Chapter 10: The Juice Box and The Gun

Relief crashed over Marin so violently that her knees actually buckled. She would have collapsed onto the frozen concrete if Marius hadn’t caught her by the elbows, effortlessly keeping her upright.

“Let me see him,” she gasped, tears finally spilling hot and fast down her freezing cheeks. “I need to see him right now.”

“Inside,” Marius instructed quietly, stepping back to allow her entry into a space that smelled heavily of dust, stale motor oil, and recent, invisible violence.

The interior of the shipping facility was cavernous and dark, lit only by tactical flashlights resting on metal crates.

In the center of the massive room, Arlo sat swinging his legs on a metal folding chair. He was clutching a small, cold juice box in his tiny hands. Standing directly behind him, like a heavily armed shadow, was the silver-haired enforcer who had driven them weeks ago.

Arlo looked up the second Marin’s frantic footsteps echoed on the concrete. His small face was caught between immense relief and a residual, creeping fear.

“Mom!” Arlo cried out, dropping the juice box. It splattered violently across the floor as he jumped off the chair and ran toward her.

Marin collapsed to her knees, throwing her arms open. She caught him perfectly, burying her face into his small neck and inhaling the scent of his generic school shampoo. He was shaking violently, his tiny hands digging into the fabric of her coat.

“I’m here, baby. Mommy’s here,” she sobbed, rocking him back and forth on the filthy floor. “Did they hurt you? Did anyone touch you?”

“No,” Arlo mumbled into her shoulder, his breath hitching. “A man at the playground fence told me you were in an accident. He said he was going to take me to the hospital to see you.”

Marin’s blood ran completely cold. The calculated, predatory cruelty of the lie made her want to physically tear someone apart.

“He grabbed my backpack,” Arlo continued, his voice trembling. “He tried to push me into a gray van. But then… then Marcus came.”

Marin looked over Arlo’s head, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Marius, who stood several feet away, hands casually resting in his pockets.

“Someone from Garrett’s old crew decided to send a message,” Marius explained, his tone completely flat and factual. He was reporting the news, rather than editorializing about the horrifying attempted kidnapping.

“Where is the man who grabbed him?” Marin demanded, her voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper. “Where is the man with the gray van?”

Marius didn’t break eye contact. His dark eyes remained perfectly void of emotion.

“He was intercepted before he could get Arlo into the vehicle,” Marius stated coldly. “My men handled the situation in the school parking lot. The man is no longer a concern.”

“You killed him?” Marin asked, the reality of the violence suddenly suffocating her.

“I eliminated a threat to your child,” Marius corrected smoothly. “There is a distinct difference, Marin. And you have my absolute word. They will never, ever send another man.”

The utter certainty in his dark voice carried horrific implications. Marin forced herself not to examine the methodology of the violence too closely. She chose willful ignorance over morality, accepting the bloody security his intervention had provided.

“But how did you know?” Marin asked, slowly standing up while keeping Arlo firmly tucked behind her legs. “How did your men get to the school parking lot exactly when the van arrived?”

“Because I was waiting for them,” Marius replied softly.

Is it ever morally justifiable to let a criminal kill someone if it saves the life of your innocent child?

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