“I’m no one’s hostage,” I assure her as I shrug into a vest. I show her my pistol, make sure there’s a bullet in the chamber, and when the team arrives, I walk to the porch, but don’t promise that I won’t go inside. The guys are behind me, in full SWAT gear, weapons raised, completely silent. They hide under the window and against the wall so Greg can’t see them when he answers.

I don’t have to knock before the door is flung open and there’s Greg LaCroix, with a gun in his hand and his eyes wild with crazy standing before me.

“Get in here.”

“In a second,” I reply, holding my hands out to the side, ignoring the man to my right shaking his head. “First, I want to know that everybody inside is alive.”

“You think I’d kill my own kin?” he demands. “You think I’m some kind of motherfucking monster?”

“I know you are,” I reply calmly. “And I know that you’d kill them.”

He pauses and stares at me with the crazy eyes, then he laughs. “You’re right. But I ain’t killed them yet. That depends on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes’m. If you piss me off, I’ll shoot them in the head without even blinking.”

Over my dead body.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll let them go.” He grins, showing me his rotten, toothless mouth. He probably has meth to thank for that.

“I don’t think you plan to let them go,” I reply softly.

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.” He shrugs and scratches his cheek with the barrel of the pistol, and I wish with all my might that his finger would slip on the trigger and he’d blow his own head off.

But it doesn’t seem that I’m that lucky today.

“I’d like to see Margie and the kids, please.”

“You’ll have to come inside for that.”

I pause and glance back at Monroe, who shakes her head no, but I take a breath and send up a quick prayer. “Fine. Let’s go in.”

“You’re a cocky bitch, ain’t ya?” he says with a laugh. “I like that. Now come on in, and you can see for yourself that I ain’t hurt nobody.”

I gesture with one finger behind my back, giving the team the signal to wait one minute, and walk ahead of him to the living room and stop cold. Margie has been beaten so badly that she’s passed out and her oldest son, Calvin, is holding her in his arms, crying and hugging her tight. Her other son, Preston, has Jasmine in his lap, and he’s trying to calm her, his own face tear-stained.

“See? Everybody’s just fine.”

“I don’t think they’re fine,” I reply and turn to Greg. “Margie has been beaten badly and your children are hysterical.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me with those cold, dead eyes, and raises his gun, then presses it to the side of Margie’s head, making Calvin cry even harder.

“Is this what you want?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head and hold my hands up in surrender. “I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

“This is all your fault!” he shouts. “We were fine until you came in here sniffing around in business that ain’t yours.”

“We can get you help,” I reply, my voice low and soothing. “With some counseling, there’s no reason that you can’t be with your family.”

That’s a complete lie. There’s no way that he’ll be allowed to live with his minor children again, but I’m willing to lie about any and everything right now to get him out of here.

“I don’t need no counseling!”

“Okay,” I reply. “What do you want, Greg?”

Now he stops again, drops the gun to his side and starts to laugh, and then cry. The range of emotion is fascinating.

He’s truly crazy.

Margie begins to stir and cry softly. Calvin does his best to soothe his mother.

“Shhh, Mama. It’s okay.”

“She’s awake!” Greg exclaims and whirls around to slap Margie again, and I see red.

“Do not hit her!” I shout, getting his attention. He turns to me as I draw my pistol and hold it steady, pointed at his head. “Drop your gun.”

“Oh, so you think you can just walk in here with a gun and threaten my family?” His jaw tightens as he glares at me with more evil in his eyes than I’ve ever seen before.

And I’ve seen plenty of evil.

“You will never put your hands on them ever again.”

“Oh yes, I will.” He nods and smirks. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

“Why? Because you’re a man? Do you think this behavior makes you more of a man?”

“Don’t egg him on,” Margie mumbles.

“Shut up, bitch!” Greg raises his hand, but Preston jumps up and tackles his father around the middle, sending them both crashing to the ground. There are gunshots, and Preston’s eyes widen, and then go blank as he rolls off his father.

“No! My baby!” Margie exclaims and launches herself up. Greg raises his hand to shoot again. But I shoot first, catching him in the side.

“What the fuck!” He turns and blindly shoots his gun, and I feel an instant, sharp bite in my shoulder just as the cops rush through the front door.

“Police! Drop your weapons!”

My hand is covering my shoulder where the pain is, and when I look, I see that it’s covered in blood.

My blood.

Jesus, I’m shot.