Page 15 of Taken By the Mobster

While waiting for Declan’s men to come back, she could use the quilt and towel to cover herself. She chastised herself, angry that she hadn’t thought this through before deciding to wash her clothes in the sink. Not that she’d had much choice; she couldn’t stay in those filthy clothes another minute.

She stepped through the door, shocked to see Declan beside the bed, a pile of sheets and blankets in his hands. Startled, Olivia let out a breathy squeak. Declan dropped the pile to the bed and swung around, his hand going to the gun tucked in his waistband.

Olivia froze, unable to move. She tightened her grip on the towel tucked between her breasts, shivering as water from the wet clothes dripped on her feet.

Declan released his hold on his weapon and stalked toward her. The sadness and grief were gone from his face; instead, the mask of a dangerous and menacing criminal was in its place. Gone was the vulnerable, grief-stricken man from earlier. Olivia didn’t like the Declan standing before her right then.

Declan’s eyes roamed over her body. “Nice look,” he muttered.

Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but the front door slammed into the wall in the other room and jolted her into action. She darted around Declan, further into the room, out of sight of anyone entering the house.

“Put something on,” he ordered. He pointed to the end of the bed where he had dropped the sheets and blankets, then he pulled the door closed. A few seconds later, the sound of men’s laughter filled the other room.

Olivia hung her damp clothes on the bed’s footboard, then she sorted through the bundle of items Declan had dropped. Clean sheets, another blanket, and thankfully, a clean shirt and a pair of dark blue sweatpants. The shirt was a light blue button down, obviously a man’s shirt, well-worn but the fabric soft under her fingertips. She slipped it on and quickly buttoned it. The sleeves hung past her fingertips and the shirttail brushed the back of her thighs. The sweatpants were huge and barely stayed above her hips, even after she pulled the drawstring as tight as possible. At least it was something to wear.

Once she had dressed, Olivia perched on the edge of the bed and waited for Declan to return. She desperately wanted to talk to him. Maybe having a common enemy could benefit both of them.

Clyde Braniff might unite the mobster and his prisoner.

Chapter 8

Declan

Declan swallowed the rest of his coffee and stared at the bedroom door. Seeing Olivia again had stirred up emotions he’d held in check for eight years. He’d forgotten what it felt like to care about someone. Aside from his brother and Conor, he had no one. He liked it that way; Clyde couldn’t take anyone else away from him.

His old feelings for Olivia rose to the surface when he talked to her. She’d always been fiery and determined to live her own life. He couldn’t understand why she agreed to marry Clyde; it wasn’t something the Olivia he had known would do. Of course, that had been eight years ago. People changed. But he’d glimpsed the woman he remembered when he’d held her against the wall and she’d fought with him.

He lit a cigarette and poured another cup of coffee from the pot. He checked his watch, saw that it was almost three in the morning, and wondered for the hundredth time if he could ever sleep again.

A floorboard squeaked on the other side of the bedroom door. A few seconds later, the knob twisted, and the door opened a few inches. Olivia peered out.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

Olivia jumped, then opened the door all the way. “I thought you said there was nowhere to go,” she muttered.

“There isn’t.” He smiled at her. “So, what are you doing?”

Olivia shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I checked the door on a whim. I didn’t expect it to be unlocked. Are you angry?”

Declan shook his head and pointed at the chair across from him. “Sit down. I could use some company.”

She took a step into the room, froze for a second and then darted back into the bedroom and returned with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She eased into the chair and stared at him.

Declan stabbed his cigarette out in an overflowing ashtray and took a sip of his coffee. “So, you couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” Olivia said. “I have bad dreams.” She stared at the tabletop and traced a round coffee stain on the linoleum tabletop. “What about you?”

Declan shrugged. “I have bad dreams too.”

Olivia stared at him, opened her mouth, and shut it again.

“What?” Declan asked.

“Tell me about your sister,” she whispered. “Tell me what Clyde did to her.”

Declan frowned. “You don’t want to hear about that, Liv.”

“I want to understand what changed you from the man I knew all those years ago to the man in front of me now. A man who terrifies people. Terrifies me. Tell me what happened, Declan. I need to know.”

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