Page 12 of Broken Innocence
These men couldn’t care less.
“Last one,” Thug #2 says as if he’s doing me a favor.
After another hit to my ribs, I’m dragged backwards—my head covered with a black hood while my hands are zip tied behind my back—and unceremoniously tossed into a van. My head thumps against the floorboard as my shoulder jambs into something soft.Another person.Fear freezes every muscle except for my racing heart.
Where are they taking me?
Why not dump me on the sidewalk?
Who else have they kidnapped?
Frantic questions fill my thoughts as the vehicle rumbles to life. The hood blocks out the light, but it’s obvious we’re driving away from Spring Falls. I carefully test my bonds and wince at how tightly I’m trussed up.
Rolling toward the stranger next to me, I whisper, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
No response.
Shoot.Shit.This definitely calls for cursing.
Ducking my head, I try to maneuver the hood higher to increase visibility, but all I can see are my companion’s hands bound like mine, a jade bead bracelet with aQcharm on one wrist.
“Are you alright? Please—” The van zooms over a speed bump, or an unlucky animal crossing the road. Either way, the result is the same.
My body flies up then slams down hard enough to halt my cautious attempts at connecting with my companion as a heavy darkness descends on my consciousness.
The last thing to register is the misplaced scent of eucalyptus.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUCA
Muted conversations carry over the traditional Irish music playing in the background of Delaney’s. Blackthorn owns the bar, and we conduct a lot of business here, so I figured it’d be a good spot to start sharing the news of my upcoming nuptials with my brothers.
Enzo hasn’t officially approved my proposition, but he will.
He’s a smart man. You don’t rise to become don of an Italian mob without the brains to back up your brawn—AKA the army of soldiers inherited from your predecessor.
“Let’s play a game of pool. You owe me a rematch.” Hugo, Rafe, and I head toward one of three billiards tables and wait for the current game to finish before the guys take a hint and leave the table to us. Jonah and Mathias couldn’t make it tonight, and Dmitri is off doing Blackthorn business.
“I can’t help it if you haven’t figured out how the game works yet. It’s all about angles. Once you understand that basic principle, maybe you’ll stand a chance at beating me,” I say.
Rafe racks the balls while Hugo smirks, leaning against the wall to quietly watch our match. He never says much. A result of being Conrad Steele’s son, I suppose. While every Blackchapel Bastard had an absent father growing up, Hugo’s dad was verymuch present. Though the murder lessons wouldn’t win him any Father of the Year awards.
“I understand the basics, asshole. I just can’t visualize a fucking protractor on the table so every shot is the exact right degree like you.”
“Yet you still put money on the line thinking you can beat me.”
“One of these days it’ll happen,” Rafe grumbles. The balls scatter across the green bombazine with the crack of the cue ball. Two striped balls drop into side pockets.
“He’s playing the long game, Luca,” Hugo says, studying the table as Rafe circles it while calculating his next move. “Waiting to hustle you years down the road when you let your guard down.”
I chuckle. “Can’t wait. We’ll be eighty, and Rafe will finally decide to make his move. A plan decades in the making.”
“You laugh, but it could happen,” Rafe mutters. His shot goes wide, and I grin at the opening.
“Tough luck, kid.” Rafe’s not that much younger than me, but as the youngest of us, he gets the little brother treatment. Chalking my cue stick, I start calling my shots and clearing the table. “So, I’ve got some news. I’m getting married.”
“What? Since when?”
