Page 4 of Taken By the Mobster

Murphy and Walsh scooped up the bags laden with money. Declan waited until they headed for the front of the bank before he wrapped a hand around the woman’s elbow and dragged her down the hall behind him. Conor had stayed at the front of the bank to tie and blindfold the bank’s patrons. He had lined them up along one wall: seated on the floor, hands secured in front of them, black bags over their heads. Declan walked past them and stopped in front of Conor.

“Watch her,” he ordered.

He released the tight grip he had on the woman’s arm and stalked across the bank. He grabbed Murphy by the shoulder and swung him around.

“You idiot,” he snapped. “How many goddamn times do I have to tell you not to use names?” He punctuated each word with a finger to the chest of the smaller man standing in front of him.

“I … I’m sorry, sir,” Murphy whined. “It slipped out.”

An irritated sound emanated from Declan’s throat. He took off his hat and pushed a hand through his short, light brown hair and over the back of his neck.

“Put her in the car,” he said to Conor, gesturing at the woman. “We’re taking her with us.”

“We can’t,” Conor said. “What if someone comes looking for her?”

“We have no choice,” Declan yelled, turning on his friend. “It’s a chance we’ll have to take. She knows who I am and, thanks to Murphy, she knows my name. We can’t leave her here to talk to the cops. She is going with us.”

“This is a bad idea,” Conor said. “A colossally bad idea.”

“Why can’t we kill her?” Walsh raised his gun and pointed it at the woman’s head.

She flinched and choked back a sob. Declan scowled and pointed a finger at Walsh.

“Put that damn gun down. We cannot kill her. Not here, not now. There isn’t time. Now put her in the goddamn car!”

Walsh lowered his weapon, took her by the arm, and dragged her out the door. He hustled her into the back seat of their black Denali. Declan waited until Murphy and Conor had exited the bank and loaded the money in the back of the SUV before he climbed into the front seat. Walsh and Murphy got in the back on either side of the woman, while Conor got behind the wheel. No one had noticed the bank being robbed, which was exactly how Declan wanted it. If they hadn’t had to take the woman hostage, this would have been the perfect job.

Declan pulled a black sack from the glove compartment and tossed it over his shoulder. He nodded at Murphy, who yanked it over the woman’s head.

“Enjoy the ride, honey,” Declan muttered. He tapped the dashboard. “Let’s go.”

Declan shifted uneasily and adjusted his coat before he glanced over his shoulder at the woman in the backseat. Not only had Murphy put the black sack over the woman’s head, but he’d also tied her hands in front of her. Of course, they were bound too tight. Declan could see the thick rope biting into her skin and marking her. He considered reaching back and loosening the bindings, but he stopped himself; showing weakness wasn’t an option.

Declan glared at the man driving the Denali. Nothing pissed him off more than his men arguing with him, but it was worse when it was Conor. Conor Sullivan was Declan’s best friend, and his opinion was the only one that mattered as much as Declan’s.

Conor’s insistence that they not take the woman with them should have been his first clue this was a shitty idea. But she’d heard his name and seen his face. Declan couldn’t afford to have her talking to the Feds; it would ruin everything. The only rational decision was to take her.

He didn’t want to kill her, but if he had to, he would. If it came down to her or his brother Drew, there was no question who he would choose.

Conor’s expression was unreadable, though Declan was sure he knew what the man was thinking.

Declan sighed. “Just say it.”

“What the hell are you doing, Deck?” Conor whispered, keeping his voice low. “Taking that girl was stupid.”

“No shit,” Declan muttered. “Like I said, we didn’t have a choice. She saw my face and fucking Murph said my name. She would have talked to the Feds, and then this would be all over. Drew would be dead.”

“What are you going to do?” Conor asked.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know.”

As soon as the Denali pulled to a stop in front of the small house at the end of the dirt road, Declan opened the door and jumped out. He stalked up the driveway, stopped in front of the enormous red barn that dominated the property, and took out his cell phone. It was the only place he got reception out there in the middle of nowhere. He hit a button, held the phone to his ear, and waited.

It rang three times before there was an answer, a quiet “yes.” No other conversation was necessary. Declan said, “It’s done,” and disconnected the call. He shoved his phone in his pocket, scrubbed a hand over his face, and stared into the winter sun.

When is this going to end?

He glanced toward the house just as Walsh pulled the woman from the Denali. She hit her head on the roof, then stumbled forward and fell to one knee. Walsh yanked her upright and dragged her inside.

---