the younger man snapped, jabbing Livvy’s skin with the barrel of his gun, making her head jerk. He was wearing gloves, his hands pale and dead-looking through the thin latex. “Mom,” she whimpered, and Jen didn’t think, she threw herself at her daughter, her fingertips brushing Livvy’s arm before she was struck from the side and went crashing to the floor. The other one had kicked her in the knees, still holding her son in his arms, and as Jen pushed herself up on her hands, she saw the rough work boots he was wearing and wondered if he had broken something in her leg. Ted was yelling: no, stop, but he stayed rooted to the spot. Which was what she should have done, because she had endangered her daughter. The young one had Livvy’s hair in his fist, dragging her backward, out of the range of Jen’s flailing feet. “That was stupid,” he snarled, and gave Livvy’s hair a hard yank, forcing her head back and exposing the long pale expanse of her throat.
