Connelly Crime Family Trilogy

by Winters, KB

  Margo laughed and shook her head, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t think I want to know what your life is like.”

  We talked for a bit longer about getting out of this place and other things that didn’t really matter. Somewhere between our argument on who made a better Batman, she said Christian Bale and I said Michael Keaton. A key sounded in the lock.

  The door was maybe twenty feet away and we raced to position ourselves on either side. No discussion. Margo picked a pipe up from the ground and smacking it against her palm. It was badass as fuck. Hot as hell.

  “That’s the attitude.”

  We both took our spots behind the door.

  The lock turned and the door slowly opened. “It’s now or never, Margo.”

  “Better to die now than later, right?”

  Her smile was brave, but I could see the fear swimming in her big blue eyes. And worse, I could see the way her pulse raced behind the delicate skin of her throat.

  I winked at her and two guys walked in. I didn’t recognize either of them. The younger one stepped forward.

  “We need the bitch,” he said into the dark. No idea we were so close.

  “Too bad,” she spat at them. “The bitch isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Hey! How’d you get loose?” Then he saw me. “What the fuck?” He glared at me, daring me to test him.

  Turned out I didn’t have to because when his arm darted out to grab Margo. She lifted her hand in the air so fast you could hear the air whizzing overhead. Then she brought the pipe down with a sickening crack. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to call a lady by anything but her name?”

  He groaned on the floor, clutching his arm and glaring up at both of us. “Don’t be a dumb bitch. You’re coming with me, the easy way or the hard way. Either way is good with me. Or you’re fucking dead.”

  Just before his buddy raced in, I kicked the asshole in the ribs for that threat.

  “Get back,” asshole number two barked when I pulled my leg back to kick that fucker again. “I can’t kill you yet,” he said, “but I can still put a fucking bullet in you.”

  That was a good detail to know; someone was negotiating our future. Either for some type of ransom or a professional compromise.

  “Don’t be stupid, Connelly.”

  I didn’t bother to correct him on my last name, which for the record was not Connelly. “One thing you’ll learn about me is that I am many things, but none of them stupid.”

  “Look asshole, we need the girl, and we’re gonna take her. One way or the other, so move aside and let this happen. We’ll have her back in five minutes.” This guy was the good cop. I hated the good cop.

  “What do you need her for?”

  “Proof of life,” he barked out just as the asshole on the floor tried to stand, Margo hit him again.

  “Oops. Sorry. No I’m not.” She didn’t look sorry.

  I turned back to the frowning asshole. “Take a picture.”

  He got in my face, and I refused to back down, bumping him with my chest.

  “I’m happy to pound your face in before I take her.”

  My laugh pissed him off, but he was so damned outraged he didn’t see my hand curl into a fist, and I slammed it against his nose.

  “You can try,” I said as he fell against the wall.

  He lunged at me, and we traded hits, punches, jabs and knees to the midsection. It was a good fight. A fair fight with plenty of bloody knuckles and fat lips.

  “This won’t change anything,” he snarled.

  “It’ll piss you off.” If that was all I could do, then that was worth it.

  “Temporarily, but this is gonna hurt a lot worse.”

  His words barely registered when there was another crack on the back of my head and I was out cold.

  Chapter Six

  Margo

  Rourke had already been gone a long time, and I was going out of my mind! What could they possibly be doing to him? If those guys were going to kill us, they would have done it already. The one guy said he couldn’t kill us, so apparently they didn’t have the power to make decisions on their own, and the person in charge obviously hadn’t given the orders. Not yet, anyway. What if they already ordered them to kill Rourke? Was I next?

  Fuck I hated this.

  I spent the first hour or so frozen in fear or maybe it was shock, gripping a pipe in my hand about ten feet from the only way out of this fucking place. I stared at the door, jumping at every sound no matter how far away. A dog barking, an emergency siren off in the distance, the sound of doors slamming inside the building. Every little sound sent my mind racing and my heart rate up another notch until I was on the verge of a panic attack. That was the last thing I needed, so I used a few deep-breathing exercises to pull me back from the edge.

  But I still didn’t move, not one fucking inch, convinced that those guys would come back for me since they’d come for me in the first place. Or maybe they would just do to me whatever they were doing to Rourke, which couldn’t be good. Oh, God, what if they were into torture? What if they were chopping his fingers off one by one? Or ripping out his fingernails?

  “Stop, Margo. Think good thoughts. Good thoughts.” I whispered to myself. I was tired of feeling like this. I was afraid, exhausted, hungry and wanted it all to come to an end.

  I also wanted to know what the fuck was going on.

  I guessed those men probably wanted ransom money from my dad. They either wanted a ransom or to have some money laundered, but I wondered why they’d taken Rourke. What did he have to do with this?

  I spent the second hour and some of the third rifling through every box, every drawer, jar and storage container in sight. It was like I was in one of those first-person shooter games, picking up supplies and weapons while I searched for a way to communicate with the outside world.

  The warehouse was enormous, but it wasn’t like I had anything else to do. I took my time, taking each pile of loot back to a small room I’d found as far from the door as I could get without getting the hell out of here.

  I found several boxes of bandages, antibiotic ointment, liquid plasters, a few scalpels, chips, pretzels and a two-liter bottle of soda. Lugging it all back to my hideout burned off my nervous energy, but I was still aware of all the sounds, even as I wondered what in the hell my dad had gotten me mixed up in. This was how my life always went, normal for a little while and then the Byrne business interrupted my life in some way I was destined to never forget.

  When I was thirteen, back before I realized I couldn’t have any close friends with this kind of family, I had a party to celebrate becoming a teenager. A boy-girl party that had ended when a bunch of masked men came in and took my Uncle Owen. Scared the crap out of all my friends, but I begged and pleaded for them to stay.

  We got Owen back two months later. He was never the same.

  By the time I turned eighteen, I’d learned my lesson and stopped having parties and friends. Instead of a party or even a family dinner, I celebrated inside my new apartment with a big gourmet feast. Only I’d forgotten the saffron for my risotto and ran out to the corner store. When I came back, my building was on fire. A few days later a couple of Italian men were found dead and that was that. For the family, anyway.

  When I was twenty-three, my mother was murdered in what the police called a random robbery, except she was shot twice in the head and the ATM spit the money out right on top of her. It was retaliation for something the Byrne family had done, and it was what had finally given me the courage to step away from my family for good.

  At twenty-five, I’d finally found out the truth behind my brother’s murder, a kidnapping gone wrong. And he was just a kid.

  And now at twenty-seven, here I was again. Life turned upside down thanks to good old Dad. I hated my life. I hated being a part of a family that people either feared or wanted dead. I wanted real friends and real relationships. I’d tried, but something always happened that threw me back int
o the family’s bullshit.

  I sighed. I didn’t want to dwell on my thoughts. They’d only make me sad. Or mad. And I knew I didn’t have a lot of time left before someone came back. If it was Rourke, then I had plenty of medical supplies on hand, and if it wasn’t, well I had a few things that we could file under ‘self-protection,’

  A short time later the door opened again, and I walked to it slowly, cautiously, watching as a man entered. He was tall and well dressed, darkly handsome. It was the same asshole who’d gifted me with that spinning elbow. He fiddled with his cufflinks, but he didn’t appear to be nervous, more like he was just ill at ease. Like he was playing a role he wasn’t comfortable in. “Now that we’ve got your self-appointed bodyguard out of the way, it’s time to get down to business.”

  Business? What kind of business was he implying? I stood my ground, refusing to let any of my fear show, even though I almost pissed my pants. I wasn’t afraid of this dickhead in his fancy suit, I could probably take him down, but the situation in general had me terrified.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, defiantly. “Since I don’t know you, it’s impossible that we have any business together,” I said. My dad always said that one day my mouth would get me into trouble. Maybe this would be the day.

  He smirked, but that was his only response. He pulled a phone from an inside pocket and handed it to me. “Call your father,” he barked out at me.

  Luckily for him—and me—I was used to overbearing assholes. I worked with them and treated them on a daily basis, so I was well practiced in holding my tongue. “Who are you?”

  “Just make the goddamn call!”

  “Who. Are. You?” Just because my father did business with shady people didn’t mean I was about to hand him over to some stranger on a silver platter. His business had done plenty to screw up my life, but he was still family. Something about all this nonsense felt different, and I wouldn’t make that call until I was certain.

  He sighed, deciding how much to tell me, before deciding on not a lot. “My name is Daniel.”

  Which told me exactly nothing at all. “Fine. Give me the damn phone.” I didn’t know who Daniel was, but I hoped like hell Donovan Byrne did. I dialed his number and waited.

  “Hey Dad.”

  “Hey baby girl, how are you?”

  “Not great. Some assholes broke into my house and now they’re keeping me hostage in some warehouse.”

  He was silent for a minute, probably getting one of his minions to trace the call. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. But Daniel here was pretty eager for me to call you.”

  “Daniel,” he repeated, again probably for someone in the room with him. “Listen Margo, I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be, but this is not what it seems. These are not business associates, sweet girl, you hear me?”

  I knew that tone well, because for all his flaws, my dad knew how to make me understand a situation quickly.

  I nodded at his words even though he couldn’t see me because I heard him loud and clear. This wasn’t about business in the typical way, which meant this problem, my rescue, wouldn’t be solved in the typical way either. “I hear ya.”

  “I will get you out of this Margo, I swear to the Lord above I will. But it has to be done my way.” Which meant they wanted something he didn’t want to give them, and they snatched me to coerce him.

  “You sure you’re not hurt?”

  “A little banged up from Daniel’s attempt to mimic Jackie Chan. But, I’m not hurt, and I’m not alone either. There’s someone else here.”

  I had to shout the last words because Daniel snatched the phone from my hand and pushed me to the ground when I tried to get it back.

  “That’s enough out of you!” He pushed me again when I reached for him and turned to the phone. “She’s alive and well, Byrne. For now. Do what we ask, and you’ll get her back in one piece. Delay and we’ll send her back to you . . . piece by piece.”

  He did a perfect villain laugh before hanging up the phone, glaring at me and leaving me to my thoughts.

  Daniel was right about one thing, my dad would delay while he figured out a way to get me back, which might end up getting me killed. But with Rourke’s help, we might end up with just enough time to get us the hell out of here before our families had to pay these assholes anything.

  Chapter Seven

  Rourke

  When I started to come to, a thug on each arm dragging me through a door and me sliding and stumbling, my head spinning off my shoulders from a headache, I tried to figure out where I was. The room they took me to was only about fifteen feet away from the warehouse where they’d held us. At least that was how far the stumbling felt like. I saw no windows or exits. Yeah, superb fucking planning.

  I couldn’t say how long they’d had me but based on the numbness in my fingers I’d say at least a few hours. And I spent the whole damn time in handcuffs attached to a metal hook hanging from the wall. It was cliché as fuck, but it worked, leaving my body in the most vulnerable position for whatever they intended to do to me.

  “Now,” the short one with long brown hair said. “Are you ready to be more fucking cooperative?” He was one of Lorenzo’s minions, I knew that much, but I didn’t know anything else about him.

  “What the fuck do you want?” This was the major flaw in their plan, I realized. Without Lorenzo’s influence, these losers were totally fucking clueless.

  “We ask the questions, asshole.” Another guy who looked like a taller version of the short one with a Buzzcut, let a punch go right in my goddamn stomach.

  I held in a grunt of pain because I would never, ever give these motherfuckers the satisfaction. “Just say what the fuck you want and stop playing these little girl games!”

  Another blow landed, this one right to my side, and I was in no position to brace for the impact.

  “We need more,” the short asshole said. “He said make it look good.”

  Buzzcut smiled and stepped forward, grabbing the neck of my collar and pulling as hard as he could until the buttons flew off my shirt and the fabric hung off me like I’d been in a fight. I took advantage of his nearness, clenching my midsection as tight as I could and bringing my feet up to kick the motherfucker right in his chest.

  “You piece of shit!” he said, coming up off the floor. Once he got his bearings again, he lunged forward and punched me in the face, his fist raking along my jaw.

  “There, perfect!” Short Asshole held up a phone and snapped a few photos. I made sure to smile in every fucking one of them. The idiot didn’t even think to look at what he’d snapped.

  “How do they look?” That question came from Buzzcut. At least he had half a brain. Short Asshole glared at him.

  “They’re fine. Just put him back, while I take care of this.”

  Fucking amateurs. Buzzcut unhooked me and then uncuffed me before shoving me out of the room and down the hall toward where I was sure Margo was worried sick. I had to make sure my plan worked, which meant I needed to find at least one exit.

  I waited and waited for my moment, until we were just past another hallway, then I yanked free and ran, scoping out the layout of the building. This particular hall only had two doors painted a burnt orange color, one on each side. They looked like offices but straight ahead, about fifty feet away was exactly what I was looking for. In big red capital letters. EXIT.

  The exit. It was damn near a straight fucking shot from one door to the next. I pulled up, slowing down enough that Buzzcut could catch me. I even let him drag me back to the room so he’d feel like a big man.

  For now.

  He dumped me on the floor and said, “Next time I won’t fuckin’ chase you,” he said, lifting his shirt to show me the piece he had in his waistband.

  “Good to know.”

  He smirked, but I meant his gun. Wearing it like that was stupid because it was easy to steal and even easier for him to get shot with his own piece.


  “Asshole,” he growled.

  “Aw, you hurt my feelings,” I told him with a laugh. He grunted his disgust and left. Locking the door. “Margo are you here?”

  I heard her before I saw her step from the shadows, a thicker, shorter pipe in her hands. “I’m here. Are you...holy shit, man.”

  I could only imagine what I looked like to her. “My beauty is that stunning, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes but her lips twitched, and I knew I’d diffused her worry.

  “I don’t know about your beauty, but that is one fine chest.”

  She stepped closer and let her gaze roam over me. In the thin stream of moonlight, I could see the heat that turned her blue eyes dark. Heat and concern, it was a hell of a blend.

  “Are you okay?”

  I tried to decode the feeling behind her question. I just said, “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

  “Fine, my ass,” she snorted and held her hand out as if I would let her help me up like I was some damn invalid. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

  Her ass was fine though, and it held my attention as I followed her to where? I had no idea. “Where are you taking me?”

  She smiled over her shoulder. “To my evil lair!” Her laugh was good-natured, but the worry lines told me it was an act. She stopped in the doorway of what looked like it used to be an office.

  “It has a sofa and a desk,” she told me, “and it at least gives me the illusion that I have some protection against these freaks.”

  I frowned. “You saying I’m not enough protection, honey?”

  Her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink and yeah, my cock took notice. Did women even blush anymore? And why in the fuck was she so hot? Her lips smiled while she gave me another one of her eye rolls.

  “I’m saying that nothing about this whole situation is safe. Plus, your head can’t take any more beatings, Rourke.”

  “You worried about me?” It had been a long time since anyone other than family gave a shit about me, but this little redheaded spitfire for some reason, did.