Page 24 of Taken By the Mobster

After escorting Olivia to her room, Conor returned to Drew’s room. He stepped inside, shut the door, and leaned against it with his arms crossed. Declan turned to look at him.

“Is he awake yet?” he asked, tipping his head in Drew’s direction.

Declan shook his head. “Not yet. That half-bottle of whiskey knocked him out.”

Conor shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Declan finally looked at his best friend. “That this feels like a trap? Yeah, I am.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Clyde could have let Drew go to draw us out. Did you get a hold of Ruth?”

Conor shook his head. “She’s not answering my texts.”

“Shit,” Declan grumbled.

“Shit is right,” Conor agreed. “I’m worried about her.”

Drew groaned and rolled to his side, so Declan stepped away from the side of the bed and went to stand next to Conor.

“Maybe Drew just escaped,” Declan whispered. “I mean, it looks like he was in one hell of a fight. It could have happened while he was getting out of the compound.”

Conor grimaced. “I need to talk to Ruth. She’ll know what happened.”

“Keep trying,” Declan said. “We need to know if she’s okay and if she knows anything about Drew.”

Conor nodded. “I’m trying every five minutes.” He stifled a yawn. “I’m dragging, bro. I’m gonna crash for a couple of hours. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll stay in here with Drew.”

Conor clapped him on the shoulder, opened the door, and stepped out. Declan shut it behind, then he dropped into the chair next to the bed.

Resting his head against the back of the chair, he closed his eyes. He found it difficult to send Olivia to her room, but he couldn’t have her around as a distraction. He had to figure out how his brother got away from Clyde. The mobster had been holding his brother for more than a year, using him as leverage to get what he wanted out of Declan. Were Drew’s injuries a message? Or had Drew gotten hurt while attempting to escape?

Declan watched his little brother sleep, wishing he would wake up so he could get the answers he needed. His thoughts drifted to the woman upstairs; as much as he wanted to pretend she wasn’t a distraction, she had gotten under his skin again.

His eyes slipped closed. Declan could see her clearly, like a photo on the back of his eyelids—her dark brown hair, her blue eyes, and the dusting of freckles on her nose. She looked more like the Olivia he remembered now that she didn’t have her colored contacts or makeup to hide the freckles.

She was more beautiful than he remembered. God, he had been so desperately in love with her. But it was more than her beauty that had drawn him to her; she was strong-willed, but with an aura of vulnerability that appealed to him. Beautiful, strong, and vulnerable in one package.

Olivia was also the daughter of a man he considered an enemy. All his life, he’d run with the Muldoons. His father had been what they called forneart, an enforcer. Seamus Quinn worked for the Muldoons his entire life. Since his childhood, his father taught Declan to loathe individuals affiliated with the O’Reillys.

Declan didn’t know Olivia was an O’Reilly when they met. All he knew was she was a pretty girl eating French fries at Folger’s Café. He flirted with her, she blushed but flirted back, and the next thing he knew, they were spending every second together. During the weeks that followed, Declan fell hard and fast and was pretty sure the same was true for Olivia.

He was so far gone that even finding out she was the daughter of Sean O’Reilly didn’t change his feelings. The secrecy of their relationship only made it more appealing, especially for Olivia. At nineteen, she was determined to defy her father. It was one more thing he loved about her.

Then, one day, Olivia disappeared. She stopped coming around Folger’s and didn’t return his calls. Grady McCarthy showed up and told Declan to stay away from Olivia. Since he couldn’t exactly march into the O’Reilly mansion and drag her out of there, he mourned the loss of his first love and tried to move on.

Drew groaned, interrupting Declan’s musings. Drew had curled himself into a ball with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around his chest. A grimace of pain crossed his face, even in sleep.

Declan turned off the lamp on the bedside table and picked up the bottle of whiskey he brought with him. He would wait for Drew to wake up to get answers to the questions only he could answer. And he would try not to think about the woman in the bedroom upstairs.

“Deck? Declan?”

Declan twisted in the chair and kicked over the empty whiskey bottle at his feet. He opened his eyes to see Drew staring at him. His brother tried to smile, though it wasn’t easy with his split lip.

“Hey, big brother,” Drew mumbled.

“You’re awake,” Declan said. He pushed himself upright. “How are you feeling?”

Drew chuckled, wincing when it obviously hurt. “Like shit,” he replied. “Who fixed me up?”

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