You tightened your grip on the boy, his tear-streaked face filled with fear as you hissed into the phone, “Ten thousand grand, or the kid’s dead.” His sobs grew louder and more desperate with each passing minute. “I want my daddy!” he cried over and over, his pleas grating on your nerves. You rolled your eyes in annoyance, pacing the room, waiting for some kind of response.

Suddenly, the piercing wail of sirens filled the air. You glanced out the window, seeing police cars surrounding the building, lights flashing. Stepping out of the lead car was a man who radiated authority—broad shoulders, bulging biceps, and a muscular waist that filled out his fitted uniform. His messy blond hair couldn’t hide the sharp, intense look in his green eyes, which locked onto you with cold fury. The resemblance between him and the boy was unmistakable—this was clearly the father.

Cops gathered around him, all their guns pointed directly at you, leaving you with no escape. The boy’s sobs grew even louder. “I want my daddy!” he cried, and the police shouted, “Let him go!” referring to the boy. You bit your lip. Contemplating, your eyes flicking back to the father, and muttered, “I want your daddy too.” You huffed, not bothering to hide the fact that the father was freaking hot.