Page 7 of Poisoned Promise
They’re the exact kind of family that thinks sending a brute to make threats equals success.
I’ve wiped families’ worth ten of them off the bottom of my shoe like they were dirt.
Easily ignored, if I were ten years younger. Now, they’re a threat.
My son’s name is in their vocabulary and that can't stand. If they go by the playbook, they’ll start heavy with the pressure anddemand financial compensation that would double with every payment and I don’t have the cash for that.
“Mom?” Alex’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I lean up and immediately wince as pain pulls through my stiff back. “What’s up, honey?”
“Didn’t you sleep?”
“Huh?”
Alex moves through the lounge and draws the curtains back, blinding me with the bright, sparkling midday sun. “It’s after twelve.”
“Oh.” A yawn pulls at my jaw and I shake my head. “I slept. I just got up early.”
“Does that mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Oh no, I’m still mad.”
“Dang.”
“How are you feeling?”
Alex flops down onto the couch with a groan. “Everything hurts. My head and my neck and my chest and my arm throbs and it itches but I can’t—!” He holds his cast up and taps his fingers along the green bandages. “This is horrible. And Michael won’t call me back.”
“He’ll be as grounded as you are. Maybe this is a better lesson than my yelling,” I say while slowly standing and easing the stiffness out of my thighs. “I’ll check the mail and make you some breakfast.”
“Lunch,” Alex corrects as I head for the front door.
“It’s your first meal of the day, it’s definitely… breakfast.” I trail off after I open the front door because right on the doorstep, nailed into the wooden railing, is a dead cat.
The poor thing is scraggly enough to be a stray but the sight of it makes my heart break, and acid burns at the base of my throat.
A threat already?
Guess the cop really didn’t like being interrupted last night.
Briefly closing my eyes, a plan forms in my mind and I throw my head back. “Do you wanna get breakfast with Mary?”
“Thank you for doing this,” I say thirty minutes later after leaving Alex lounging on the couch inside my boss’s house. “I don’t want him to be alone after what happened.”
“Of course!” Mary croaks softly and pats my arm. “Anything you need, you just let me know.”
Despite the warmth in her eyes, the wobble in her stance, and the tremble in her voice, the age she desperately hides with hair dye and heavy makeup is betrayed.
Deep down, I know she won’t be able to stop Alex from leaving or, frankly, doing whatever he wants, but she will call me the moment he acts up, and that’s all I can hope for.
“You’ve already done so much for me,” I say, patting the back of her hand. “I’ll repay this with a home-cooked dinner.”
“Depends.” Mary narrows her eyes as she tilts her head back. “Will it include that terrible stuff out of the box?”
I can’t hold in my laugh. “No more shake-and-bake, I promise. Really home-cooked this time, I swear.”
“Alright, I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart.”
