Page 58 of Darkwater Lane

I don’t know where Sam is. Or Connor. What if they tried sneaking out? It’s part of what we’ve practiced: fleeing out the window and disappearing into the woods until you can meet up at the rendezvous point—the shed behind Easy Claremont’s house.

What if one of them was running for the woods, and one of these men opened fire? What if my son or my partner is lying on the ground, bleeding out?

Bile rises in my throat. “Let me go!” I demand, bucking and twisting. Trying to get my teeth or nails into flesh.

There’s more commotion outside. It’s all happening so fast. It’s too much. I don’t understand what’s going on. Why are these men here? Why are they pointing guns at me and my daughter?

Lanny’s face drains of color. She looks like a child with her oversized sleep shirt and freshly scrubbed face. Sheisa child.

The man pinning me to the floor presses more of his body weight against my back, trying to keep me still. My ribs protest. “Who else is here?” he demands.

I don’t answer. I can’t. It’s too difficult to draw air. Not that I would tell him a damn thing anyway.

“Who!” His knee digs against my spine. The last of my breath comes out in a wheeze as he squeezes every last bit of air from my lungs.

Pressure in my skull builds, turning to pain behind my eyes as my cheeks burn and lips tingle. I can’t breathe. My oxygen is running out. Animal instincts kick in, and I fight to free myself. The man shifts his entire weight on top of me.

Lanny screams. “Let her go!”

There’s a scuffle in her bedroom. Seconds later, one of the men comes out, his arms wrapped tightly around Lanny’s middle, her arms pinned to her sides. She thrashes against him. Kicks at the empty air. “Mom!” The word is a wail. She’s terrified.

It cuts deep. She needs me. That’s what I think as the world blurs and darkens around me. My lungs burn. I squirm, trying to find space to breathe, trying to free myself so I can get to my daughter. The man on top of me doesn’t budge.

“Mom!” she screams again as they drag her from the house.

Not again. Please, don’t let these men be taking my kids. It’s already happened twice—both times from this house. Both times by either the police or men impersonating the police.

Both times, in an attempt to punish me and my family. To exact revenge.

Images flash in my head—all the photos I’ve been sent over the years. Mutilated bodies with my kids’ faces photoshopped on top. Deepfake videos showing my children being tortured.

The horror threatens to drown me.

A nearby radio squawks, but I can’t make out the words. All I know is that someone with a gruff voice says. “All clear inside. Cuff her and bring her out.”

The man pinning me grinds his knee harder into my back for a moment longer. Then, all at once, the pressure is gone. I draw in a stilted, ragged, painful breath. Before I can press my hands to my aching ribs, he grabs my wrists. Within seconds, he has me cuffed and is hauling me to my feet. I’m unsteady, my knees nearly buckling.

Someone turned on the hall lights and, for the first time, I get a good look at the guy who was pinning me in place. He’s medium height but broad and thick, his neck practically wider than his jaw. His eyes are blue and piercing, his hair dark, and his cheeks pebbled with a five o’clock shadow.

In another situation, I might have seen him as attractive. Not now. Not when my back still throbs from his knee. Not when I can still hear the vitriol in his voice when he shouted commands at me earlier.

“My kids,” I manage to croak. “Are they okay?”

He looks at me with disgust. “There’s a special place in hell for parents who traffic their kids.”

I blink, shaking my head in confusion. “Traffic kids? What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his hand rings my biceps, his grip tight enough that it will leave bruises. He drags me through the house toward the shattered front door.

“The alarm,” he shouts, nodding to the keypad on the wall. “What’s the code so we can shut this fucking thing off?”

I hesitate. The alarm is tied to both the Norton police station and directly to Kez’s cell phone. Both should have already been notified and be on their way. By now, half the lake is probably awake and wondering what the hell is going on. That’s really all that matters: Someone out there is watching us. Probably several folks. They know something’s happening and that we need help. If these men do anything wrong, there will be witnesses.

I give him the code. He keys it in, and the night falls silent. The sudden quiet is almost dizzying. It doesn’t last long as he shoves me through the broken door.

Outside, the night blazes with lights—not just the red and blue of half a dozen police vehicles but also work lights that have been set up on the lawn, their glare directed at the house. Every now and again, the spotlight from the circling helicopter blazes around us.

Lanny stands by the back of an ambulance, a silver foil blanket draped across her shoulders. A medic is trying to listen to her heart and lungs, but she’s not having any of it. “I’m fine,” she says, batting another medic away.

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