Storm (Linear Tactical #10) - Janie Crouch

1

She crawled one agonizing inch at a time toward the door. There was no way she would make it, but if she stayed, she’d die for sure.

Dying didn’t seem like such a horrible option.

“Mommy?”

Mommy. That was why she couldn’t die. Why she couldn’t stop. She forced her body closer to the door. She knew what would happen next, knew there was no stopping it, but she had to try.

“Mommy…. Come on.”

The booted foot caught her in the ribs, sucking all the oxygen from the planet. The force of the blow knocked her to the side and onto the ground in a heap.

Her system screamed for oxygen—everything graying out in her vision—as a hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. “Going somewhere? You’re always so predictable and stupid.”

She fought to get in enough air just to survive as the hand released her hair and she slumped back to the ground. The foot raised again, and she knew there was no way to shield herself. No way to escape.

“Come on, Mom…”

No.

No.

“You’ll always belong to me.” The foot slammed down on her wrist. She screamed as agony washed over her.

“Mommy, it’s moving day!”

Marilyn Ellis sat up in bed, swallowing the scream beating against the inside of her mind. She sucked in breath after breath, attempting to get the oxygen she’d been lacking.

She was safe. No broken ribs. No broken wrist. No concussion that had been bad enough to require the hospital staff to put her into a medically induced coma for three days.

Just two little sets of eyes that were quickly fading from excited to concerned as they watched her from the side of her bed.

Pull it together, Marilyn.

“Moving day. Are you kidding me?” She forced the words out. Forced a smile onto her lips. “Why didn’t you guys wake me earlier?”

She reached over and wrapped her arms around her children, pulling them onto the bed with her. All three of them laughed as they fell back onto the covers, and if Marilyn’s was a little more forced than the kids’, that was okay.

“Move-in day!” she exclaimed as she tickled them while they snuggled in next to her.

“We get our own rooms,” Sam said, the smile evident in his seven-year-old voice even without her being able to see it.

“And we get to decorate,” Eva announced. Again. She’d been saying it every day for the past two weeks as it drew closer to time for them to move into the New Journeys building.

The kids didn’t understand that their new home was a domestic abuse shelter. They didn’t know it would be a place for other people like them who were in danger from people they should’ve been able to trust the most.

Many of the women and children who would spend time at New Journeys would be there temporarily, just a few weeks or months until they got back on their feet. Marilyn and the kids had started that way too, but now she’d been hired to run the place.

A job. The first real job she’d ever had. She was going to be the house manager/den mom. She was in charge of making sure everything ran smoothly and the people staying there had what they needed to feel safe.

Shouldn’t be hard since she’d also be making sure she and the kids had whatever they needed to feel safe.

The biggest perk was the small three-bedroom apartment attached to the shelter, which came with the position. She was pretty sure that perk had been built in—literally and figuratively—just for her and the kids. But she’d take it.

She’d do whatever she could do to make up for her own stupidity and what she’d forced her children to live through.

“What are you leaning toward today, decorating queen?”

Eva crossed her arms behind her head and stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room they’d called home for the last couple of weeks. “Butterflies. But still maybe fairies. It’s an important life choice, Mom.”

Marilyn looked over at Sam and they both smiled. Important life choices, indeed.

“Well, you’ve still got a few more days. We’ve got to get everything situated before we can actually go buy any stuff.”

“I know. I just wish I had more time to figure this out.” Eva shook her head.

Oh, to have the problems of a five-year-old—butterflies or fairies. Important life choices.

But that was the way it should be. Marilyn kissed the top of Eva’s head.

“How about you, champ?” She elbowed Sam in the ribs. “Got your decorating plans sorted yet?”

She’d asked him this before, but