Page 35 of Taken By the Mobster

Declan burst through the back door onto the porch wrapped around the rear of the house. He stumbled down the steps into the rain, a desperate attempt to get away from Drew’s words and to quell the images running through his head. He stopped under the gigantic oak tree in a far corner of the yard.

The flip of a coin.

The flip of a coin had decided the murder of his sister, a beautiful young woman with a promising future. Declan slid to the wet ground, his head in his hands. He hadn’t known. The details of Sarah’s death were not something he’d been privy to; Clyde’s only concern was Declan understanding his sister was dead and the same could happen to his brother. Clyde hadn’t shared the details.

He rested his head against the tree and closed his eyes as he fought to control his emotions. The memory of that night consumed him.

Declan slammed the back door hard enough to make the glass in the kitchen window rattle. He stripped off his coat, threw it on the back of the nearest kitchen chair, grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboard, and filled it halfway. He leaned against the counter, stared at the floor, and waited for the phone to ring.

Clyde would call; Declan knew it. It wasn’t everyday he refused to do the bidding of a notorious mobster. Clyde would have something to say about it. Declan couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard from the soon-to-be head of the Muldoon family already. He took a drink from the glass in his hand and made his way through the dark house to the living room. He reached for the light on a low table by the front door. That was when he noticed it.

A rectangular box, three feet long and two feet wide, sat in the middle of the room, the sofa and coffee table shoved out of the way to make room for it. It wasn’t anything special, just a plain wooden box, devoid of any markings of any kind. It was nailed shut.

Declan stared at the box and took a step closer. He waited, though he didn’t know what for. He set his drink on the table beside the lamp with a shaking hand. Whiskey sloshed over the side of the glass and onto the floor. It would piss Sarah off when she saw it.

Declan pivoted, hurried back to the kitchen, and grabbed a screwdriver and hammer from the cabinet under the sink. Next to the box, he dropped to his knees, inserted the screwdriver under the lid’s edge, and then dislodged the nail with the hammer. He did it again and again until he tore every nail loose. He dropped the screwdriver and hammer on the floor, took a staggering breath, and pushed the lid off the box.

Sarah’s lifeless body was inside, one arm twisted awkwardly behind her, her knees bent and resting against her chest. Her neck was at an odd angle, and her long hair covered her face. Every inch of visible skin was covered with bruises, and someone ripped and tore her clothes.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Declan muttered under his breath. He reached into the box, slid his arms under his sister’s body, and pulled her free. She was limp and cold to the touch.

“Sarah? Can you hear me?” he whispered. He pushed her hair out of her face, grimacing at the tacky feel of blood on his hands.

Her hazel eyes were glazed over, lifeless, and her head drooped to one side. A guttural moan escaped Declan, as he pulled her closer and pressed his head to her chest.

“Please, Sarah, please,” he whispered under his breath, praying to a God he no longer believed in that his little sister was still alive.

Sarah was dead. Clyde had given Declan his answer.

Declan shook his head and pulled himself from the cursed memory he fought so hard to keep at bay. Every day, he struggled to keep his emotions in check and to keep himself from losing control.

He had found the note in her hand, covered in her blood.

I made your sister mine in every sense of the word. She screamed your name as she died, begging for you to come and save her. Give me one year, or this will be your brother.

Clyde left him no choice but to do as he asked. If Declan refused, the only family he had left in the world would face the same fate as Sarah. It was something he couldn’t let happen. He did the only thing he could do; he went to work for the Mafia boss who murdered his sister.

Now Drew was free and safe, but Declan wanted Clyde dead now more than ever. He had to pay for what he’d done. Not only for what he’d done to Sarah, but for what Declan suspected Clyde had done to Olivia. If Declan had any chance of keeping Olivia safe, Clyde could not stay alive.

They needed to leave soon. He would get Walsh and Murphy on the road to Ohio, get them out of his way, then he would take Drew and Olivia and go someplace safe. Only then could he figure out how to get to Clyde.

A crack of thunder exploded in the air, and the cloudy sky turned black. The rain came down harder, a deluge, making it difficult to see more than two or three feet in front of himself. The rain soaked through his clothes.

“Declan!” Olivia called.

He squinted, trying to see through the pouring rain. Olivia stepped off the back of the porch and ran toward him. He held his arms out, and she threw herself into them. She buried her face against the side of his neck.

“What are you doing out here?” Declan asked. “You’re getting soaked.”

“So are you,” she said. “Come inside with me. Please?”

Declan pressed a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. “I need you to listen to me, Liv. I have to leave for a little while. There are some things I need to handle. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours, then when I get back, we’ll go. We’ll find someplace safe until I can take care of Clyde.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, Declan. I think you need to let it go. We can walk away and never look back. I’ll tell you where the money is. We can go get it, and we can disappear.” She looked up at him as the rain fell on her face. “Forget about Clyde. Forget about Boston. It’s time to forget the past that haunts us. We can just go.”

“No. I have to do this. If I don’t, you will never be safe. Drew will never be safe.” He kissed her, desperate to claim her, to keep her close, to make her understand what he needed to do. “Please try to understand. I have to do this. I told you before that I won’t stop until Clyde is dead.”

Olivia sighed, but she nodded. She stepped out of his arms and wrapped her own around herself. A shiver worked its way through her. “Damn it,” she whispered. “I know. I understand, even though I hate it. Clyde has been chasing me for three years. He won’t stop. The only way to stop him is to kill him.”

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