The casual warmth in Marcus’s voice vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, deadly military precision.
“I’m out the door,” Marcus said. The sound of a chair crashing to the floor echoed through the speaker, followed by heavy boots pounding against hardwood. “I’m on foot. Thirty seconds out. Is Noah on the line?”
“Yes, he’s on Bluetooth.”
“Tell him I’m coming.”
“Noah, buddy, are you there?” I called out to the empty car, my tires screeching as I blew through a red light, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck.
“I’m here, Daddy,” Noah whispered. In the background of his audio, I heard the horrifying sound of shattering glass. Travis was destroying the kitchen.