Lyra smiled for the girls and told them she’d get them out of there and get them back home. Things had gone past the point where she could tell them it was all a game. The marks on her face were enough to scare the hell out of them and she knew this was something they wouldn’t get over lightly, even if she got them out of it. Their own faces were tear-streaked and part of her wanted to launch herself at Damon and claw his eyes out for doing this to her girls.

Not if. When. When she got them out of this. She would get them out of this. Her thoughts flew to Luke and she prayed like hell he would be looking for them, but she wasn’t one to sit and wait for a knight in shining armor to save her. Life had taught her that knights were often too busy riding their horses to do the real heavy lifting.

She had given herself ten minutes to curse herself for opening the door without checking to see who it was at such a late hour. Truthfully, she couldn’t really beat herself up over that. When she’d seen it was Mrs. Lawson’s nephew, Murphy, at her door, she’d been surprised to see him, but she hadn’t thought anything was wrong. She’d been expecting to see either Neil or Savvy on her doorstep. She’d talked to Neil by phone and he was trying to find out where Luke would have taken Billy and if he could get in to see him. The if part of that had thrown her. Surely, they’d let his lawyer in to see him? To represent him?

Apparently, when you engaged in acts that were arguably terrorism, things played out a little differently. Not to mention, she had no idea what agency Luke was even linked with. It struck her she wasn’t even sure if that was his real name and she hated the fact that despite that, she was still hoping he would rescue them.

It had taken Lyra several seconds to react to the weapon in Murphy’s hand, to process the fact he was holding a gun on her. He had pushed her into her apartment and shut the door before she could move. She’d tried to fight him when he’d made a move toward the hallway where Alyssa and Prentiss slept. They’d wrestled and she had clawed at his face, scratching him hard and drawing blood. It was only then that he’d struck her with the butt of the gun across the side of her head.

He’d looked almost sick at what he’d done. He even apologized. It hadn’t kept him from rounding up her and the girls and threatening to shoot them if she didn’t follow orders. If she didn’t do exactly as he said and leave the apartment complex quietly with him.

Lyra shook off the memory and pulled the girls into her lap as she looked around them. The room was small and there was nothing more than the bed they sat on in it. She hesitated to describe it as a bedroom with its lack of windows and furnishings. She’d tried the door already. It was locked from the outside. There was nothing besides the bed frame in the room.

“They’re fighting, Mama.” Prentiss’s voice was small and shaky and Lyra knew the muffled voices outside the door were scaring her. They were scaring Lyra, and she was an adult.

Lyra pressed her mouth close to Prentiss’s ear. “It’s all right, baby. Try not to listen to them.” She glanced at the door and back down at the bed they were sitting on. The frame was a plain metal frame, the kind you could add to a mattress purchase for forty-nine-ninety-nine. If any of the bolts were loose, she might be able to get a leg or one of the bars that braced the mattress on the underside of the bed off. A hard enough crack in the head with it might take a man down.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of arguing. She knew the voices. One was Murphy and the other was Damon. She never would have dreamed Damon would hurt her or the girls, but she was absolutely sure it was him. Worse, he seemed to be in charge. At least, that’s the way it sounded, given he was now telling Murphy to shut up and do what he was told. His voice was cold and hard, sending a shiver of dread through her.

She gestured with one finger over her mouth to the girls and then moved them down onto the floor. As quietly as possible, she slid beneath the bed and looked at the bottom side of the frame. Just as she’d hoped. On the frame she’d had like this in college, there had been an extra bar down the center that was connected on one side. It was made to swing into place if the user extended the bed to accommodate a queen-sized mattress.

Lyra worked her fingers over the bolt holding the one side to the frame, loosening it until it came off all the way. She slid the metal down onto the floor. Sliding out to sit next to the girls again, she wiped the small bit of oil that covered her fingers on the inside of her shirt before pulling the metal piece over close to her. It was still under the bed where the men wouldn’t see it if they entered but she could grasp it if she needed it.

She played through scenarios in her head. The metal was long, about six feet. It wasn’t too heavy. She’d be able to swing it, but it would do some damage if she could get the metal to connect with someone’s head. Her best bet would be if some of the men left. If she was left with only one person to guard them at any point, she might be able to lure whoever it was into the room and strike.

Her eyes went to her girls again and she cringed at the idea of luring one of the men into the room where her girls were. It was one thing to take risks if it was just herself at stake. But what choice did she have? She could either sit here and hope someone rescued them, or maybe that the men let them go after they got whatever it was they wanted from Billy—or she could be ready to take advantage of any opportunity they had to get out of here alive.

She choked on the sob that threatened to make its way up her throat at the thought. No way would she let the girls see her cry. No way in hell.