Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,99

now.”

I drop the phone onto the couch. Then I reach out and shove Aaron to the floor between the coffee table and the sofa. “G-get down.”

“Don’t move,” the man says. And we both freeze. “I won’t hurt you if you do exactly as I say.” He’s arrived at the top of the stairs. And my heart almost fails when I see there’s a second man behind him. They both advance slowly. “Whose laptop is that?” the bald man asks. “Your boyfriend’s?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Take it.”

The second man slides forward and grabs it in gloved hands, tucking it into his jacket. He also grabs my phone off the sofa and pockets that.

“You have a land line?” the bald man asks.

“No.” I shake my head vigorously.

“Any other phones in the house? The kid have one?”

“No,” Aaron says from the floor. I put a hand on his small back, and I notice that we’re both shaking.

“Smart watch? Cellular tablet?”

“No. Nothing,” gasp.

“Good. Now stand up.” I pop up like a jack-in-the-box and do as he asks.

“Good work. Turn around. Hands behind your back. I need to restrain you.”

Panic sizzles through me. The idea of my hands tied up makes me want to vomit. But I will hold myself together for Aaron. Slowly, I move my arms. And then I remember the sound of Gunnar’s voice telling me what to do. Brace your fists end to end.

Quaking, I do it.

The other man advances, and I feel something like a plastic loop tighten around my wrists.

“Sit.” I’m maneuvered back onto the sofa. “Now, I want the kid on your lap.”

“Come here, sweetie,” I say to Aaron, and he wiggles immediately into place, huddling against me.

“Hold still,” says the man with the gun, while his silent friend approaches us with a roll of duct tape. “Hands together in front, kid.”

Please don’t put that on my mouth, I inwardly beg. I’m so afraid right now. I don’t know why that’s the one thing I don’t think I can bear. But somehow it is.

The man stretches out a long length of tape and then wraps it around Aaron’s skinny wrists. Then he tapes the two of us together, the tape circling us so many times—around our waists, and then our legs.

It’s probably been less than three minutes since they entered the apartment, but it feels like an eternity. I can smell his sweat and his breath and I have never been so scared.

I don’t say a word, though. I press my cheek against the back of Aaron’s head, and I silently ask for his patience. I’ll get us out of this buddy. I don’t know how, but I will.

Then it happens. The man takes another piece of tape and slaps it over my mouth, ear to ear.

And then he tapes Aaron’s.

My nephew whimpers, and big fat tears gather in my eyes, and I blink them away. I can’t cry. I can’t.

“Listen up,” the bald man says, his gun still staring at me with its dark sinister eye. “You don’t move. You don’t scream. Nobody can hear you anyway, with all these windows closed, and a whole floor between you and the neighbors on three.”

I nod, to show I understand how right he is.

“Don’t move off that couch until morning. You don’t show up in the pie shop tomorrow, and someone will come lookin,’ right? You stay silent until then. You understand?”

I nod one more time. I need him to leave before Ginny shows up.

They recede toward the door. “Hurry,” the bald man grunts at the other. “He needs you in the basement.”

The basement. I gag behind the tape. Gunnar.

The door closes with a click, and I start moving my mouth right away, fighting the tape. I free my top lip, at least. “Aaron,” I whisper. “You can get your mouth open if you try really hard. But we have to help Gunnar. We’re going to head for my bedroom.”

That’s where the panic button is.

“He said not to move!” Aaron says, his mouth already free.

“We’re doing this for Gunnar. He needs us.”

And so will Ginny, if she happens to come home at just the wrong time.

I inch my butt toward the end of the couch. I’m afraid to lose my balance and fall onto Aaron. I use my knee to force the coffee table a few inches away from us, and it makes a horribly loud creak.

But I don’t care. Those men will be halfway to the basement already.

Aiming my torso toward the open rug, I lean forward and rise