Sweet Mischief’s Rollercoaster Romance novel Chapter 618

Andre's eyes snapped open, his voice cold and commanding, "Block the road."

Conner got up, walked over to Andre, and raised an eyebrow, "So, Hansen's crew is on the move, huh? Come on, when can I go home? I'm dying to see my son."

Annoyed, Andre replied, "Tom's got a broken jaw and a busted arm. Your choice, I'll go easy on you."

Conner fell silent.

Later, Teddy called to check in, "How's the kid?"

"Who told you my son was kidnapped?" Andre's gaze shifted to Conner, who was lounging quietly on the couch.

Conner quickly cleared his name, "Who's usually the loudest and most eager to join the buzz around here? Notice he's not here this time?"

Mars, again!

...

Tom realized that without Holly, managing the kids alone was impossible. He cried all the way.

Passersby eyed him suspiciously, some even stealthily preparing to snap his picture, while others reached for their phones to call the police.

"Back off!"

He lashed out savagely at the onlookers.

Tom kept running, feeling hostility from every direction.

Even the road to Cedar Hill was suddenly blocked.

The child in his arms kept crying, and he was injured, feeling the weight of judgmental stares all around.

Tom had to watch out for both the police and Andre's men.

He was tense, his nerves strung tight.

In a nondescript sedan parked by the roadside, two men sat inside. One used binoculars, keeping a close watch on Tom, adjusting the focus to catch every expression.

"Going blind or something? Can't see Tom from this distance?" the driver mocked his companion. With just a few hundred meters between them and no obstructions, Tom was clearly visible, yet here he was, using binoculars, an utterly unnecessary act like using an umbrella on a sunny day.

"You don't get it. I'm minoring in psychology. Tom's expressions are a classic case. He's panicked, like a deer caught in headlights. Just look at those eyes, filled with terror."

The flippant man put down his binoculars and took out his phone, "Let's call the cops, have the sirens freak him out a bit more."

Ten minutes later, they heard police sirens from afar. Tom didn't know if they were coming for him, but he immediately ducked into a nearby alley.

The two men exchanged glances and got out of the car.

The driver, more composed, concealed his weapon, "Remember, Tom's a boxing champ. Be careful, or you might end up on the receiving end."

"Please, he barely escaped Mr. Big's clutches. You think he's still got his old glory? One arm's busted, the other's holding a kid. What's he gonna do, fight me with his mouth?"

The composed man followed Tom's trail, "With a broken jaw, he might still take you down."

"That sounds kinda off."

"No, it's perfectly normal."

The bickering duo followed Tom into the alley.

Its complex layout made them quit their banter, wary of Tom possibly hiding in a corner and losing him.

The more stable man shook his head, "A follower as devoted as him, Finley lived a worthwhile life. If I were gone, would you take care of my son?"

The flippant man shook his head, "No. And if I were gone, would you look after my son?"

The stable man also shook his head, "No."

Both fell silent.

That afternoon, Andre received a message: the Walker family.

He glanced at it, his expression unchanging. He flipped his phone over and leaned back in his chair, his wedding ring seemingly his favorite toy.

Conner looked at the indifferent man. It had been a day, and aside from a call from his wife, which slightly stirred him, he remained impassive, an enigma.

"Boss, can you tell me straight, will I see my son today?"

Andre replied, "No."

"I refuse to believe this is how it's going to be. If you won't go back, then I'm going to fetch my son myself."

Conner was ready to head out the door, but noticing that Andre made no move to stop him, he began to doubt his resolve. With a sigh of resignation, he turned back and slumped onto the couch. "Forget it, I'll wait for my son's real dad to come home with us."

Around four or five in the afternoon, Mia's video call came through. "Honey, are you coming home for dinner tonight?"

"I'm swamped at the office, I'll be home late."

Mia angled her camera to show their son's chubby cheeks. "Look at your boy. Slept all afternoon. I woke him up midway and he was so upset he started pouting and crying, as if I was the bad guy. I had to coo and coddle him back to sleep for another hour."

As if he understood his mother's playful complaint, the little guy, well-fed, hydrated, and well-rested, responded with happy babbling, eagerly engaging in the conversation. The storms of yesterday were nothing more than a blink-and-miss to him. At this moment, in the comfort of his home, he reigned supreme, the little lord of the household.