this. They’d already lost one of their own.
Lord only knew what had become of Liam. Mathew and Paddy were mostly silent, sitting against the walls and staring at anything but each other. Bernard had been sitting near the door for a long time, eyes closed and head resting against the wall. Praying, maybe? Thinking? Trying to make sense of everything that had happened and was happening? Difficult to say.
Peter looked utterly grief-stricken. Of all of them, he’d slept the least, probably held awake by worry about what was happening to—or had already happened to—his brother. His eyes were red, his dirty cheeks streaked with tears, and Danny doubted he gave a damn if anyone thought him weak or unmanly right then. Liam was fourteen, for God’s sake.
Tommy wasn’t doing so great. He’d taken a blow to his head, and he’d been sick a few times since they’d all been tossed in here. He was sleeping now, though they all roused him every so often to make sure he was still with them. He seemed to be.
Danny cradled Tommy’s head in his lap like he’d been doing for a while now, and Tommy stirred. He moaned and his jaw worked. Then he made a strangled sound and weakly brought a hand up to his mouth.
“Hey, hey, easy.” Danny carefully helped him onto his side, and Tommy threw up. After he’d coughed and spat a few times, Tommy shakily rolled onto his back again.
With his friend settled, Danny leaned his head against the cold brick wall. This was his fault. He’d gotten them into this mess with Carmine and the Pulvirentis. Every drop of blood on their clothes or on this dirty floor was because of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Especially since nothing was happening. No one came to drag one of them off to be questioned anymore. They’d been here for at least a day or more, and it had been hours since anyone had been taken away. Someone had brought them food and water, but there’d been no more demands for answers. No more beatings. Danny didn’t dare let that get his hopes up that their situation was improving. Changing, maybe, but that didn’t mean it was about to get better.
Bernard got up from his place beside the door and moved across the room to sit beside Danny. He nodded toward Tommy. “How is he?”
“I don’t know,” Danny whispered. “He still wakes up from time to time. That has to be a good sign. Right?”
Swallowing, Bernard nodded. “I hope so.”
They sat in silence for a long, miserable moment, both watching Tommy sleeping with his head on Danny’s leg.
Finally, Bernard turned his gaze back toward the side of the room where he’d been sitting. “I’ve been listening. To the men outside.”
Danny looked at him. “Yeah?”
Bernard nodded grimly. “They keep talking about the score, and how much we’s worth.” His brow pinched. “I think they’re gonna use us. As rum runners.”
Danny swallowed bile. “After all this, they think we’re gonna work for them?”
“Have we got a choice, Danny?” Bernard let his head loll toward him, and his expression wasn’t one Danny had ever seen on him. Too scared. Too much like a terrified boy and not the prickly man who’d always been like everyone’s father. Barely whispering, Bernard said, “They’ve already killed Francis. Much more, and Tommy’ll be gone too. And God knows what they’ve done with Liam.” He swallowed hard, and his eyes and voice were almost childlike as he added, “You want them to kill us too?”
“No, of course not. But… Look, there’s got to be a way out.”
“If you’ve got one, out with it. Because I ain’t got a single idea.”
“Neither do I.” Danny leaned his head back against the cold bricks again. He had no idea. And what choice did they have? If whoever was holding them now demanded they run liquor for them, it wasn’t as if they could say no.
Not to gangsters.
Not now.
More time passed. No one came to drag them out for more answers. Tommy was sick a couple more times, though he seemed to be slowly coming around. Some more food and water came at one point, and that did him some good. It did all of them some good. But their situation was still bleak and hopeless, and every time one of the lads looked his way, Danny felt their silent pleas for a solution. An escape.
Try as he might, he didn’t have one.
Heavy footsteps approached outside, startling