Marcus had killed one son by grief. Broken the other with training. Killed Sophia. Taken his grandson. Kidnapped my mother. Filled my house with armed men.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“We go in before dawn,” Carter said. “Four a.m. Tactical team breaches the plant, secures your mother and the child, neutralizes hostiles. But we need a distraction. Something that keeps Marcus’s focus off the hostages long enough to position the team.”
Dad spoke before I could.
“I’ll go. I’ll tell Marcus I’m turning myself in. Trade myself for Linda. He wants me.”
“No,” I said.
Both men turned toward me.
“If you go in there, he kills you in thirty seconds. Then he kills Mom anyway. It has to be me.”
“Emma, absolutely not.”
Dad’s voice cracked with fear.
“Marcus wants you to suffer,” I said. “He wants you to watch me die. If I walk in there, he drags it out. He gloats. He performs. That gives Carter’s team time.”
“And then what?” Dad asked.
