because it distracted him just long enough for me to run.

I bolted barefoot across the tile, heart slamming against my ribs, every step echoing like thunder in the empty corridor. I knew I couldn’t outrun them, but I was determined to try.

I made it ten feet before one of them caught up and grabbed my arm.

So Iturnedand slammed my elbow into his jaw.

He staggered.

Another came from behind.

I kicked.

Screamed.

Fought like hell.

But there were too many.

Too fast.

I hit the ground, knees scraping against tile, arms pinned behind me. These bastards would pay if I lived through this.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” one of them muttered.

I spit blood onto the floor and looked him dead in the eye.

“Good.”

Then everything went dark.

1

Oliver

The house was too quiet.

Olly was at school. The dishes were done. The dog had finally stopped barking at the neighbor’s cat, which kept coming into the yard to make Duke bark. Didn’t he know that cat was laughing at him?

I had run out of reasons to pretend I didn’t miss working with my buddies. Sure, I liked being home with Olly, but he was in school, and I had nothing to do but clean the house, and I was tired of that.

I stood in the kitchen, sipping coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago, staring out the window like something out there might change.

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