DANTE:
The picture appeared on my phone while Cinnamon was still rattling off Jensen Harbor’s ridiculous demands.
I stopped hearing her, stopped hearing anything except the roaring in my ears. Nothing mattered except getting to my mother.
Her face. Bruised, swollen, blood crusting at the corner of her mouth. Seeing it ripped something out of me. Then a thirty seconds video of Dove’s shaking camera, Max screaming in the background, a lamp smashing against the wall inches from where Mom cowered.
My hands trembled so hard I almost dropped the phone. I was going to end that madman.
“Dante?” Cinnamon’s voice came from somewhere distant. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer. My throat had closed completely.
In the jeep, I texted Tate with numb fingers: "I need the helicopter to take me back
