Page 47 of Declan's Hope

"Mierda," the man snapped, pulling her hard. "Come with me."

Several cries of "Ms. Danford" and "Don’t take her" followed after Hope. So, she smiled at them over her shoulder and waved before being pulled down the steps and out the door to the driveway. She turned and took one last look at the bus where some of the children had their faces pressed against the windows, before the man took her by the wrist and practically dragged her away

An unnatural dread filled her the closer they got to the house—a house filled with memories of a lifetime spent here with her friends. She just prayed whatever waited for her this time behind the bright red door to Haven’s home ended quickly and that the children would be spared.

She would do whatever this Salazar person wanted to make that happen. The racing thoughts of what he might consider adequate compensation had her swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.

Hope picked up her pace as they took the walkway to the front of the house. She had long legs, but the man’s brisk stride had her nearly running, then tripping as he roughly tugged her up the stairs to the porch, before swinging the door open and slinging her inside.

She stumbled, then came to a swaying stop. Her eyes went wide as she took in her surroundings. The house had been left in a shambles.

She moved forward at the urging of the gun pressing into her back, while her blurring gaze took in all the destruction. Hardly anything had been left unscathed.

She dashed at the few tears tracking down her cheeks. All of the work Mrs. Haven had done before she’d died had been destroyed. If this indicated how the rest of the house looked, Haven and Mr. Sheppard—

A hard shove sent her tripping into the living area and slamming against the back of one of the two overstuffed couches. Her fingers dug into the slashed fabric as she grimaced over her shoulder at the unrepentant looking man behind.

Asshole.

It wasn’t something she dared say aloud, but she could at least think it.

"Hope," a feminine voice breathed out on a gasp, sending her gaze toward the rest of the room where it collided with the familiar clear, blue eyes of the person sitting on the end of the other couch. Eyes so much like Declan’s.

Oh, god. They have Mercy.

Dried blood marred her forehead where a nasty gash hadn’t been attended to. But besides that and being slightly disheveled, the strong set of her jaw told her she was holding up. Then Hope’s eyes lighted on a young girl of about eight or nine wrapped in her arms. That had to be Declan’s niece, Kara.

Who were these monsters that they would take children?

Neither one of us would leave a child in danger.

Solace’s words from all those months ago at the hospital echoed through her mind. Could these people be the ones responsible for Declan being shot? If so, it would seem using children in their plans wasn’t something new.

Panic rose exponentially inside her at the implications.

Children didn’t matter to them.

"You might as well sit," Declan’s sister said. "It’s all we’ve been doing all day." She ran her hand over the dark brown hair of her daughter and ducked her head down toward the child’s solemn, lifted face. "Isn’t that right, sweet pea?" Kara nodded as Mercy placed a light kiss on her daughter’s forehead, then met Hope’s gaze as she came around the couch. "I’ve wanted to meet you, but obviously not like this." She let out a slight chuckle, though the strain evident in her features and her eyes full of worry told Hope she found nothing funny about their situation.

Hope took a cautious look around, then behind her at the man holding the gun, before sitting on the couch placed at an angle to the one where Mercy sat. She cautiously reached out toward the other woman’s forehead, then pulled her hand back.

"Are you okay?"

"It looks worse than it is. Head wound usually do." Mercy’s eyes darted to a point behind Hope and she grimaced before meeting her eyes again. "These men didn’t take kindly to my resisting them taking us. I will tell you this. Being hit in the head with the butt of a gun hurts like a son of a bitch."

"Mom?"

"I know, language."

A small smile lifted the corners of Kara’s mouth before she too looked behind Hope, her expression falling as she snuggled more securely against her mother.

"So, this is about Declan," Hope stated, matter-of-fact. "But what exactly is the reason this Salazar I keep hearing about has taken us?"

"Simple," Mercy said, her intense gaze holding hers, "Declan—"

"Killed my son."

Hope twisted her body and whipped her gaze to find the rough, accented voice belonging to a frail, pale man who probably should have been in a hospital. Behind him stood two more menacing men with cold eyes and guns.

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