Taken by the Mobster

Chapter 1

Olivia

Olivia checked the clock on the wall for the fifth time; fifteen minutes until the bank closed its doors for the day. Whenever the door opened, the sounds of the outside world invaded the bank, and the crisp, clean, cold air from outside swirled through the room. She pushed her dark brown hair behind her ear with one finger and looked around the dimly lit bank. There were only a few customers left. Most of them were the usual closing time customers; it wouldn’t take long to help them with their transactions.

Her boss, Mr. Ingalls, walked by with a slight frown, tapped the face of his watch, and twirled his finger at Olivia in a move-it-along gesture. He was eager to close the bank. Ever since his wife became ill, the day couldn’t end soon enough for him; she was his priority.

Olivia would have preferred to stay, if only to avoid another night alone in her shitty motel room, mourning the loss of her life and the family she loved. Not that the motel was home. Home was Massachusetts, and she couldn’t go back there right now or ever.

The tiny bell over the door chimed, signaling the arrival of another customer. The owner of the gas station across the street, one of her regulars, came in to make his daily deposit. A rush of cold fall air followed him inside, making her shiver. She saw the shadows from nearby buildings stretching out into the street, growing noticeably longer as night encroached. Olivia straightened her shoulders and put on her best smile for her customer.

“Good evening, Mr. Sewell.” Her own voice sounded falsely bright to her ears. Mr. Sewell didn’t seem to notice.

“Billy, please, Mrs. Miller,” he scolded. “Please call me Billy.”

Olivia nodded and smiled. She made quick work of his daily deposit; he would be eager to get home. It was one transaction she didn’t take her time doing. Mr. Sewell smiled and winked at her before scurrying out the door with purposeful intent, perhaps hurrying home to his wife and young daughter. Olivia felt a pang of jealousy that he got to see his family.

The click of the key turning in the lock on the bank doors made her heart ache with loneliness. She refrained from sighing and focused on counting her cash drawer before securing it in the safe. She walked with her boss to the back door where Olivia put on her jacket and blue scarf while listening to Mr. Ingalls, nodding in all the appropriate places while already dreading her lonely evening.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right with closing next week?” Mr. Ingalls inquired, as he held the back exit door open for her. “I understand it’s a lot to ask—.”

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Ingalls.” Olivia slipped on her gloves before stepping outside. “It’s the least I can do. Margaret will be happy to have you home early. Please don’t worry. I’m happy to help.”

Mr. Ingalls squeezed her arm. “What would I do without you, Olivia? Thank you for everything.”

They said their goodbyes for the evening. Olivia turned to walk the short distance to the motel, only a few blocks from the bank. Despite the cold, she took her time; she was in no hurry to lock herself in her depressing room. Unfortunately, she could only walk so slowly, so it wasn’t long before she reached the fast-food restaurant on the corner across the street from the motel. She stopped to get herself some chicken nuggets and a salad, then she headed to the room she’d rented in the far corner of the motel, situated well away from the street.

Olivia slipped inside, locked the door, and, for good measure, propped the only chair in the room under the knob. Only then did she relax. As she took off her jacket, her fingers got tangled in the scarf her sister, Caitlin, had given her for Christmas almost four years ago.

---

<em>“Open it.” Caitlin giggled as she handed the gift to her sister, the smile on her face almost shy.

“I told you not to buy me anything,” Olivia scolded.

“I didn’t buy you anything,” Caitlin said. “Now, open it.”

Olivia tucked her feet beneath her and put the present on her lap. She smiled at the makeshift wrapping, almost as if a child had done it, even though Caitlin was seventeen. Caitlin wasn’t good at wrapping gifts; she loved that about her sister. While Olivia and her mother fussed over every corner, every piece of tape and ribbon, Caitlin wrapped like she lived―without a care in the world.

Olivia unwrapped the gift, the brightly colored paper falling to the floor. She gasped as she pulled the thick, luxurious material free and spread it across her lap.

“It’s beautiful.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. It really was beautiful, soft and a lovely shade of royal blue that would bring out the blue in her eyes. She ran her hand back and forth over the decadent fabric, reveling in its beauty.

Caitlin picked it up and wrapped it around her sister’s neck. “I made it, Liv.”

Olivia laughed and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “You did not.”

“I did!” Caitlin insisted. “I crocheted it. It took me six months to get it right.”

“It’s gorgeous. You did an amazing job. I love it.” Olivia hugged her. “And I love you too.” She kissed Caitlin’s cheek.

Caitlin smiled at her and blushed. “Love you too, sis.”</em>

---

A sharp knock jolted Olivia back to the present. “Ms. Miller?”

Olivia stepped close to the door and put her hand on the gun she kept on a nearby table. She rested her other hand on the motel door and took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Mr. Washburn? Is that you?” she called.

“It is,” the man replied. “I was just checking on you.”

“I’m good. Back safe from work.”

“Everything all right?” the motel owner asked.

“Yes, sir.” Olivia cleared her throat. “Thank you for checking on me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Washburn said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Olivia replied. “Thank you, again.”

Mr. Washburn mumbled something incoherent before Olivia heard him walk away. Every night, he stopped by her room to make sure she arrived safe and sound from the bank. At first it had annoyed her, even frightened her a little, but it wasn’t long before she appreciated him taking the time to check on her.

Olivia carried her dinner to one of the two twin beds in the room and made herself comfortable. She only ate a few bites before she ended up pushing the food around in circles on her plate. Her stomach twisted in knots, so she dropped the salad on the bedside table and put her head in her hands.

She wished she wasn’t here. She was sick of running, sick of hiding. If she could go back in time, she could fix this. Olivia wanted what they had taken from her. She wanted her life back.

Everything she had gone through weighed on her, making it hard to breathe. Her hands shook, and tears leaked from the corner of her eyes.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

If she repeated it enough, maybe it would be true.

Olivia let the tears come and the emotions overwhelm her. If she bottled them up, kept them pushed down, they would tear her apart. In order to keep it from happening, every couple of weeks, she let herself go through all the emotions she tried to keep buried inside of her.

However, she refused to sit there, feeling sorry for herself. She swapped her clothes for a pair of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt, then threw on a sweatshirt and her running shoes and opened the door. For the next forty-five minutes, she jogged around the empty parking lot, her head swiveling as she kept a watchful eye out for danger.

Once she had herself under control, she returned to her room, stripped off her clothes, folded them carefully, and put them in the shabby dresser. She put on a warm nightgown and wool socks, removed her colored contacts she wore to disguise herself, and washed her face. With her book in hand, she made herself comfortable on the bed. She threw a heavy quilt over her legs and opened her book. The picture fell out of the book and onto her lap.

Olivia stared at the photo for a long time after picking it up. It was a photo of her and her sister. She remembered the day they took the photo, less than two weeks after her father told her she was to be married. Caitlin had an arm thrown over her sister’s shoulder and a wide smile on her face. She didn’t know that Olivia would soon move out of their childhood home and into the home of one of their family’s greatest enemies. Olivia had smiled for the camera, despite feeling like her father shattered her heart into pieces.

Olivia squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the memories that came so often and hurt so much. She kept the photo in her hand; it was the only one she had left. She’d deleted everything from her phone when she’d destroyed her SIM card.

She fell asleep with the book propped on her stomach and the picture between her fingers.

---

A week later, Olivia checked the clock, and, of course, it was fifteen minutes until closing. It drove her crazy that her eyes seemed drawn to that damn clock every day at a quarter to five, taunting her with the time left until the bank closed. She tucked her hair behind her ear, closed the drawer, and slid the money across the counter to the elderly gentleman patiently waiting. She gave him her best smile and thanked him, smiling even wider when he took his wife’s arm and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he led her out the door.

With a sigh, she glanced at the clock again. Thirteen more minutes until the bank closed and another night of misery began. Every day, she struggled to overcome the constant flood of negative emotions in her head. Olivia bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself not to cry, not here, not in front of these people she didn’t know.

The door opened, the bell over it chiming. Mr. Sewell stepped through the door, his entrance predictable, coming at the same time every day. A man in a suit and long coat with a fancy Fedora hat pulled down low over his eyes came in directly behind him. Olivia didn’t think he was a regular customer; she had never seen him in the bank before. He stopped inside the door, as if he was waiting for something or someone.

Mr. Sewell gave her his usual friendly smile and hurried toward her, brown paper bag in hand, drawing her attention away from the man by the door.

“Good evening, Mr. Sewell,” she smiled.

“Now, Ms. Miller, how many times have I asked you to call me Billy?” he teased.

“Almost every time I see you,” she laughed. Mr. Sewell was fast becoming one of her favorite customers. He always had a smile and a kind word for her. “What can I do for you today?”

He’d just handed over his daily deposit when the double doors flew open and three men spilled into the bank, joining the man by the door. All of them wore similar long coats and had their hats pulled low over their eyes. Three guns appeared, pointed at the ceiling.

“Hit the ground!” the man in the front yelled. “Heads down and hands flat on the floor.” He waited for everyone to obey, then he strode purposefully toward Olivia.

Olivia stood dumbstruck, too scared to move. Her vision narrowed as the man walked toward her. She didn’t see anything or anyone else, only him. He carried himself like a man who knew what he was doing; danger and menace rolling off him in waves. He pulled a gun from beneath his long coat and pointed it at her.

“Hands up. Do not even think about hitting that button,” he said, mentioning the alarm under the counter. “Do you understand me?”

Olivia nodded.

“Good. Now, you’re coming with me, sweetheart,” he said. “I need you to open the vault.”

Chapter 2

Declan

Declan called the shots; it didn’t matter if the other men appreciated his methods. They didn’t question him. Declan Quinn was in charge. Period.

Once everyone was on the bank floor, Declan gestured to the doors, the signal to barricade them. The men behind him turned, as if they were one unit, to do as ordered. Only then did Declan move across the floor, headed for the pretty brunette behind the counter.

“Everybody put your cell phones on the floor next to your head,” he heard Conor yell. “Take them out nice and slow, no sudden moves. We don’t need any dead heroes today.”

After a year, they had this down to a precise science. His men knew exactly what to do.

Declan stared at the woman on the other side of the counter. She seemed familiar, as if he’d seen her somewhere before. He ignored the feeling; she was just another scared bank teller, not anyone he knew.

“Put your hands up. Do not even think about hitting that button,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

The woman nodded.

“Good. Now, you’re coming with me, sweetheart,” he said. “I need you to open the vault.”

The woman didn’t move; she stood behind the counter staring at him. After a few seconds, she blinked, and her eyes focused on him. “Wh-what?” she mumbled.

Declan hated it when they froze; it made this so much harder.

He sighed. “Where’s the bank manager?” he asked.

“G-gone home,” the woman stammered. “I-I’m the only employee here.”

“Can you open the vault?” he asked.

The woman gripped the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turned white. She nodded, but a strangled moan fell from her lips.

Declan leaned over the counter. “Can you open it?” he asked again, his tone menacing.

“Y-yes,” she whispered.

Declan put a hand on the counter, and, in one simple move, he vaulted over it. He loved the old banks in these small towns for precisely this reason. They hadn’t upgraded their security: they hadn’t put in the bulletproof glass, the door buzzers, or the new cameras. It made them easy targets for robbing.

Once he stood beside the woman, he pointed down the back hall with the gun in his hand, indicating she should walk in front of him. Despite the fear he sensed coming off her, she stood tall as she walked to the back of the bank. Her hands shook as she unlocked the vault and pulled open the heavy door.

Declan glanced inside, then let out a sharp whistle. Murphy and Walsh appeared seconds later and grabbed the empty bags stashed along the inside wall of the vault. Without a word, they loaded the bags with cash, bonds, and whatever else they could pull from the safe.

Declan took the woman’s arm and moved her, so she stood against the wall opposite the open bank vault. He stood beside her. She closed her eyes and clenched her hands together in front of her.

“Quinn?” the man inside the vault called out to Declan. “I need some help in here.”

The girl’s eyes shot open as soon as Murphy called his name, and she snuck a look at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re … you’re Declan Quinn? That guy who has been robbing all the banks?” she asked. Her voice shook as she spoke.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He glared at her. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

She nodded. Obviously, he scared her; scratch that, he terrified her. Her breath tore in and out of her throat, shallow and uneven, and tremors of fear rolled through her as she sagged against the wall. She knew who he was, and it terrified her.

Declan stepped into the vault. “What?” he snapped.

“Do you want the safety deposit boxes cleared out?” Murphy asked.

“No, leave them.” Declan checked his watch. “We’ve got three minutes. Move your asses.”

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.