Page 86 of The Disputed Legacy
“You know how you always tell me to be careful around the police?”
I hated that I had to. I was sure many of them were good people. But I couldn’t tell which ones were good or bad, and worse, which ones could be persuaded to be bad. That was true of all people on the planet, but I had to be especially careful about the police.
“Yeah,” I replied, wondering where he was going with this.
“What if the police have Saul?”
His innocent question stalled me. I struggled to find an answer to that because that one officer had knocked on my door that one time. And Saul had gone to talk to him without my having to stress out or be present.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, hanging his head. “I just really like Saul. And I think he likes us. I feel like something has to be wrong if he’s not here like usual.”
I hated that he’d worry. This was the risk of making our small circle any bigger. He’d contemplate losing anyone else in it.
“I really like him too,” I confessed. I was beyond that, tempted to admit to myself that I loved him. “But I’m trying not to borrow trouble worrying about the future. His not showing up at the diner might not mean anything. He told me that he had something to take care of, so maybe it’s just taking him a little longer.”
“Maybe that’s it.” He smiled up at me as we kept walking.
The second we reached the apartment, I couldn’t help but get the sense that his gut instinct was right. That something could be wrong. The paranoia increased as we entered the apartment. I couldn’t describe it. I couldn’t label it, but being here without Saul was strange. Like he’d come to matter so much that hehadto be here, like he belonged with us.
I turned and closed the door, locking it by default. But I thought about how he’d argued with me on the topic of being owned or belonging last night.
He had no clue what he was potentially facing by telling me thatheowned me. No clue at all. And if he did know?—
I spun, wondering why Oscar was so quiet. He usually broke into being a chatterbox when we came home, as if being in his safe place removed all the burdens of being on and he could ramble and share and vent.
Then I screamed.
He wasn’t talking because a tall man was holding him captive. In a suit, wearing a scowl, the tall brute pushed one hand over my son’s mouth to silence him while he trapped him against his body. He wiggled and fought to get free, but he was no match for the man’s strength.
The shriek that left my lips was pointless. Shouting out for help would’ve at least been constructive. No one was around to help me even if they heard, but that was the smart action to take.
All I could do was lunge forward, ready to beat this man off him and get him away. The time to run was now. A stranger was in my home, holding my son in his arms. This brute wasn’t getting away. He wasn’t taking my boy. No one was!
Striking out fast, I kicked and hit, flinging myself at the man to get him to release Oscar. I was all in with this battle. Without thought, without conscious planning, I reacted on autopilot. I was enraged, and every bit of my maternal instincts to protect were inflamed and running hot.
This was a reaction to save and kill. This was a default mechanism to remove this danger from my baby, and I didn’t care what it would cost.
Before I could make any impact on weakening or wounding or distracting the man, I was held back. An arm looped around my waist and hauled me back. I lost my breath in a loudoomphof air as the limb barricaded me from going to get Oscar free. Bent over from the stop in my momentum to reach him, I growled and realized that I was being taken too.
“Let me go!” I screamed it, turning to fight off my attacker. With that rabid, blind sense of rage, I didn’t hold back. I wasn’t asking permission to be released. I was determined to kill them to break free and save my son.
“Hold on—” The man growled, unprepared at first for me to fight back. He deflected my hits and tried to capture me again. But I refused. I couldn’t lose.
I wasn’t holding back, no matter how he tried to overpower me and hold me still. Oscar still wiggled, but he had no chance to get away without my help.
“For fuck’s sake,” the man trying to hold me said as he dodged my knee aimed for his nuts. I took that chance to punch him, getting him right in the eye.
“Fuck!” he roared. Holding his hand over his face, he narrowed his other eye at me.
“Oh, shit,” another man said, rushing into the room from the front. “Boss. Are you all right?”
“Let’s just fucking go,” the man said.
“No! No!” I panicked, fighting harder as they picked me up and carried me. One man covered my mouth with his gloved hand, and no matter how hard I bit, squirmed, and resisted, I was captured and taken out with Oscar.
I wanted to have faith that we were together. That we wouldn’t be separated. So long as he was with me, I would protect him and get us free yet. The details blurred as we moved, but I focused on breathing and saving my fight for later.
